Smile for the camera dead man

I sit. A cloud of smoke hangs over me. My mouth dry. My brain screams water. The whiskey is so much closer. I take another sip. I hold back the puke that comes welling up. I’ve become quite good at that. My body aches. Nothing hurts but everything aches. My throat. I take a deep breath. I take another drag of the cigarette. Stuck in a holding pattern for far too long. The cell phone rings. Surya has a job for me….

I can hear the chopper above me now. Loud. Footsteps on the roof. Loud. Any minute now, Bad a Bing Bada Bam Bada BOOM. Loud. No more aerial attacks. I seem to have become quite indestructible. I remember Baava searching for my head though his scope. A sudden humbling.

Eight. A rock face I climbed every Sunday evening. Kulfi at the gas station. I wish I’d never grown up. I stand. Turn around. I wish this would end now. I wish I get shot in the head. Three seconds. If only I had the balls to kill myself. Heh. Smile.

My chronicles ? No. Nothing to say.

Snapshots

I drink some more Imperial Blue. This siege is now officially 21 minutes old. Have the cops laid siege on this building or have I laid siege on this city ? I light another cigarette. My throat hurts with every drag.

I had a happy childhood. Not a single unpleasant memory. My family died when I was 21. I didn’t think of it as a great tragedy. I miss them but I won’t pray to a God for their resurrection. It was all quite convenient. A fiery car wreck or some accident on a means of public transport you’d think ? Nope. My parents and elder brother died of terminal stupidity. A midnight knock on the door, a man asking for water for his car, my brother doesn’t close the door and suddenly there are three men with choppers in the house. My family was butchered because all the jewelry was in the bank and the thieves got pissed. As simple as that. They killed my family simply because they could. Now that’s power for you. The power of flesh, of life and death. Thulsa Doom was right. The power of the flesh is powerful all right. Very powerful.

A football field. A scrawny lad of 13. To be pushed around was a part of the job description for me. The guy neither team wanted even when three of my classmates were absent from the Madras Eye. A liability on the field. Pants torn at the knee and bruised elbows were a daily occurrence. Rocky was an asshole. Didn’t matter if we were even on the same team. He’d still extract his pound of flesh. Push me, trip me up, grab me by my shirt and throw me around. I didn’t plan it. Just happened. I picked up a stone one day and threw it at him. We were on the same team. The stone hit his head and he fell down. Unconscious. I was in big trouble but I didn’t care. Suspended from school and I didn’t care. I felt like I was well over six feet tall. I felt like Stone Cold Steve Austin. And you all know what Austin 3:16 says. My problems with Rocky were far from over though. Luckily for me, I wasn’t scared anymore. Its amazing how little pain a bully can actually withstand. School passed easily enough after that. I even managed to score some goals on the football field. By the time I was 16 I was well over 6 feet tall and nobody’s chump.

Thank you Rocky.

They have snipers on the roof now. I think Baava’s on the roof opposite my lodge. He’s the best they have. Fearless, with a faith in the law that is most disturbing. I still have a story to tell. I hide and light up a cigarette. A shot rings out. I can feel the heat of the bullet on my hair. That was close. Baava is better than I thought. Night vision scopes and he’s tracking the smoke from my cigarette. Shooting blind and hoping to hit. Almost hit. I have no hostages. The hole in my plan. I’m a lone gunman in a lodge that now definitely is empty. Why am I still alive ?

Saturday was my favourite day of the week. Everything just seemed to be so much happier on Saturday. People would smile for real, the girls would always be at their prettiest and coffee in the morning would taste superb. My family died on a Saturday. I was out drinking that night. By myself.

Oh So Pretty

A pretty, blonde cowgirl wearing blue denim and strumming a guitar. Singing a Mary Chapin Carpenter song in her oh so pretty voice. Is this what love is then ? I suppose so. I fell in love with her that day. From across the street she was a guitar strumming angel. Cars and motorbikes went past us as I stood transfixed. Gazing at her with a smile on my face. The sunlight parted her hair. Oh so pretty. I caught her eye at last. She smiled. My smile just got a whole lot bigger. The sky was blue, the air was cool, the sun was bright and I felt like I was 13 and falling in love with my English teacher all over again.

