Uncle Veloo has a restaurant up Boogaloo Street which serves the best mutton vindaloo in the country. Today, Uncle Veloo has a visitor. His niece Letchoomi.
They are in the kitchen. Letchoomi is learning about the restaurant business, hoping one day that Uncle Veloo will pass on his chain of restaurants to her. Not that Uncle Veloo has no children of his own - he has 6 sons and 1 very precious granddaughter, Anjooli. Letchoomi is undaunted. She has her little ways to get what she wants. She learnt this when she was 14. A luscious 14 year old if ever there was one in our town. Quite the Lolita our Letchoomi was. Her first target was her stepfather whom she calls "Mr Buttons" to her friends - based on the size of his lil' knob. It was so small it looked like a button she swears to her friends at school. Perhaps its deformed she thought when she first saw it. After all, Mr Buttons was based in Iraq when those bloody Americans first attacked Iraq 15 years ago. It must be from drinking the water contaminated with depleted uranium. Poor Mr Buttons... she had to muster as much enthusiasm as she could when she was with him even though she could hardly feel anything. When he left her room, she had to finish the job herself with the school flute. Just as well she was a member of the school orchestra. She has fond memories of the school flute. It was unfortunate that she had to return it to the school when she left the orchestra.
And how did a 14 year old learn the art of seducing men? you may ask. She watched a lot of MTV. All those hot chicks in tight pink hot pants with half their apple butts sticking out whilst gyrating and rubbing themselves up against some black geezer in an all pink velvet suit, his neck weighed down by the chunky bling blings with the obligatory large diamond encrusted dollar sign pendant.
Yes, little luscious Letchoomi shuttled straight from childhood to womanhood, by passing being an average teenager altogether. Now at 18, she is the luscious, lascivious, licentious, lubricious Letchoomi - the curse of the double-O family. Let us now move on from my unhealthy obsession with the "L" word. Uncle Veloo is not quite the libertine but there are spurts of libidinous activity spattered indiscriminately in his otherwise dull vindaloo life. (As you can see, I'm still trying to wean myself off the "L" word).
And now back in the kitchen with Letchoomi, Uncle Veloo is watching Letchoomi intensely, the heat of the afternoon mingled with the mutton vindaloo he consumed for lunch causing a slow burning sensation to seep to his loins. He feels Mootoo stirring in his pants. Mootoo, is the affectionate pet name given to his crown jewels by his wife. "My little Mootoo", she would purr lovingly before she takes him into her mouth claiming he tastes of her favourite mutton vindaloo. Letchoomi does not realise she has a formidable task ahead, wresting Uncle Veloo's affections from his deceptively dull looking wife.
Letchoomi continues kneading the dough, leaning forward, bending over slightly above the dough, pretending to be oblivious to Uncle Veloo's enraptured gaze. She has chosen her attire for the day carefully. A traditional saree. You may think that it is pretty inconvenient to wear a saree when one is planning to spend a day helping out in the kitchen of a busy restaurant. But Letchoomi has studied her prey well. This is a man who fantasises about deflowering a young village vestal virgin. The saree depicts her as a girl with traditional values and yet, it has many advantages. Wear a saree blouse which is a little too tight and tie your saree skirt a little too low below your navel ... et voila, you have the desired effect of portraying innocence & naivety and yet, at the same time, exuding a strong sensual appeal.
Uncle Veloo's eyes follows the drop of sweat trickling down Letchoomi's neck, tracing its way down the cinnamon tinged skin of her bosom and finding its way into the deep cleavage at the center. A sigh escapes Uncle Veloo - how clever a drop of water can be, he thinks to himself. His eyes then dart to a sudden flash of pink. In her vigorous act of kneading, her hot pink bra strap peeks out of the striking lime green tight saree blouse. Letchoomi leans further forward over the dough. Uncle Veloo can now catch a glimpse of the hot pink lace. He feels a sudden stab of irrational jealousy against this offensive material. How can such a delicate inconsequential piece of material be entrusted with such an enviable task? To spend the entire day encasing and cupping the luscious breasts of his Letchoomi. Yes, he had decided at that moment, to make Letchoomi his.
His eyes take note of the damp patch slowly spreading out on the underarm of Letchoomi's tight lime green saree blouse. Uncle Veloo likes a woman with a sweaty armpit. He breathes in deeply, wondering what it would smell like if he buried his nose into that damp patch. He imagines it to be similar to the smell of chopped garlic thrown into a pan of hot ghee as it is just turning brown. Yes, that would be perfect he sighed.
Little Mootoo is little no more. Straining within the confines of Uncle Veloo's used-to-be-white Crocodile briefs which now morphs into a cruel prison - Mootoo's very own Guantanamo Bay. Uncle Veloo's own sharp voice abruptly breaks the silence of the hot lazy afternoon, startling himself from his reverie. He commands Letchoomi to take herself to the room upstairs to change into something more comfortable for kitchen work - claiming that her saree might catch fire from the nearby stove if she was careless.
Letchoomi quickly obeys her uncle's command, hiding a smile. She runs up the stairs flushed with excitement. Playing the game of seduced village vestal virgin is rather exciting. It takes skill to perfect it and our Letchoomi has perfected it to an art for she has played this role many times. She would be the dream actress of any Tamil movie director with her long dark tresses tied in a plait and her charcoal eyes framed by those thick dark lashes.
