seed #362
The house was not non-descript; It did not stand out. The featureless facade boasted a loud demeanor. On the ground level two doors pulled back into a hall, preceded by a marble courtyard ensconced in an alcove of almost-trees, making the place privy from the passing eye, with three sunken armchairs of cane circling an unassuming round table, only so because it unassumingly punctuated that spot. The round table had square pegs, up to the ass rest of its abusers, some fine oak it was – best in Bangkok. The top was red mosaic; Red mosaic of course, is very pretty and artsy; restrained/constrained by bordering black
. . . The armchairs sat like inhabitants of the address;plush, formidable, foreboding. Among them was an old man in a rich suit and fedora straw hat. He had never missed a show case, and was also known to have never seen one. He would dress up up in a nice suit and turn up up early in the afternoon, sit at that chair and smoke his foulest cigar. The color of the attires is censored lest there be racial issues. He had never crossed the courtyard. Not even to pee. But nobody ever raised an eye or even a casual question, for he was too handsome. People found it imposing. Speaking of men of such commanding beauty, there were others who were no less. The result was a much quieter party. Nobody did mind that. There aren’t any conversations which i can present to my reader befitting a story. Nor are they required. For if the reader is imaginative enough; or genuinely tries, he will comprehend the astounding beauty and look no further. But lest i am rightfully accused of being lazy, let me throw something.
“Another beautiful specimen of imposing beauty was pundit jasraj. It was the paunch which did the imposing part. Ah the beauty of it. Punditji was a punctual man. His duty was to come early and help in an auspicious inauguration of the show. Every year he would come later at 7, stay for for an hour. He would would eat everything at the table, even the peas he detested. Pack everything
, even the spinach which his neighbor disliked; and non challant to anyone’s exitence walk out at 8. And he didnt even care to hum.”
Describe the hall- the antiques and heavy curtains.
One of the antiques was a gift from somebody,subplot angle:
Colonel butt naked. He had no hair, used to then parties naked, and drink wine
No hair except eccentric eyebrows and pubes . he was michaelangelo. On 25th dec he held a drowning man afloat on acount of his magnificent lower growth. This man was fat, and couldn’t swim. This was gora singh. Who never fail a kind words of thanks whenever they met. He also resembled vistrit, a dear school friend of ours.
He was called gora cause of his extremely white teeth,which disoriented people looking to meet his eyes, as they were flashed by little clusters of bright stars against what was possibly a upright,stout black hole, with scrubby beard and pagdi. He looked like a pop art stilettos with cluster of flashy little stars for teeth. Gora singhs teeth preceded his personality
Gora was a leuitent commander in the botherhood of LTTE, born in south – some people really adapt to their surroundings. inspired by his savior and retired to the noble profession of a coastguard/lifeguard, he didnt know which. Similarly he as a lifefuard on one duty day finds a person drowning, asks him to take the name of goras saviour but the guy drowns. Apologetic empathetic gora went to console the widow, and would invite her to this party every year. This widow turned out to be Marie curie, and her husband had died by drowning not in radioactivity but water.
(Describe the dinning table)
If one walked on he would find that The pool had a neighbouring massacre of fruits and fried stuff, stuff which old people shouldnt eat. For it would literally too be the last supper,other than the scenic metaphor. . . . it also had a penis ice sculpture flowing from which was delicious punch.
The 5 feet, 14 by 8 depression, the point plin faded blue ; the tiles however they showed in only a spot or two the rest of the wall was plastered with morbid canvas, frames, paintings and curios of people smiling . Rows of Munchs, Picassos, michelangelos clamored for their niche on that patchwork tapestry of greats. This year showcase was ‘the gross clinic “ by thomas eakins On the far wall was the piece de resistance – the one Mademoiselle Kaatilana called her love child. The the reason for the entire affair. It was a fetching rendition of her, true, far fetched, obscure around the edges but shapely. Van gogh claimed he’d done that one,but mademoiselle would say it was by modigliani for he was handsome. Such a mystery was mademoiselle that the writer cant even form an image in the head. All that is needed to know – Everything in the room was shoplifted. Every thing, a ghost of transferred matter”
Chi lung yin was the brahma of the parties, he has been there since it was all created, it was his opium. So as a tradition he visited these parties every year, carrying his load of opium for the guests. This was a major attraction of this event. He made it special for the event, with help of his friend dr.sidney gottlieb, a chemical specialist- and boy they knew drugs; who would choose one great from the pages of party each year to test his skill on. He challenged himself each time, the next dose would be as innovative has invention of internet. He would stalk his victims home to see that they reached safely so as to watch them writhe in agony later in the night as he took their pulse, checked heart rates.
He masqueraded as the doctor in the house. He was the doctor in the house. A person would stop attending the inevitable party, they all had to guess hard at who hadn’t come back this year. Such was the essence of that room. Everything ceased to matter. All else was background noise. And kamlakanta approved this, he was the presiding guest de opoium; for the guests will have settled for nothing less.
But please dont judge the doctor to be a vicious being! He was a good man, a simple man; who raised goats in his little farm and loved his yogurt. He and his wife even spent a year in india taking care of the lepers. Being a white man, ofcourse his capabilities don’t end here; he was an enviromentalist and promoted peace! And once upon a time surprised people with lsd, rained it like dogs.
Dr had a always his special guest, which upon persistent request was allowed to the party, was mr trump, his favourite candidate from his old days of “project_MKULTRA”; they wouldnt talk much – but the doctor every made him sit across him for an hour and just stare in admiration, and trump, would do everything in his power to control the varying expressions on his face, but he blushed beetroot red to the root of his hair.
With a tweak at his thinning beard, the chinki would recite snippets of the party myths. One of the them was of an Obese gentleman, of how when he consumed the opiate, the additional weight from the smoke became too much for the chair to bear, thus collapsing into trebling throes.
Another one of the most famous of the cases, the chinki would recount to his Curare Club class, was of his terrace back home, when he sighted a well-worn underwear,attractive to an acquired taste, swaying hypnotically in the lukewarm breeze of the sultry afternoon. It was Superman’s. Its creases culminated at the crotch where the cloth had seen immense/intense resistance. The upright habitual bulge of the underwears crotch stood virtuous . Anybody would know at once what they hit upon, for even the somali babies knew that Superman loved blue such that he had a blue one under his sanitary red wrap.
Stuck on the underwear, chinkis gleeful paparazzi chirruping within erupted as frozen stoic stance. 100 years of meditation does that to you.
Whether he stole them – for 100 years of meditation does that to you too; or he met superman the writer doesn’t know. For the rare few times, when chinki was was mellow enough to recite it, the writer always had to pee so bad that it wasn’t worth the story. So that’s that.
Magaj INC 