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| January 02, 2004
, 7:51 PM |
The Legend of Kazawanga.
The day will be well remembered, the day Kazawanga came to town. With droopy shoulders under a moth eaten hat he walked tripping over himself with a grin which can almost be described as a leer for one and all that crossed his path to interrupt his incessant tripping over and sometimes facilitating it. Kazawanga appeared a drunk. It has been argued later when other things came to light, if it were drugs he was on. But the truth was Kazawanga had as a baby fallen several times on his head. The effect had been permanent.
Kazawanga amongst his repertoire of distinct mannerisms had one that stood out. He was a grinner par excellence. He grinned at everyone who he came across. On occasions when he omitted to do so he was filled with a very strong urge to bash the other person’s head in. Past experiences had taught him that it was better to grin than take a beating and it was a lesson that he had strictly adhered to. Kazawanga walked into the first pharmacy he came across. It was that time of the day when he needed his Peppito Bismol to make his trip to the men’s room. Owning to a vacant vacillation that had taken up all his thoughts he had used up his entire stock of Peppito Bismol a couple of days earlier. His last room in St.Vincent’s Hostel for Debilitated Beings carries lasting scars of these excesses.
Earlier I had mentioned that Kazawanga had a grin that bordered on a leer. In saying that I have not presented all the facts before you, so let me describe this one characteristic that will effect all events to come in no indistinct manner. Kazawanga’s smile had the quality of conveying a sinister “I knowest of thy skeletons in the closet” meaning. Many a passerby has paled underneath it. People with characters like the driven snow (a sum total of two he had come across) had paled and wondered if they had forgot to flush the toilet after use.
Kazawanga presented this charming grin now to the pharmacist a man with nine children with pimples, a large plump wife who had the habit of hitting him over the head with a rolling pin when agitated and another woman the pharmacist made visits to on national holidays.
Pointing to a bottle of Peppito Bismol on the shelf Kazawanga grinned again overcoming the strong urge to hit the man over the head.
“Sure” the pharmacist (named Dudley) said. “I use it myself. It is very good use it the morning though. Not good at night. Keeps one awake.”
Kazawanga grunted as it was habit to do so when addressed with sentences too complicated for comprehension. As he was trying to make out the difference between the different bills he fished out of his pocket, a woman of small proportions walked in. This woman was small in very aspect, about five feet in height and had the look of a hunted mouse about her, no doubt acquired over years of breeding mice.
Kazawanga grinned at her just in time to fight the urge. Another nanosecond and he would have hit her over the head. Then he looked at the pharmacist and grinned at him as he handed over a ten dollar bill under the impression that it was a one dollar bill. He grinned at the woman again as another urge attacked. Both the man and woman paled. The woman looked more like a hunted mouse than ever.
“Er” said the pharmacist
“Er” said the woman
Kazawanga grunted gratefully, the grin still plastered to his face driving another pang of fear through both the man and woman.
“Listen you can’t do this to me.” The pharmacist said.
“Yes please. You have no idea what will happen if she gets to know” the woman squeaked.
“Grunt. Grunt” said Kazawanga. People talked too much nowadays he thought woefully.
“I think he wants something in return” the woman piped.
The pharmacist after rummaging through his cash register, his pockets and the woman’s purse in that order said “Listen here is about a thousand dollars. Could you please keep this to yourself”.
Kazawanga was only aware of a throbbing sensation in his head. He grinned at the man as he looked at the money. Some nameless instinct told him to take what the man was offering. So he snatched at the money, pocketed it and walked out scaring with his grin a little boy who walked in.
Signs of relief were visible on the faces of the man and woman.
Kazawanga needed his supply of Peppito Bismol every month….and thus started a beautiful relationship between the Pharmacist and Kazawanga.
Now Kazawanga was no loner but as a child he was told not to speak to strangers. Being the dutiful person he was and owing to his father’s nose he always made it a point to follow instructions to the letter. The story of his father’s nose will be visited at a later point of time because now I have to unravel the mystery that shrouds the name “Kazawanga”.
Kazawanga’s father was a comedian and on the afternoon Kazawanga was born he had had a fight with a fast food cart owner of uncertain origin due to a difference in the money he possessed and the bill. After taking a good beating he walked into the hospital with a bloodied nose and several dark bruises in all the wrong places. Kazawanga had already been born by the time he arrived and his wife was fast asleep due to the intensive labors taken up by the endeavor. The nurse informed him and offered to walk him to the place Kazawanga was kept along with the now supine mother.
Kazawanga’s father was still seething with anger. And since humor being the only form of revenge he knew, was busy formulating a dirty joke on the food cart owner…but he couldn’t remember the name. The dull throbbing in the head wasn’t much help. Eventually and uneventfully they (the father and the nurse) reached Kazawanga's room.
The nurse being a highly efficient woman set about completing the necessary paperwork. “What do you want to Name him?” she asked her pen poised over an official looking document. Kazawanga’s father wasn’t paying much attention. “Kazawanga” the father ejaculated as he suddenly remembered the name of the Ethiopian Food cart owner. The name was recorded to posterity and the nurse left him to gaze at the wonder of an enormously ugly child.
Later when the parents found out the name they tried to get it changed but they were needed to file an application for a change of name at the local court. A clerk took it, stamped it and used it wipe himself after lunch. The legal system took care of the rest. The name stuck. The parents never had any more children owing to some complications that developed from the beating Kazawanga’s father took.
….to be continued.
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