She unravels her burnt orange saree and was in the midst of unbuttoning her lime green saree blouse when Uncle Veloo burst into the room, driven by his lust, driven by Mootoo who has now taken over his thinking process. He rips off the lime green blouse, hesitates slightly before throwing the garment to the floor. He was half tempted to smother his face into the wet underarm patch of the garment but one must not linger on trifles when one is about to deflower a virgin. He glares at the offending hot pink lace material still guarding her breasts protectively. He barks orders for her to remove them. You may wonder at his lack of finesse in the art of seducing a young virgin. But Uncle Veloo understands only too well that one must take charge like a commander of troops in these situations. To ply her open with gentle words and caresses would put her in a dilemma - forcing her to take responsibility for her actions and thereafter deal with her ensuing guilt and shame that she has succumbed to temptation. It is best to dominate and let her feel that she had no choice in the matter. This is a very dangerous game to play as there is a thin line between this act of domination & submission and rape. Uncle Veloo could sense from the way Letchoomi's pupils were dilated that she was excited, that she welcomed him, that there is consent...
He quickly removes his shirt and pants, leaving his Pagoda singlet and Crocodile briefs, which by the way, he has been wearing for the past 3 days, only turning the briefs inside out when it got too damp yesterday afternoon. He pushes Letchoomi onto the nearby bed and hovers over her, commanding her to look at him as he peels off his Crocodile briefs.
Oh what joy Mootoo felt, released from the filthy confines of his own Guantanamo Bay, no longer a suspected Al Qaeda member. But wait, what is happening to him ?? .... Mootoo screams in horror, the silent scream of one who has no voice of his own to be heard but we can nevertheless hear his awful screams in our thoughts and shudder at its horror. Uncle Veloo has taken the role of Lieutenant Colonel Nathan Sassaman, the evil commander of the U.S. Army Fourth Infantry Divisions 1-8 battalion who is well known for having his Iraqi prisoners wrapped up tightly in barbed wire. The engorged Mootoo is now tightly wrapped in rubber sheath. "Made in Malaysia" says the torn golden foil wrapper thrown carelessly on the floor. Mootoo is screaming for Amnesty International to bombard Uncle Veloo with letters demanding his immediate release. What kind of man conquers his vestal village virgin in protective gear??? he screams at the injustice.
Whilst this battle between Uncle Veloo and Mootoo ensues for a few seconds, Letchoomi reaches down and surreptitiously removes her own protective gear and drops it carefully onto the floor. It is that time of the month for her. You may think this is most unfortunate for her but our Letchoomi has planned this with the precision of a CIA agent embarking on a covert operation. Uncle Veloo will expect to see blood and blood he will see.
Without much ado, Uncle Veloo plunges the still protesting Mootoo into Letchoomi. Letchoomi lets out the desired whimper of fear and pain (all an adept act of pretense on her part). She found difficulty concentrating on her role in the game as she is distracted by Uncle Veloo's frayed Pagoda singlet which has seen better days. (Mootoo is also not quite enjoying his role in his deep sea diving outfit.) There are several holes in the Pagoda singlet where Uncle Veloo's thick unruly chest hair has managed to spring out of, struggling to escape. Imprisoned without a fair trial. These rebellious insurgents who have sprung out of Uncle Veloo's Pagoda singlet are creating havoc on Letchoomi's delicate cinnamon tinged skin, acting like an abrasive loofah, causing her skin to burn. Letchoomi notices that the singlet is mouldy green at his underarms. What kind of wife would let her husband walk around clad in such filth she wondered. Why can't Auntie Roopah wash her husband's undergarments properly or throw them away before they deteriorate to such dismal conditions, cultivating a funghi plantation on their own accord. There is just too much anarchy going on, she thinks to herself, on Uncle Veloo's complicated body - presenting a whole continent by itself, full of rebellious inhabitants.
Indeed, what kind of woman is Auntie Roopah, you wonder. She is the sturdy, strong, dependable type of woman. Strong and reliable. Yes she sounds like an advert for Standard Chartered Bank. She is the kind of person you would send to your borders to defend your country should a skirmish occur with a neighbouring country. You would feel safe with Auntie Roopah guarding your borders. She is the glue which binds the family together. Not the weak, easily distracted Uncle Veloo whose only love is his grand daughter Anjooli and his mutton vindaloo - not particularly in that order of priority.
The whole deflowering process did not last very long. There is no reason to linger. One cannot evoke pleasure from the recently deflowered. It is an act of dominance and submission. Uncle Veloo's "Shock & Awe" treatment specially reserved for vestal village virgins (if he could find any!). Yes, Uncle Veloo watches too much CNN. He should be dragged to the town square and flogged in public. But one suspects that he might enjoy that too much. He rolls off the bed, still in his Pagoda singlet, carrying its own horticultural lifeform, to head for the bathroom. He steps on something warm and moist. He looks down at his right foot. All he could make out is something partly white, mostly covered with blood, its limp white tail visible from the other side of his foot. Uncle Veloo lifts his foot in horror, not wanting to look down at the squashed object as he rushes to the bathroom to wash the blood off his body and his foot.
Back in the kitchen, Uncle Veloo is in the midst of cooking mutton vindaloo. Cooking is the only thing that can calm his nerves. Uncle Veloo is racked with guilt and full of remorse. How is he going to tell little Anjooli that he has stepped on, squashed and killed her pet white mouse, General Noosh???
Meanwhile, in the room upstairs, Letchoomi picks up the squashed bloodied object off the floor by its tail and flushes it down the loo. Her game is up, she thinks to herself. Uncle Veloo has discovered her farce.
Uncle Veloo had stepped on and squashed her earlier discarded .... super tampon...