Londonstani - Gautam Malkani

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coconut’s choice was the wrong choice. In’t no desi needin to kiss the white man’s butt these days an you definitely don’t need to actually act like a gora. Fuckin bhanchod. Din’t matter what you called them. Coconuts, Bounty bars, Oreo biscuits or any other fuckin food that was white on the inside. Good desi boys who din’t ever cause no trouble. But how many a them’ll still be here in Hounslow in ten years’ time, workin in Heathrow fuckin airport helpin goras catch planes to places so they could turn their own skin brown? No fuckin way I was gonna be hangin round with them saps no more, with those gimpy glasses I used to wear, my drainpipe trousers an my batty books. Fuck that shit. I looked out the car window again to see if I could see any a them saps. See how far I’d come. Weren’t none around though, must’ve all been in lessons. You could play spot the sap in Hounslow these days just like when we went to Southall one time to play spot the gora. As Hardjit once said, any desi round here deciding they din’t wanna be part a the bredren was a bit like some cat barking with the bitches stead a meowing. Complete fuckin pussy, you get me?

      We park up behind Davinder’s Johnny Depp on the single yellow line right outside Nando’s. He got out soon as he saw us an started pointing at his Cartier watch.— Kiddaan, pehndus? Where u been? We’s been waitin half an hour 4 yo asses. Wat da fuck is dis? I a busy man, innit.

      The we referred to his mate Jaswinder, this tall, fat guy who was built like Hardjit an who was lockin up Davinder’s car. Jaswinder never said much. Probly the only time he’d ever spoke to me was when he told me he was pissed off I’d got the nickname Jas. You can be called Jas too, I’d said. Don’t be stupid, he’d said. It’s bad enough havin so many desis at school with the same names, it’d be stupid havin two people in the same class with the same fuckin nickname. I din’t argue with him, mostly cos Jaswinder at least had an easy surname - Singh. Me, I had one a them extra long surnames that nobody’d ever pronounce proply. All my teachers in all my lessons had always got it wrong when they called out the register an even my mum an dad pronounced it the wrong way. Matter a fact I in’t even gonna tell it to you it’s so fuckin shameful.

      —Safe, blud, ma bad we late, Hardjit goes to Davinder,— but we had some business 2 sort on da way, innit. U know wat it’s like, bruv.

      —Dat’s safe, but jus call me next time cos if I ain’t mistaken u got some lucrative business here too, innit.

      Davinder smiled as he said that. He was easily the most loaded guy for his age we knew, an he knew it too. Stridin around wearin his Swarovski-studded medallion with the letter D on it - the kind that Usher wears, except his is a U an is made a ice. Even when we was all at school, way back before he’d set up his business dealings, Davinder’d got his own business cards printed. Davinder Singh, AKA - Acquirer a Knowledge an Assets.

      Amit joined the others as they started walkin towards Nando’s when suddenly Davinder turned round to face the Beemer again, checkin out the engine grille as if he saw faces too.

      —Ik minute, I got me one question bout dis ride I been meanin 2 aks u bredrens 4 time now.

      —Look, don’t b sayin shit bout ma car, man. Da car in’t slow, Ravi said.— I din’t realise we was in a muthafuckin race.

      —Nah, chill, dat shit’s history, Davinder said, pointing at the licence plate.— Wat I want’d 2 aks u is who da fuck is K4V1TA?

      —It’s my mum a course, said Ravi.— Da Beemer belongs to her, innit.

       3

      The Beemer’s closed windows couldn’t block the smell a spicy periperi chicken. While the other guys were gettin stuck into stuffin their faces inside Nando’s, I was stuck in the car with the DMX CD an a copy a some tutty Bollywood magazine for company. I couldn’t be around when they did a business deal with Davinder, you see. He’d have problems with it. Problem number one: the cars might get parking tickets if nobody kept watch. Problem number two: the fewer a us that huddled round a rucksack full a Davinder’s merchandise, the less attention we’d attract. Problem number three: motherfuckin me.

