Monologue of the motorcycle helmet selling man

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(Definition of ‘Monologue’: prolonged talk by a single speaker)
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Yes, that’s me lying on the pavement above. I am a motorcycle helmet man. I sell motorcycle helmets but that is just an excuse because what I really enjoy doing is watching the ladies as they walk pass. You see these ‘bibi’s’, these demons of my heart; how they flay me so? These college ‘ladies’ think so much of themselves with their mighty educations and their higher aspirations and their haughty expressions. What am I but a gnat, an earthworm, toiling blindly under the soil; suitable for squishing under their heels. Do you know what it said on my birth certificate when I was born? ‘Instructions: ‘To be squished under the ladies heels’. Oof! Squish me lady do you hear! Hurt me! That is what I am for. Squishing!
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I have a question for you my ladies. Why do you pretend not to see me my lovelies? I am here! Right in front of your eyes on the pavement! Everyday I wait outside the gates of your prestigious ‘International Women Only College’ just to catch a whiff of those dupattas and skin creams and perfumes from gay Paree. Say lady, what perfume do you use? Oof! You bark! You say I should mind my own business? But it becomes my business when said perfume invades my private nostril space. Pfff!
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Would you like a motorcycle helmet? ‘No!’ you bark in reply

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I know what it is! I know what is the matter! I am not good enough isn’t it!? When was a motorcycle helmet man ever considered eligible for marriage or as boy friend material? I must live in a dream world, haina – yes? It is all status these days. Status! – Status! – Status! Silver – Gold – Platinum. I am not even bronze. Oof! bronze I am not even stone. I am twigs. Twigs on the funeral pyre! Ash! Yes I am ash. No! even ash gets thrown in the mother Ganges. Oof! I am dirt! Filthy defiling dirt!

But listen, come closer, I am more. I am more than this dirt! Don’t judge me so crudely. Hear the beat of my heart? Do you hear! It beats so loud at night even the djinns (ghosts) are scared. That beat is my status. Do you hear? You don’t agree? ‘Do I disappoint you? Do I leave a bad taste in your mouth?’. Do you know who that is? That is words from a famous song of the Western Kingdom. The mighty U2. I know what you’re thinking. What do I know about such Western bestern things Haina? Ha! This motorcycle helmet man knows much lady fool! I have depths. Deep trenches. Gaping ruts. Ravines that plunge down down down. There is much to see and explore. I am no hollow coconut. No fancy pancy oily gangster – the type you fancy no doubt. You think I have nothing? Let me show you nothing. Lady let me introduce you to Mr Nothing!

Ladies I present to you Mr Nothing:
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You see? Mr Nothing really has nothing. Poor man rummages through scraps of the heaps and rubbish tips. With his rummaging partner the pariah dog. He is worse than a dog for a dog has no choice, but a man! Tut-tut. A man can choose. You see? I am not so bad! I have some thoughts. With a bit of work I may even have ideas and who knows one day even ideals. Haina? No? And another thing I don’t smell neither. Unlike Mr poo poo Nothing over there sniffing in the dustbins. I have prospects and I have a skill. Selling motorcycle helmets is not easy-peasy lady-mystery. It is a mystery. An art. Many bahainchaut scoundrels out there trying to fleece you off a few rupees. What are a few rupees you say? A few rupees a day make a man, over a lifetime, a millionaire! Not that I don’t expect to move up in the world from my motorcycle helmets. Oh, yes. I will be going somewhere. It is up and up and up for me. It is also ‘up’ to you if you are coming on this boat. For I am leaving these shores and heading for Eldorado- the fabled city of gold!
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So are you coming? – No? Oof! You are most brutal! There is cruelty in you! Suit you! Don’t expect me to look at you tomorrow. I will ignore you. My eyes will be elsewhere. No, not on another lady! I may be a motorcycle helmet man but I have pride and I have a mother. Yes a mother! What has a mother got to do with anything you ask? Let me finish. I have a mother. And she chose me. And so did God. They both chose me. And for that I am grateful. If only God would choose to help me sell more motorcycle helmets. If only! He can do that for me can’t he lady? Surely it is within His powers whose magnificence created the light show I sleep under?
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Look! I have a customer! See, I told you I am going places. This is a portent. He has heard me! Eldorado here I come! Today it feels good to be a motorcycle helmet man. Tomorrow who knows. But today, right now, at this moment, I feel that motorcycle helmet man is king! Oof! You giggle! I see you. Don’t try hiding it from me. Why do you giggle so? Do I make you laugh? Or do you take pity on me? Oof! Arai, I see you smile. Come here lady. I want to tell you something. Listen: My father (God rest his pious soul) once put his arms around my shoulders and with a solemn voice he said to me.
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‘Son, remember these words. You might be a motorcycle helmet man, or a chimney sweep, or a dhobi wallah, or a toilet cleaner flushing turds down the hole, or any of these things, but always remember, that no matter what or who you are, or what you do in the world, an apple tastes the same no matter how fortunate or unfortunate the tongue that tastes it’.
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Ah! You see what fine words he spoke! My father the philosopher. So, look here. I have in my pocket an apple. I bet that it will taste the same to me as it will taste to you. Shall we try? Would you like a bite?
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Oof! What do you mean it is not washed!
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