Little Black Book

*10* ‘I am sorry about all this’ The man spoke as the woman turned around after closing the main door behind her. ‘Shivu go and get ready for school’ The woman ignored the man and instructed her son. ‘Mumma! It is Sunday’ The boy rolled his eyes as he admonished his mother, before running to place his young behind on the settee and grabbed the TV remote. He punched buttons on the remote and Ninja Hatori came on the screen. ‘How long was I out?’ The man questioned as he tried standing up on his feet, with the bedsheet clutched around his waist. The woman walked to the kitchen ignoring the man. The man stretched and took support of the couch and the dining table as he followed her into the kitchen. ‘I didn’t mean to cause you guys any trouble. I will be out soon. As soon as I figure out where my shirt is’ The man explained. The woman opened the fridge and pulled out six eggs. She loudly plopped the skillet on top of the stove, yelled to her son from the kitchen. ‘Shivu, wha

*9* ‘ Move! Move! Move! ’ The instructor screamed into the megaphone as the recruits whinged and crawled their way under the barbed wire with live fire going whizzing past their heads. ‘Remember this sound! This is the sound of AK-47! This is the weapon of choice of your enemies, of our enemies. And it makes a very distinctive sound.’ The instructor yelled as he watched one of the recruits duck to avoid getting his head blown off. Yvet looked over his shoulder and looked at his buddy and smiled his gleeful smile. ‘You watch my six!’ Yvet grunted. The man grinned, showcasing his white teeth before the instructor kicked dirty water over the two. ‘ Move! Move! Move! ’ The two men trudged forward on their fours in water, mud and pig guts strewn over the barbed wires, to replicate human fatalities. The man opened his eyes. The ceiling didn’t look familiar; neither did the smell of the place. It wasn’t a hospital - the smell was too floral and homely to be a hospital or a cl

*7* Nothing prompts a man to act than the caustic words of a woman questioning his manhood and threatening to take away his son. Phones had been ringing all through the day. The brotherhood of auto drivers had been on the man’s tail through the day. Information was collated and passed on. It was no longer a question of price as it was a question of pride and respect. The man stopped the car at wine shop, purchased a quart of vodka and got back inside. The day had been long and tiring. He navigated the traffic and made his way to the apartment leased under the dubious name, David Davidar. A name different from the one he used to enter the country, Frederic Raphael. A name different from the one he will use to exit the country, Joshua Ferris. Names he had seen on book covers, books he had no interest in reading. The only things he read now were letters he kept locked in a safe box back in Leumi Bank, letters written by his wife and kids. The driver stopped the auto by the side

*6*      The man checked the address twice before punching in the address into the GPS. The female android voice prompted him the way. He diligently followed the lefts, the rights and the straights, till he reached a road impossible for any vehicle to traverse through. The android woman insisted on heading straight for another 500 meters to reach destination. He found a spot by the side of the road to park. He unclipped his seat belt, checked the gun and the spare magazine. Pulled the phone of its holder on the dashboard, closed the program with the android woman and stepped out. He stood out like a vestigial tail flopping around in the wind. Kids playing cricket on the streets, men drinking tea and women gaily chatting amongst themselves stopped themselves and stared at this abrupt interruption in their routine. He walked to the group of men who held their cups of tea in their hands and cigarettes hanging from their lips. He pulled the cigarette from a man’s lips and shoved th

The man swiped the keycard through the electronic slot and heard the whirring of the lock opening up. He stepped inside and slid the keycard in the slot. The room lit up. He saw the aluminum case resting on the bed. He opened the wardrobe and saw the line of tailored suits, shirts still in their plastic covers with the tag still hanging off them. He pulled open the drawers and smiled as he ran his fingers over the rolled ties and boxes of cufflinks. He kicked off his shoes, removed his socks, stripped and entered the bathroom.      As the hot water sprayed from the shower, he watched the blood run down his body and swirl around the drain. He lifted his head to feel the hot water fall on his face. The tears got swept away with the hot water as his fingers circled his chest where the chain usually lay on his neck. The place he had earmarked to tattoo the tombstone inscriptions of his loved ones the day he retired. He turned the knobs, pulled the towels off the shelf and dried himself

CLICK HERE TO FROM READ CHAPTER 1 *4*      The man hailed an auto and directed him to take him to Taj Windsor. The naïve and ignorant auto driver motioned the man to get in and turned the meter down. The man paid the auto driver in full and walked through the hotel gates. He walked over to the restaurant and ordered himself a steak with extra sides of mash and veggies. He ordered for a coffee, black. He sipped on his coffee leisurely. A tall man, dressed in a tailored suit and leather patented shoes smiled at him as he made his way to his table. ‘ Where have you been? You look like shit! ’ The tall man spoke in Hebrew, and addressed the man like friend who knew him since eternity. The man smiled, but the smile never reached his eyes. Instinctively the man reached to feel the chain around his neck and felt nothing but his skin. ‘The Arab is in room 614’ The tall man confided in hushed tone as he surveyed the half empty restaurant. The man nodded ever so slightly. ‘The minist

READ CHAPTER 1 HERE READ CHAPTER 2 HERE *3* The moment the firang savari stepped off the auto, the driver vroomed away to safety. The man pulled the last cigarette from the pack before crumpling it and kicking it to the side. The sight of a Caucasian male in this part of town was a rare one. Street urchins surrounded him begging him for food and money, laughing and giggling all at the same time. Their empty curled fingers pawed at him, appealing him to reach into his pocket with all them dollars. Few of the kids even had some change clinking in their hands, giving him a subliminal message. He looked at them, smiled before snatching the change from them and kicked them away. The kids ran away screaming murder as he pocketed the change, twelve rupees. The man made his way to the Shri Hari Lodge’s reception, manned by an octogenarian with betel stained teeth and glasses perched on his nose fashioned out of 1980s’ coke bottles. ‘Aleem?’ he inquired pointing to the registe

Read Chapter 1 Here *2* The morning office rush looked at the man with judgmental eyes. The man stretched his back, the white t-shirt now blotted with splotches of dried blood cracked away from his back. He gingerly touched the back of his head and felt the matted hair clumped together. He looked around and found his empty wallet flung to the side of the road. He looked down at his feet and realized that somebody had stolen his shoes and socks. He bent down to pick the wallet up and felt pain shooting down the side of his shoulders and back. He dusted the wallet and put it back into his back pocket. A generous middle aged commuter, overcome with a surge of humanity stopped his bike and inquired if he could give the man a lift. ‘Fuck off!’ the man whinged. The commuter shook his head and took off while hurling abuses at the man and his presumed country of origin. The man picked up an old newspaper by the roadside, tore it up before folding it and putting it inside his wallet.