Kadal Kannu Orru Sasikutti

DM was happy to admit that the less he understood something, the more frustrated he became. This was one such occasion that fit into this if-this-then-that formula.

Here he was, finally in Kerala, after years of seeing the photos his friend Kayo had been posting. He had brought rolling cones and his appetite for beef chukka and fish fry with porotta. Instead, he was sitting in a rickety wooden chair at a town convention, being told to give a speech.

“Why do I have to even be here?” he asked.

DM had to admit, apart from the lack of marijuana and beef-porotta in the vicinity, the town square was idillic. Rain had just ended, making the whole place cool. Giant trees shaded the small wooden stage he was on. Autos put-putted by along with the milling people, who seemed to be growing in number every minute. He had never used the term “gaily dressed” before, but would have in this scenario since people were so colourfully adorned for the occasion. The chayyakadda nearby had kollas full of small yellow and bigger green bananas on display. He could smell them along with the milky chayya.

“Cos you’re kind of a big deal to blow into town,” Kayo explained, interrupting his friend’s sniffing of fruit and tea. “Everyone wants to hear from you.”

“But you’re not even using my real name,” DM frowned.

“I already explained that,” Kayo said, adjusting his white kaseri mundu with the gold-blue line. “This DM thing sounds like you’re some state rep, like the PM or CM. So I gave them this name. It’s actually a good one you can always use. Kind of like a persona change.”

“I don’t even know how to pronounce this – Sassy?”

“No, it’s Sasi.”

“I can’t even make that sound.”

“Just make a sound like you’re shushing someone.”

“Shush.”

“But now pop an ‘a’ in there.”

“Shashi.”

“Bingo. You came here across the sea, so I’ve named the event ‘Kadal Kannu Orru Sasikutti.'”

“What’s the kutti part.”

“Well,” Kayo put on his thinking face. “It basically means small boy.”

“So you’re telling everyone I’m a man-child.”

“You have to stop being so Eurocentric. It doesn’t mean the same thing here. It’s a term of endearment.”

“So they call you Kayokutti here?”

“No, but they use Kayomon.”

“What does that mean?”

“Son.”

“That’s way better than small boy. Why can’t I use that one also?”

“It doesn’t fit. Who’s ever heard of a Sasimon. You sound silly.”

“Man, they know I’m not from Kerala. Why would I have a Malbari name?”

“Why did Shantaram have an Indian name?”

“Touche. So, should I talk about Dubai?”

“Hold up. Let’s wait for the pullikali to end.”

As Kayo spoke, several men dressed in whole-body tiger paint danced up with a man dressed as a hunter. DM watched a whole scene with death and revenge unfold.

“No man,” Kayo told DM. “Almost everyone from here has someone close to them in the Gulf or go there themselves to work or for holiday. It’s not a big deal.”

“So then, Pakistan?”

“Ah man, we have elections going on soon. Maybe not that.”

“Okay then what?”

“Anything.”

“You keep saying ‘anything,’ but then shooting down my ideas.”

“I’m sure you’ll come up with something. We still have time since the mohiniattam will take 15 minutes or so.”

“What the fuck is that?”

“Easier if you just watch it than me explaining.”

DM watched the musical dance performance, and had to admit it was well done. But he would have enjoyed it more if he were high.

“Listen man, you know how long it took me to get this fucking visa. I have no idea what I’m supposed to be doing here.”

“Man, you must have done speeches at work.”

“You want me to talk to them about aesthetic medicine?”

“Er, most people here don’t even shave their armpits. I think nose jobs and butt lifts will be well above their shooting level.”

“Okay then, you have to tell me a topic.”

“But then it wouldn’t be from you.”

“Listen. Have you ever seen me voluntarily do a speech, even back in high school?”

“Man that was 2 decades ago. I thought you kind of were big into speeches cos of work and sales.”

“I don’t do speeches for work and I don’t do sales speeches. The fuck am I? The guy from Boiler Room?”

“Which guy?

“All of them.”

“Okay man, it’s time to go,” Kayo said.

“I don’t know what I’m going to say.”

“Just keep it organic. And also, try to use as much Malayalam as possible.”

“Oh fuck you,” DM said as he gestured up to the speaking stand by the MC.

He moved close to the mic, feeling a bit underdressed among the finery, especially as he noticed now that Kayo was wearing with his mundu a powder-blue barong. Mr. Fucking International. He touched his own waist to make sure the twine belt he was using to hold the mundu he was wearing was still doing its job. Suddenly, a topic hit him, as did the few words of Malayalam he had learned from Malbari cafeterias in Dubai.

