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Diary of a Beardless Rumi - A Kiss from India

Diary of a Beardless Rumi - A Kiss from India

Issue 77 February 2011

It’s been a while since I made my last entry. That’s no excuse for a Spiritual Man because, as everyone knows, spiritual men have discipline gushing out of every hole in their body. But you should know this: if you want to get a spiritual experience then home is most definitely not the place to be.

 For a start, people here make so much noise, and there are so many people. In the last year, Aboo’s four brothers have moved to the area. If my uncles aren’t in the house, then it’s my aunties, and if it’s not the aunties then it’s their sons and daughters. It is totally crazy the number of relatives that come in and out of our house. I’m afraid to lift up a toilet seat just in case a relative will pop out.

 My uncles are the worst though. They keep wanting a massage. Every time I walk through the living room they’re always lying on the sofa, and as soon as they see me they groan like they’ve just climbed the Himalayas and demand a massage. But the stupid thing is they don’t want a massage like sane people do. They want me to walk up and down their horizontal bodies reciting a surah from the Qur’an. Because they’re so fat, I keep losing my balance and end up falling flat on my face every single time.

 Now, the worst thing about wanting a spiritual experience is you don’t know where to look. It’s not like when Aboo does his shopping in the Pound Shop where everything is labelled.  Last week when I went with him I asked him how to get a spiritual experience but he slapped me around the head a few times and told me never to think of alcohol again. He thought the word spiritual came from the word spirits, which he assumed meant alcohol. I guess education in the village of Aima Bhutt (where my family came from) is simply not what it used to be. But I don’t think it was all that much in the first place.

 When I got home that day I lay down on the sofa, as I was still feeling slightly dizzy. The TV was on. They were showing a queue that was miles and miles long. It was in India or Pakistan. That much you could tell for certain. The cameraman kept zooming in on the cow dung like he’d never seen it before in his life. In any case, all of these people were waiting to get on a stage and get a hug and a kiss from some woman dressed in white.

 Now, here’s the strange part. Once they got a hug and a kiss from this woman who was all smiles, a lot of them burst into tears - literally. I thought maybe the woman kicked them in the groin or something. The camera can’t pick up everything after all. But they bent down and thanked her like she had given them the winning numbers to the lottery or something. So, that can’t have been the case. I mean, how many people do you know who thank someone once they’ve been kicked in the groin? So, there was definitely more to it than met the eye.

 I sat up straight and watched the TV intently. All of my dizziness had gone. I could sense that I was on the verge of an important discovery. People were all crying and hugging each other as though it was a funeral. The presenter who looked like he’d been trampled on by a herd of elephants, wiped his eyes and said in this very loud pompous voice that he had been privileged to gain a spiritual experience from Mai Ji.

 That was it.  I had to go to India and get a cuddle and a kiss from Mai Ji. Then I would be whole. There was however one obstacle. The bank that did not believe in interest and subsequently had none whenever you wanted money. Aboo. When he came home that evening I explained to him carefully why it was vital that I go to India. Aboo listened and moved awkwardly in his seat. He sighed and then spoke.

 “You see, my son it is like this. When you are young man you have hot blood. Sometimes it bubble like kettle, you know. You think that you get cuddle and kiss from woman then it is like door of jannah opening for you. It is the way God make man. You not need no Mai Ji. You need missus. If you want to ticket to India, you can get lost. You want missus, I get you ticket first thing tomorrow.”

 And there you have it - back to square one I go.

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