      Davinder’d got beef with me since before our GCSEs. Since right back when we was in year seven an every time he passed me in the school corridors between lessons he’d, like, punch me in the face. I couldn’t ever see him coming either cos a all the Nike an Adidas rucksacks in my face. Then suddenly one a them rucksacks would turn into a fist. I in’t sure there was any specific reason for his beef with me. It was just all the usual things. The things bout me that Hardjit’d told Amit an Ravi to just allow. Things like I was a ponce, I acted an sounded like a batty, I was a skinny wimp, I was embarrassin to have around if ladies came by, I wore crap clothes, I used to have braces on both my upper an lower teeth, I’d read too many books, I walked like a fool, I had this annoyin habit a sniffin all the time, I couldn’t usually talk proply an even when I did I couldn’t ever say the right thing. Basically I was just generally a khota, like that coconut we’d seen earlier today except I din’t even have my own car. Hardjit’d stuck up for me like he always did. One time I heard him say,— Look, Davinder, if I b sayin Jas is safe then da boy is safe, u get me? In the end, Davinder’d said he din’t mind that I was part a Hardjit’s crew, but if that meant he had to hang around with me too then he’d rather take his merchandise somewhere else. Thing is, if people like Davinder hadn’t laid into me so much all the time, Hardjit’d never have started stickin up for me in the first place. An if he’d never stuck up for me, I’d probly never’ve become part a his crew. At first I figured the only reason he’d started backing me up was so he could act like Shah Rukh Khan in front a all the ladies. The Bollywood hero always takes care a the underdog, you see. Only difference was Hardjit din’t like takin no glory for stickin up for me. He din’t even like it whenever I thanked him for doing so. I reckon he was basically so freaked out by how gimpy I was that he felt he’d got to cure me. Like those people who are so homophobic that stead a beatin gay guys shitless, they actually try an turn em into straight guys.

      The first time Hardjit ever backed me up was after I walked into a spare classroom one time. Room 418. We weren’t really allowed in 418 cos it’d been vandalised so much, but that meant I could usually be by myself in there at break times. One time, though, I walk in an I find Davinder sittin inside there with his tongue sittin inside some girl’s throat. She must’ve been from Green School, Brentford School or one a the other girls’ schools round here. I apologised for the interruption (I was really good at apologising in them days) but couldn’t bring myself to leave cos, well, she was fit. An her school blouse was half open. It was one a those plunge bras, with a tiny little bow between the white lace cups, probly underwired an with satin padding along the bottom. Davinder carefully removed his tongue an turned to me.— D’ya wanna watch? Dis is probly da closest a fuckin sap like u’ll ever get 2 kissin a lady, he goes as he put his hands on the lace straps to stop her buttoning up her blouse. —So why not pull up a fuckin chair, my friend.

      Davinder’s words had their desired effect by makin him look tough in front a the girl. She rewarded him by crackin up as if he’d just told the funniest joke in the whole wide world an so he continued: — Look, let me explain: u put yo tongue inside her mouth like dis. See? U don’t kiss her on da mouth, u kiss her in da mouth. Da tongue knows wat it’s doin. But in’t no bitch gonna get wid’chyu anyway cos u ugly n u stink.

      I wanted to stand up for myself but what do you say to something like that? Do you tell him that actually I in’t that ugly? That, OK, maybe my hair might’ve been too thick to style proply, but ever since I’d got it cut short an started stickin L’Oréal wax in it a couple a people had said I looked a little like Justin Timberlake, only skinnier. Before I could even begin, Davinder’d started rinsin me for staring at the girl’s still-open blouse until finally I turned to leave havin not said a single fuckin word.

      —Check da gimpy way he walks away. A sap like dat’ll only ever b kissin himself.

      —U gots 2 stick up 4 yo’self, Hardjit said, makin me jump as I shut the classroom door behind me.— Read da situation, man. Davinder’s too busy wid his

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