I crossed the street. I couldn’t take my eyes off her. Introduced myself. Her name was Malavika. The hair was dyed. Her real colour was black. I could live with that. She couldn’t sing. She was only miming. I could live with that. She didn’t play the guitar but was learning. I could live with that. She was oh so pretty. I could spend days just looking at her. Looking at her. Life was good. It happened like a snap of the fingers. I took a break from my job and we went off to Kodaikanal for a month. Nobody but the two of us. She would strum her guitar along to Mary Chapin Carpenter songs. Her favourite singer as it turned out. Walk hand in hand with the light of the moon for company. She was everything I ever wanted. Everything I would ever need. I would give up my life working the machine. I would clean my act up for her. I’d even listen to her sing. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that I loved her. More than anything.

I still remember her touch. Her fingers on my skin. My fingers on her skin. I cannot help but smile when I think of her. The happiest days of my life. Something died in me the day she left. She would not live with a killer. She made a few compromises living with me but that was one thing she could not do. Get out of it was something she told me a million times. I would have. Should have. Could have. The machine had me in too firm a grip. Excuses I had in spades. I died the day she left. Died because I knew I would never be this happy again. Died because I knew I loved the machine more. She was oh so pretty. She walked out the door. Wearing my shirt. She turned and looked one last time. Sitting on the chair with a cigarette in my hand I pretended not to notice. A tear ran down her cheek. Too much of a coward to go after her. Coward. I let her go.

I light another cigarette. The police want to know what my demands are. My demands ? Kill me. Now. They have no idea what to do. They’ve lost too many men already. I have no hostages. An assault from the rooftop would see this end. They’d be dragging my bullet ridden carcass out in an hour. The Bangalore police have no air support. They’ll have to wait a while before they can get the local liquor baron to lend them his chopper.

I have some time yet.

Kababs and policemen

The cops don’t know what hit them. Three of them lying face down on the road below. I can see the Crime Diary people filming below me. I’ll be on the local 8’o clock news.

I sit back. I know I’ve bought myself some time. Light another cigarette…..

<>

Summer in Bangalore used to be a pleasant time. In 1992, the year I started on my way. 25 years old and tired of the world. Looking for easy money, looking for a good world. Making my own world seemed like a good idea then. Truth be told, it still does.

The order came from Raaja. A Senior Police Officer was refusing his monthly cut of drug money. No, this ambitious fellow wanted a share of the market. The lucrative Mawalli area was to be his personal domain. Nobody could afford for that to happen. Let one cop do it and pretty soon we’ll be dead and the cops will be running everything. My job was simple. Kill the man in a manner so savage that no cop ever came back to us again. Instill fear in the hearts of the police. That was my brief. Suicidal, you’d think. You’d be right.

I didn’t have much of choice. Still paying off my debt to Raaja, I nodded my head. I killed the cop, carved him up good, cut him up tiny and by the time I was done you could serve him up as sheesh kabab. I killed him first off course. I detest torture. The cops were not terrified. They were furious. They came down hard. Business took a huge blow, a botched hit on Raaja and I was the most wanted man in the state.

I was used to running and hiding at an early age.

The cops caught up with me soon enough. There’s always a rat. Everywhere. Taken into custody for further questioning. No proof, no witnesses. I walked soon enough. Although it took some time for my broken shin to heal. I was on my way, marked for an encounter and yet somehow I slipped through the cracks. I should have been dead right then. They should never have let me walk out of that jail cell. Luck.

<>I’d earned my rep. The word on the street was out. I’d do any job there was. You came to me for the jobs nobody else was willing to risk. I made my name, I made a good deal of money. It’s a good life. Harsh and brutal and I kill people for money. Its business. I don’t know you, I don’t hate you but if I can make a buck killing you, I will.