DM put one hand on the speaking stand.

“Orru crypto, orru dollaraaaa,” he began.

Scam City

“I don’t believe in this bullshit,” DM said, pushing out with his retracted leg into the solar plexus of the man standing in front of him, “I only believe in brands.”

As he kicked forward with his new ultra-light Under Armour shoes, DM used the intertia to do a quick backward roll and then stand up with his hands on his Reebok shorts hips. He adjusted his red Nike shirt with one hand.

The man he had kicked did not have such a graceful trajectory. The lanky, dark fellow with black hair in greasy spikes grunted and propelled back, falling on his brown corduroy ass momentarily before jumping back up.

The kick was meant more for warning than to hurt.

“Why you kick me, sir?” the man asked, dusting off the kick area which was that awkward spot between the chest and stomach. “If you don’t want to join our church, then just you say.”

“I said already,” DM repeated, more irritably this time than the first.

“Okay, fine, fine,” the man said as he turned and walked away into the sunset, just as DM put himself in a karate attack stance.

Just as the man disappeared over the horizon, Kayo walked out of the beach restroom.

“Was there someone shouting out here?” he asked.

“Another scammer.”

“How do you keep finding them?”

“They find me.”

“Still.”

“It’s not like I’m the only one. There are so many damn scams going on. From the time you wake up to when you sleep, you’re getting all these calls and texts.”

“Anyway, let’s enjoy the beach,” Kayo said, walking forward.

The rain had stopped just a few hours ago, as usual with the water and sun looking like there had been no storm that day. The beach was quite wet, however, belying the truth of what had happened.

“How many calls and text do you get?” DM asked, looking at the water as he walked.

“None.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Maybe they come in, but I don’t pick up unknown callers.”

“What if it’s the bank?”

“My bank only communicates with me on their secure online portal.”

“Well la-di-fucking-da Canada.”

“In India, maybe. But I can just pop into the branch next door and talk to them. I never pick up calls there either that I don’t know.”

“You know, Charo got her FB and WhatsApp hacked.”

“Yeah man, holy shit. Makes sense that she yelled at the last scammer who called.”

“Took a bit to get those back.”

“You know man, there’s this guy I’ve met once – Mohammad, Palestinian. He now goes online as ‘Alex from Azerbaijan.’ Does massages.”

“I had no idea the convo was going there.”

“Man, someone showed me the ads. The way he scooped the massage cream – I’ll never forget. It’s like he molested it.”

“I still have no idea how we got here from scam calls.”

“Just saying, everyone seems to be running a scam here.”

“The fuck is that bitch?”

As DM said this, both men halted suddenly, seeing in front of them on the beach a woman standing like she had just walked out of an ad.

“Hello po, boys,” the woman said in a falsetto like she was about to orgasm.

There was something unusual about her. She was clearly Filipina but trying very hard to look Japanese. She wore a white one-piece dress with a yellow spring jacket, yellow hells, a gold chain and platinum bleached blonde hair that had been immaculately ironed.

“Um, hi?” Kayo volunteered.

“Nothing like end of rain, po. Great time for,” she paused dramatically, “McDos.”

“What’s that?” Kayo asked.

“McDonald’s, she means,” DM said.

“Yes po. Delicious golden, crispy-fried chicken after rain storm.”

“We don’t eat McDonald’s,” DM said.

This was true. DM had stopped a couple of years ago with his improved diet. Kayo had been boycotting the corporation for a more than a decade over Palestine.

“Better than Jollibee,” the lady offered.

“No doubt,” Kayo said. “We don’t eat that either.”

“Well, if the kids insist, of course,” DM corrected.

“Bring the ninos, dow,” the lady said, putting up both her arms with elbows bent, as if the children in question would fall from the sky.

She stood in this position for a few minutes, not moving. Both men kept waiting for her to do something. As time ticked by, they could hear children yelling the background, the sound of waves and even a police siren in the distance. The lady, however, said not a word.

Kayo was first to run. He turned and ran at a ninety-degree angle from where the two men had been heading, this time going away from the water, towards the car parking and road. DM took just a second before he too ran.

Running at top speed, DM was surprised it took him a while to catch up with Kayo, who was sprinting barefoot, his sliders in his left hand.

“I’ve seen that woman on TV,” Kayo panted backwards as DM caught up, “It’s a guy. Filipino celebrity.”

“Why the fuck is she pimping McDonald’s on Kite Beach?” DM panted back.

“City of scams man,” Kayo yelled, not looking back to see what the lady was doing.