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This story was written by Arun Rajappa in response to the following prompt:
The Third-Person Me. Write a portrait of yourself in the third person.
by Arun Rajappa
I got his pictures on WhatsApp, an address, and a name. Arun Rajappa. Must be 40, 45? Short hair, black. Maybe hair loss? He has a smile on his face, and dimples. That and the look in his eyes make him seem younger.
My phone buzzes. Rs. 1 lakh in my Google Pay account. Mr. Arun will have to die, dimples or no dimples. I’ve taken supari.
-
I am at his apartment complex. He lives in house number 13. Unlucky, very unlucky number. I stand below, fiddling with boxes, dressed as an Amazon delivery boy. I see him in the balcony on the phone, walking here and there, talking loudly. He has a serious voice, some office call. His dog is always in the balcony, white dog, small. It barks too much. I don’t like it. I send a message on WhatsApp, “Mein kutta bhi saat mein free deta tereku, buy 1 get 1 offer, samjha.”
Today, he stayed at home all day, except for three visits to the balcony. First time was 11:00 in the morning, office call. Then was 5:00 pm with his wife, they drank tea. I couldn’t see her face, he was standing next to her all the time, talking, talking. Then at 6:30 he came to hang his towel out to dry. Then security asked me to leave because of lockdown restrictions.
How can one take supari in lockdown, tell me?
-
Today I came in dressed as a maali. They are allowing watering of plants in the morning, so I can come early. At 5:30 am I saw him in the balcony, drinking coffee. I think he has sleeping problem, he looked tired and was walking without energy.
Then at 7:30 am some milk delivery came to the apartment complex gate and I saw him close by for the first time. He is maybe 5’10” or so. He is not fair, but not very dark also – medium. It looks like he has put on weight recently, in the lockdown. He must be 75-80 kg? He walked slowly to the gate, his slippers were old and tearing. I think he would have bought new slippers if the lockdown hadn’t been there.
On the way back, he walked by the park where I was pretending to water the plants. He smiled at me, and said “Ae Maali, no water coming, paani nahi aara.” I just smiled at him and nodded. I could have finished him off then, but my hands were all caught up in the plastic watering tubes. His voice was different now, kind, a little high-pitched. He was wearing a black face-mask and spectacles. He didn’t have specs in the photos they sent me, idiots should have told that he is chashmish, no?
At 10:15 am I almost missed him. He drove out in his car and I saw him just as he sped by. I decided to finish him off when he came back. I hid in the basement, where his parking spot was. It was a good spot, dark and nobody coming and going.
He came back at 11:30. He got out of his car with three plastic bags full of groceries. I reached back behind me to get my gun out from under my shirt. Just then, one of his plastic bags tore and some potatoes came rolling out of them to me.
“Ae Maali, tum? Help kar na”, he said, kind voice, and put down his bags. He himself got onto the floor on his knees and started searching for a potato that had rolled under his car. How can I finish him like that, tell me?
I pushed my gun back into my belt. I knelt, picked up the potatoes, and gave them to him. He smiled at me. Dimples.
“If he gives me money now for helping, I’ll strangle him,” I thought. I have a bad attitude towards charity. He reached into his bag and took out a mango. “Ye le, hapus. Thank you, haan?” I love hapus, alphonso mangoes. I took the mango from him, muttered under my breath, and walked away fast.
Rest of the day he didn’t come out. I ate the mango: it was sweet and juicy. If I don’t finish him now, bhai will finish me. I can’t return the money also. What to do? Better to finish him off. His death wasn’t written for today, but tomorrow he will die.
-
I couldn’t sleep. I tossed and turned. He seems like a good man, kind. He must have been in Mumbai once, otherwise he won’t say batata, hapus. I am also from Mumbai. I woke up early. I thought, “I’ll go and knock on the door and will stab him when he comes to open the door.” But then I thought, “Dog may bark and wake up everyone, too dangerous.”
So, I dressed up as maali again and went to the basement. If he takes his car out today, this is the best spot to finish him off. I crouched in front of the car. When he is getting into the car I’ll get up and shoot him in the face.
But no. He came with his dog in his arms. He got in from the back door, and spent time patting the dog and settling her. I got up, I had my gun in my hand, but I couldn’t get a clear shot at him, the front seats were in the way. The back door was open, so I couldn’t even go past him and shoot. From here, I only could get a clear shot of his arse.
I crouched again and thought, “When he gets out and shuts the back door, I’ll shoot him.” But he just shut the back door from inside and got into the driver seat from between the two front seats. Because he has put on weight, he struggled between the seats. I saw him and had a clear shot, but who can shoot somebody who is stuck between car seats, tell me?
He then started the car, and bastard, he doesn’t know how to drive only. Instead of reverse, he put his car in first gear. The car jumped and hit me with a thud. I fell down, stunned, my knee twisted and bent. He jumped out of the car, and said “Ae, maali, tum? Theek hai na, yahan kya kar raha tha?”. He took out a water bottle and poured water on my face. His kutiya kept barking all the time.
Security is coming running now. I don’t think I will finish off Mr. Arun Rajappa. He is too kind and too clumsy to die from supari.
***
Arun Rajappa is a product manager at Microsoft. He loves baking, the feeling of being fit, and the idea of being a writer. He is struggling to keep a gluten-free diet, walk 100 steps a day, and write more than just emails. Arun keeps a low profile to avoid the taunts of liberal, secular, and humanist.
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