Shetty and I

The first person I ever cut up was me. I wanted to know how easy it would be or how difficult before I did in the Telugu businessman. It was probably a good idea. Not too difficult as it turned out.

Shetty bled easily enough. Takes a lot of killing with a knife though. Use a lot of your shoulder in the killing thrust. Also, you can never be sure if he’s dead. Better to slit his throat while you’re at it.

It was when I looked down at my shirt that I noticed he had bled all over me. I was more scared riding back home than I was when I killed him. Blood spattered shirt, the Hoysala I passed should have caught me right then. That would have been the end to my criminal career. Luck. But then, it was a cold night. The cops in the van were probably too busy trying to stay warm. I only have sympathy for these cops. It’s a tough job that very few people are actually willing to do.

<>By the time I got home, I was shivering. I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t stop smiling either. No one had seen me. I was free. In the clear. On my way.

Welcome To Endgame

We walk the wind swept streets. Its way too early in the morning. Its New Years Eve or at least will be soon and here I am. On the streets. Hired muscle. Bodyguard. Backup. As you like it. We come to the drop. The doctors are waiting for us. A 5 Crore Rupee shipment of pharmaceutical cocaine. A big occasion for my employer Surya, a one time pimp, hence me, the bodyguard. I like that description the best.

Surya hands over the money. In small unmarked bills, you’d think ? No. These are 1000 rupee notes fresh off a local printing press. Everybody’s working the machine. The doctors have never seen this much money. Their eyes bug out, their palms get sweaty. I look over the shipment. Looks like aspirin goes up like a breeze. The doctor wants his bag back. Surya looks at him. Looks at him. “You want your bag back ?” “It’s my lucky bag.” “Its his lucky bag.” Surya “Its your lucky bag ?” “Just give it back to me man.” “Fuck you.”

We walk away. Surya’s walking with a strut. He’s a man now. No more pimping for him. I listen and agree. Wish him well. He gleams. He walks a little ahead of me filled with Happiness. Good. I kill him. Better to die happy. He falls dead. Still smiling. I pick up the bag, carry on walking. It’s New Years Eve.

Everybody’s working the machine. If these are to be my chronicles, then I would introduce myself. I don’t mind killing people. I guess that’s largely why I am where I am today. I like talking in long sentences and I’m very good at my job. I used to work freelance. Surya was my last customer. He should have stayed in the pimping business. Many people have called me many names. I think of myself as a machinist. Everybody’s working the machine but nobody works it like I do.

The cocaine is sold.

I’m on easy street. I quit this bad ass world and live a life of luxury in a remote farm house. Pleasant picture. I even dreamt of a wife and 2 kids for a while. Turns out Surya was fronting for Dinaker Shetty. Point man for Raaja Ravindra. This is bad. Raaja is the boss of all Bangalore. Things don’t always go as I would like. I’m trying to work on that.

Dinaker recommended me for the job. He’s got so much egg on his face he’s going to have to kill me or be killed by Raaja.

A team of 5. Armed with choppers and cycle chains. I used my money well. I have a Smith and Wesson .58 automatic. I kill them. These boys would kill me for 2500 bucks a piece. The lowest in the food chain. I never had to start from there. Dinaker can send out these boys in their hundreds. Bangalore used to be a city of people. Now its mostly savages. Its only just starting and I’m tired already. See what ambition does to you ?

There’s only one thing to do. Here I am. Endgame. Stop working the machine. Become the machine.

Kill me. Now. Stupid fucking idiots. Its been a month since the first incident. I still live. Every street is a death trap. The bounty on my head is now into 5 figures. Killers from all over India are on my trail. I’m still in my own town. I’m still alive. I’m tired. Stealing that cocaine doesn’t seem like such a hot idea anymore. I’ve been lucky so far. Killed more people in the last month than I have in these last twelve years. Lucky for me I don’t mind it.

