when he does that, it produces this repulsive little sound, like a sharp hiss or a brief puckering sound, which rises during that brief moment when his lips tremble apart slightly, and a sharp sting of spittle pierces through the crevices within his teeth.
to be sure, if there is one thing i hate about that choot, its his paan.
now, this is no fanciful statement. abbas is a truly despicable human being, so there is a lot to hate about him.
to begin with, he is ek dam kala bhujjang - black as sin. i mean kala. but i don't mind that.
his heart is much darker than his complexion. he was the child who would use elfy on the cats and shut their eyes. he was the boy who would slap his sisters for fun. he was the son you kept your valuables hidden from.
and on top of that, there was his bhenchod bharham. i mean obnoxious level bharhams. constant bataein chodna. constant bravado. he was a spindly little lund, but he talked as if he owned the bhenchod city.
and as he kept talking and slurping his oral cesspool, he kept pissing out those pichkaars.
II
there are two boys, and they are standing under a tree. there is a thin dark one who keeps pacing and spitting pan, and waving his assault weapon in the air. the more muscular one remains silent most of the time. i cannot be sure if he is saying anything at all, because i'm too far, and the thin one doesn't look like he's stopping.
abid thinks that we should move. i know we can't get a good shot of them from here, but if anyone were to come by that road, we'd have a kutta shot of the whole scene. i tell abid to be patient.
the thin one has not put his gun against the pavement, and is using his free hands to make crude gestures. he accompanies these mathira grabs with thrusting his pelvis. soon, a simple narrative emerges from this dance.
the thin one seems to be saying that someone with large breasts encourages him to adopt a slow, languid pace during intercourse, so that he concentrates on kneading. but a lover with smaller breasts compels him to pinch and squeeze with wild abandon, a luxury which necessitates that he perform the act with a furious vigour.
abid tells me he didn't have time to re-charge the spare battery.
III
Asim thinks he's some bhenchod poet, some udaas aashiq who's going to take this randi world and hide all her oozing warts and fix her up so that he can marry her and take her to his gandoo village.
Saala lund.
he thinks like he's the guy who's on some mission to rid us of our sins, like he is some bhenchod avenger, like he's that gandu baazigar.
and oh how he loves to give me this chutia smug look. how he loves to takes these deep, meaningful breaths which he uses to cover up the fact that he's got lund to say. and then there's his taliban routine every juma, where he makes this big show of going to offer the only namaaz he does all week. but oh no - somehow that makes him some bhenchod philosopher.
fact is asim is just as much as a gandoo as the rest of us, but he's decided that he's going to ignore that. he's going to ignore the fact that he's a third class ghunda with mobile snatching as his primary vocation. he's going to ignore the fact that he is just as khwaar as all the rest of the qaum. because he is asim bhenchod ashiq. asim bhenchod hero, asim bhenchod leader.
Saala lund.
IV
The two boys now descend
Into a fight that never ends
Between them.
They speak of women they'll never see
Of how they would seduce them in their sleep
One Day.
One speaks of the goddess Katrina
Another extols the virtues of Kareena
Ad Nauseam.
Screaming, straining, pulsing
Throbbing, lashing, excreting
Screaming, screaming, screaming.
V
EXT. EMPTY ROAD, DAY
[We track across a wide, empty road in Garden, stopping bang
in the middle of the road. there is a slight haze, and its
cloudy and cool. The two boys are on the extreme right of
the frame, under a tree. we hear them talk, but not
audibly.]
CUT TO:
CLOSE UP of ABBAS:
[Abbas suddenly whips his head around. We can hear the faint
sound of a rickshaw in the background.]
CUT TO:
CLOSE UP of ASIM:
[Asim follows suit, and instinctively, grips and squeezes
the gargantuan gun he holds.]
CUT TO:
[We return to the original shot. The boys are now getting
animated, and we see a rickshaw chugging slowly towards them
in the vast empty road.]
ABBAS:
Chal bhenchod! Aaja beta asim teri
baari aa gayee hai! Chal gushtee
kay shurroo ho ja (lets out a
stream of paan spittle)
ASIM:
Lun Pay aa...
ABBAS:
(screaming)
Kya ho gaya hai lun ke siray? Chala
goli madarchod yeh wali Katrina kay
liyain! (breaks out into maniacal
laughter)
CUT TO:
[We now split the screen, with close ups of both boys. We
see Abbas screaming as a rush of emotions wash across Asim's
face. The background music, and general sense of chaos
continues to rise, until...]
CUT TO:
[We see Asim face on, screaming loudly. He opens fire, and
holds the gun with both arms between his legs. We see
bullets pulsing out of the weapon, with Asim's body
convulsing with each release of a bullet, each burst of fire
coalescing as an other-wordly experience on his face. His
mouth hangs open, his pupils dilated, his entire being
sublimated into the gun he holds between his legs, the gun
which continues to spit out bullets...]
CUT TO:
INT. RICKSHAW, DAY
[The camera is now within the rickshaw, which is a
smouldering, burning, bleeding carcass. We see both boys in
the background, with Abbas gesticulating wildly, while Asim
stands there, spent, in a daze.]
VI
Holy shit!
I turn to Abid and ask him if he got it, and he has. And although we both know its not going to run on-air, the confirmation has me elated. i was already nursing a semi having witnessed that first hand, but this is too good.
The boys continue to stand there. The psycho who completely ravaged the rickshaw continues to stand still, while the other prances about the rickshaw. I keep wondering whether I should move or go in, but Abid keeps me in check. I want to send a message to the assignments desk, but I have no idea whether to call this one ethnic or not.
I realise that they might have the same problem too. The rickshaw driver is fair, ruddy type, but his passenger, an old woman, looks much darker. The dark boy continues to run around their smoldering bodies.
Suddenly, the killer speaks. He seems to have made up his mind and barks instructions to the other. They grab the woman, and carry her corpse to the nearby gully. The fair one then returns alone, and stands by the rickshaw which he now begins to douse in petrol.
VII
More die as violence and arson continue in Karachi
KARACHI (Staff Report): The death toll in the city rose to 85 this morning, as raging gun battles continued through out the city, with the authorities continuing to be missing from the action...
... In Garden, at least two bodies were recovered early on Saturday morning. Aasia Ahmed, a 55 year old local resident, was found dead in an alley near her home, having been shot multiple times in the head and torso. Aasia's son was an activist in the MQM, and police confirmed that her death was a target killing.
Police also recovered the body of Asfandyar Khan, a 42 year old rickshaw driver from the same vicinity. His remains were found within his rickshaw, which had been set on fire. The authorities confirmed that they were treating his death as a target killing, pointing out that several bus drivers and rickshaw drivers had been similarly burnt alive due to their ethnic origins.
