The Chickasaw Plum

Home Short Stories Poetry Articles Humor Links

Shome Dasgupta: A student in the Antioch University Los Angeles Master of Fine Arts in Creative Writing Program. His work has previously appeared in publications to include, Si Senor, Fifth Di, The Quiet Feather and Poetic Voices without Borders. The Chickasaw Plum is pleased to welcome Shome’s short story “300 Rupee” to The Chickasaw Plum.

300 RUPEES

by

Shome Dasgupta

We sat at Fluri’s, ate pastries, and sipped mango juice. My family and I took a trip to Kolkata for the winter break to visit family and friends. This was my fifth trip to India, and I enjoyed it much more than my earlier visits. I was much older than I was during me previous trips, and this allowed me to appreciate my homeland and learn things about my family history as well as my country’s history. My parents and I went shopping for the day after a couple of days of visiting cousins and close friends. We all needed to rest our feet from walking to several shops. The incense lit in most of the stores made me dizzy, and a trip to the pastry store was a perfect place to rest. After my parents finished their teas, they decided to look at some of the surrounding shops to buy gifts for our friends in America. I told them I would remain in Fluri’s to either read or write while they shopped. When they were done, they would come back to get me, and we would go back to my grandfather’s house for dinner. Most of the stores in Kolkata usually kept their doors open. Even though it was winter, it was still quite hot in India. This brought in the menacing mosquitoes. For some reason, I never saw them bother any of the Kolkatans. They had become almost like friends and neighbors to the

insects, but the mosquitoes knew that I did not live in India and decided to taste my blood. Luckily, Fluri’s kept their doors closed, so the blood-seekers could not bite me. I pulled out my notepad and began to write some lines for a possible poem I wanted to give to my grandfather.

After a few scribbles a man came and sat at my table. This was common in Kolkata, as I was sure it was common in other big cities. Before, it would really bother or scare me when strangers sat with me. I did not mind it this time as I had become accustomed to such occurrences. I nodded my head and smiled at the man, and he smiled back as he swirled the sugar and cream in his cup of tea. I continued to think of some more lines when I noticed that the man kept looking at me. He seemed to never move his eyes away from me. I looked at him again and noticed his aged features- the crinkles in his skin, the few teeth he had left were black and crooked, and his eyes were red and yellow. He had his gray hair slicked back, which revealed some scars on his forehead- they looked like some burn marks. He wore torn sandals, and a brown T-shirt, which I assumed was originally white. He looked at my shoes and then my hair.

“Tom Cruise,” he said. “Tom Cruise. You know?”

“No,” I replied. “I don’t know him. But I’ve seen him in a few movies.”

“Tom Cruise. Top Gun.”

“Yes,” I replied. “That was a fun movie.”

“Top Gun,” he repeated. “You don’t know Tom Cruise?”

I nodded my head. He looked at my shoes, then my hair, and then gave a big smile. He tilted his head towards me as I sipped my mango juice. I looked at the ceiling fan which moved slowly, but enough to circulate some air. I wiped the back of my neck with my napkin and thought about standing outside or moving to another seat. As I stood, he put his hand on my shoulder and I sat down again.

“Top Gun. Guns, missiles, everything. America is great, powerful.”

“It’s a nice country,” I replied.

“President of the United States of America. President America. You know?”

I don’t know him personally.”

“President of the United States of America. Top Gun.”

“No. I don’t think the President was in Top Gun.”

“You want bomb?” he asked.

“Excuse me?”

“You want bomb. I give you bomb, missiles, anything you want. Tell President America, I give him explosives.”

I looked around the store to make sure no one else heard what he was saying.

“No,” I said. “He doesn’t want any of that. I don’t even know him.”

I shut my notepad and put my pen in my pocket. The man was scaring me, so I stood up again and decided to wait for my parents outside the pastry store. He grabbed my arm before I could walk away.

“Tell Top Gun,” he said. “I give him missiles. Very powerful. You take me there. I work there and I give him bomb. I leave here. Work in America for bomb.”

“I can’t do that,” I replied.

“I good worker. Take me. I give you bombs and missiles. America great.”

“Let go of my arm,” I said. “Stop it.”

He would not release his grasp. As I spoke louder and told the man to let me go, a crowd formed around us to see what was happening. The man smiled and looked at the other people.

“Top Gun,” he said. “President.”

He began to chant.

“President Top Gun,” he said. “Top Gun, America, Top Gun, America, Top Gun, America.”

His chants became louder and louder. Abruptly, the man told everyone to leave and be quiet, and the crowd walked away. They carried on with either purchasing or eating pastries. He looked at my shoes and continued to smile.

“I go America,” he said. “I Top Gun. I give missiles and bombs. You take me there. America great.”

I saw my parents walk through the door. I pushed his arm off and began to walk way.

“300 Rupees for shoes,” the man said. “300 Rupees for shoes.”

“They’re not for sale,” I said. “I need them to walk.”

The man smiled and nodded his head. He had a gleam in his eyes as he ran his hand through his oily gray hair.

“America,” he said. “300 Rupees.”

I walked out the door with my parents.

The Chickasaw Plum - Volume III - Number 3 - March 2006

Home Short Stories Poetry Articles Humor Links