I move in closer to Dinaker. He stops fighting, starts hiding. From me, from Raaja. I hide from Raaja too. Nobody said Endgame would be easy. Dinaker. Kill him. Killed. Not as easy as I make it sound. I take a bullet in the stomach. The pain is oddly pleasant. Gangaprasad is the only doctor who’ll take me in. Specialises in abortions. Pull a bullet out my stomach ? He does. I live. Dinaker’s dead. I’m one step closer. Dinaker’s territory is in chaos. Raaja steps in. Things will be quiet till Raaja is brought up to speed. I have a day. Maybe a day and a half to escape. Get out of town deadman. A warning. On the street.

This is my city. This is my war. This is Endgame. Running is not an option.

Raaja is good. I’m blind and deaf on the streets. I’m surrounded. Its only a matter of time. I’m tired. I am a machine. I move from one day to the next. Survive. Dusk. The street lights don’t work in Vijayanagar. My room smells of urine and semen stains cover the bed. I sit on the chair. A half bottle of Imperial Blue sits between my thighs. I sip from the bottle. Smoke a cigarette. I wait. I’ve entered Endgame. I offer myself as bait. Surrender and give them the money for my life. Raaja does not fall for it. His captains, Mutthu, Veera and Sethu are sent. They shoot at me. I shoot back. They die. Lucky again. Stalemate.

Raaja eases up on the button. His business cannot suffer. I am allowed to breathe. Too late to run now. It’ll soon be too late to hide.

Another room. Another hotel. I can hear the whore and the screw in the next room. The whore likes it rough, the screw complains. Who’s working whom ? If I am to live, Raaja will have to die. Simple when you think about it. My insides hurt. Gut shots. Not as painful as having your shins broken but it comes a close second. My luck will soon run out. I’m holding a dead man’s hand. The fan whirls on. Mosquitoes crowd the ceiling. The bed is clean. I paid extra. I smoke a cigarette and watch the mosquitoes do their little dance. I have no plan. I rarely do. I feel like ending this. I deal a dead man’s bluff. Go for a walk, why don’t you ? I hail a rickshaw, go home. The lookouts are easy to spot. I kill them both. I pick my ride, head out to Styx. Bang in the center of town. Endgame must always have an audience.

I sip from my mug, the DJ plays. The atmosphere is clogged with cigarette smoke. I gesture for another mug. The beer goes down. My insides feel a lot better.

I head out onto the streets. Hands in my pockets. I expect recognition at every step. I walk though M G Road, head into Brigade road. I browse through Planet M and wonder whatever happened to my membership card ? I decide to ride on the ring road. I don’t really care. I should have done this a long time ago. 2 cars ahead of me. A white Sumo. 6 men. A green Qualis, Raaja and his family. The airport I think. I follow. Luck ?

A traffic light. My helmet gives me anonymity. Three bullets for Raaja, three for his wife. One for his driver and 1 for his 3 year old daughter. I don’t mind killing people. The Sumo charges. Not yet sure of what has happened. I ride. Exhilarated. As simple as that after all. Luck ? Hell yeah! Fantastic luck. Endgame favors me. I will win. Nothing can stop me now. I hit a pothole the size of a car. My bike stalls. The Sumo catches up. They shoot. A bullet in the back is comparatively painless. The Sumo follows. Shots are fired but in the traffic of 6pm Bangalore its impossible to get a clear shot. I weave through gaps and innocents die in my stead. The gunfire ricochets. Chaos in the streets. I turn into the Park. Queen Elizabeth looks down on me. No time to bow dear Queen. I dump the ride. The stones are where I will go now. The scene of many childhood Sundays. Climbing up the rock face that seemed like a mountain then. No more than a large rock now. In Endgame you always go back to the places you’ve been.

