Onion
Archana Ravindra
“So I murdered a fellow today,” he said. “And no cop will ever follow up on it,” he added. “That’s what they all think,” I assured him, but to no avail. He was certain with a certainty I could never match with all my rationality. “So you see - ” he started off. And I could not do anything but listen. Hoping to keep at it. Hoping to keep to the end. Hoping to realise the end, when, or if, it did come. *** I went to the store today. A small clothing store. As you know, it is Tuesday today. It was a little after noon too. The moment I entered the shop, I could tell what each of them had had for lunch. The owner’s burp told me the sophisticated story of a meat dish, because that’s the kind of trace onions leave. And onions always mean meat. I mean, could you imagine eating something vegetarian and smelling of onions? What would be the point, chance or effect of that? You tell me and I’ll try to believe it. You see, I want to believe it. I very much do. You only have to make me. So while you figure out a way to do this, let me tell you that I went to this small clothing store with its people whose bellies and eyes were full. I am looking for a white shirt, I told the man who paid the least attention to me, out of everyone else at the shop. For a whole minute or so, I heard and saw nothing interesting at all. And then, the shock of my life! The gnat had come up with a pristine white coloured shirt. Pure white. Soft texture. Airy looking. Reasonably priced too! The nerve of this leech! How could he not understand? 14
Yours Truly
