episode 1
PPD and the Guest met up at exactly 9.30am at the signal outside BnB (call it what you may).
They looked way older than when they had first met. PPD walked with a slight limp, (sustained in the most embarassing way: while installing an IKEA sofa many years before), his hair now almost entirely grey. The Guest's mouth now turned downward, age and gravity pulling her skin persistently to the ground, her hands were heavily wrinkled from overuse, and she seemed worn down by years of worry, about children, patients, animals etc. Yet they both wore a look of dogged determination. "Are we sure we wanna do this?" asked PPD, tentatively. "One hundred percent," said the Guest, with her usual reckless confidence.
The train pulled into chug chug land at 9.34am and they climbed into the peculiar looking contraption. "Kuri petya kariv band." said a posh-sounding lady in Kashmiri. The Guest looked quizzically at PPD. "Fasten your seatbelt," he translated for her. She pulled the heavy metal bar that hung overhead. It strapped down snuggly over her tummy. A bit too snug. "If we fall forwards, it'll press my abdominal aorta!" said the Guest worriedly. "This was your smart idea!" pointed out PPD curtly. "If it was upto me, I would be sitting on my verandah, drinking chai, tandoori bread and soaking in the peace."
"I'm full of bright ideas!" rationalised the Guest, trying to justify this latest one. PPD had been subject to many of her light bulb moments. He had gone to Palestine with her for her 50th birthday on a mission. He had gone bald with her when they donated their hair to cancer charities. (She had looked hideously androgenous, he just looked like a bald man). He had taken guitar lessons from Winston Sir at her recommendation. "And weren't they all stellar ideas?" she gestured, spreading her palms out while stating the obvious. "They weren't terrible," he agreed, "but this one is dangerous." "Stop being a darpoke," she said. Slow poke, fast poke, darpoke. (PPD was a darpoke. The Guest was a fast poke. Jaffer Sura was a slow poke.) Don't ask who Jaffer Sura is dear reader, this blog entry will not end! S L O W P O K E
The Guest looked a bit motion sick when the train began moving. It wasn't shaped like a regular train, with its oblong beetle shaped front engine, it's solar panel on the roof and the absence of any wires from the top, made it seems even more uncontrollable. "Lanchanis taiyar gachiv" said the lady. "لانچنس تیار گچھیو" FLASHED IN NEON in front of them.
Tre----zhi----akh---
The Guest squeezed her eyes shut and grabbed PPD's pinky finger. PPD winced as she pinched him hard, and pushed his back further into his seat to sustain the G forces. Whooooooooooosh They spiralled into space at break neck speed. PPD felt the folds of his face flap against his head as his neck strained to stay upright and facing forward. He cast a quick glance at the Guest. Her face looked lopsided and twisted, her eyes shut so tight, they seemed to disappear into her sockets.
"D are you ok?" he shouted, but his voice got sucked into a vacuum as they spiralled to the vortex. PPD's last thought was that, it was possible the Guest had died, what an absolutely terrible idea this was, he was absolutely NEVER going to let her decide anything, every again, before everything around him turned black.
------------ to be continued