The hunters follow on foot. I shoot. I kill. I’m that damn good. 2 down 4 to go. A question of strategy. I know I will not loose this game. I pull my chopper out. The last 4 will go down hard. I maim, I brutalise, I chop. 6 dead and its not pretty.

The police have arrived at the scene. The sleeping partner of the city is awake. Surrender and live. Fight and die like a dog. Hmm… do I have a choice ? I used to be a machinist now I am the machine. Do I have a choice ?

Even the machine can stop working. I drop my weapons wait for the cops to make their move. They arrest me. As scared of me as they’ve always been. Covered in blood, bleeding from the back, I’m done. It would be so much easier to shoot me now and finish it. The cops arrest me. Fools. Kill me now.

I’m the king of the doghouse. The inmates look at me with fear. Fear, I’m used to. Respect is new. Not sure what to make of it. My cigarettes and whiskey are taken care of. I can even get a bitch for when I’m lonely. Lucky for me no man’s butt will ever be pretty enough.

I’ve survived Endgame. Here I am waiting for the hangman. The judge couldn’t have cared less if a million no good gangsters had shot themselves to pieces. It was the killing of the wife and daughter that went against me. Sentenced to death. I wondered for a while if those human rights people would jump to my defence. Would my case be shouted over in The Big Fight on NDTV ? Turns out they only do rapists. Murderers are a strict no no. Death by hanging. I’m going to have to wait a while. Suicide would have been a lot easier but then its also that much more boring. I wait. I make grand plans and wonder if I will be a ghost. Wonder of heaven and hell and where I’ll fit in. Introspection. I do a bit of that before it bores me. Endgame cannot be dragged out.

Arun Pathi. A. Pathi as I liked to introduce myself when my given name still mattered. I could smile then. Would smile a lot too. Twelve years ago was when my life changed. A rich Telugu businessman. 3 lakhs in his briefcase. I followed him, killed him, stole the money. Seemed like a good idea at the time.

The cops never found me but Raaja did. He was underboss then. Give him a cut of the money or die. The money had been spent already. I worked 6 hits for him before he cancelled my debt and I went freelance. Held on suspicion a good dozen times but never arrested. 26 hits under my belt in the last 12 years. 34 in the last 2 months. That’s a lot of dead people. A lot of widows and a lot of orphans. Good thing I don’t mind killing people.

I wait for the hangman. Its been a while since anybody’s been sentenced to death. Hangmen in India are a dying breed. I’m going to be transferred to a jail in Bihar. The last of the hangmen waits for me there. I’m not dying in Bihar. I’m not leaving my city. Endgame must be played out right here in Bangalore.

There’s not much else I can do. Escape. Endgame will be of my own choosing. I will not die at the hands of a Bihari hangman. I refuse.

Escaping is not as difficult as it seems. Nothing is, when you have money. Palms are greased. I’m taken in a police bus and left on the outskirts of town. The cops don’t care. Its as simple as that.

I hole up in Basavanagudi. Mohammedan block where my old school is. Its expensive but its clean and Muslim whores are the best. All that repressed sexuality I think.

I drink some more Imperial Blue. Light another cigarette. I’m on The Big Fight now. NDTV. Barkha Dutt and Rajdeep Sardesai are both shouting. Should an attempt be made to arrest me again or is an encounter killing justified ? Is murder ever justified ? The media is in an uproar. The warden of my jail has been sacked. He took a cool 50 lakhs to let go of me. He won’t mind the sack at all.

This is Endgame. Finally. I’m stocked up. I wait for someone to rat me out. There’s always a rat. Everywhere.

I can hear the sirens now. The rat’s been busy. The loud speakers call out my name. A state of siege. I light another cigarette. My hands are as steady as they’ve ever been. I take careful aim with my sniper rifle. I blow out the head of the cop on the loudspeaker. I take a deep drag and exhale. Its not that I don’t mind killing people. I think I quite like killing people.

This is my war. This is my life. This is my city. There’s no way I’m dying in Bihar. Welcome to Endgame.