Monday, 4 August 2014



# March; winter; 2003.

The National Historical Museum of Uzbekistan. The Lenin's Museum back then. The great leader slept in a glass cafe there. With a smirk on his face as if making a mockery of the nomenclatura who did him in. I looked at him. I was given the lead that the treaty might be found if I bothered the folks here sufficiently as to get shot at. Which I promptly did.


I was supposed to look at four Christian gravestones with Syriac alphabet in it. I was told that I could find a small match box cover with the name, rasputitsa.


Rasputitsa, as I knew was the semi-mud season when most roads in Uzbek was unfriendly towards travelers. I was also told to look the direction the matchbox lay. It was down there next to the third gravestone, pointing towards north. To the north was Chimgan. Of all the places. 3000 meters above seal level, smothered by snow, a ski resort and a precarious position to hunt for a missing contract. But the herring who led me said I would meet my match to negotiate my combat and softer skills in order to get it back.


Well. If I expected Tom Cruise, I would be your kid's sitting duck. It must have been a woman, Camerone Diaz sort. It was. Only, this Camerone was Vidya Balan as Kill Bill with a bowie knife. Now that was something I could negotiate, thanks to my mentor who had sent me to the US for studies. But her softer skills outnumbered mine.


The negotiation should have gone something like this:
Hello, honeycomb, would you mind sitting across a table and discussing the whole situation?


Instead, I made advances, a la James Bond. A dumb act to do on a lady like that. I ended up in bed with her on top of me and nearly choking me to death. My modesty has never been more brutally violated. It was murder under the guise of lovemaking.


But you know, sometimes this little instinct of impetuousness goes a long way in making a delicate situation shorter. In the end, she was dead from asphyxia. Plain fatigue, mind you. I didn't use any force except pelvic thrust. That's one major advantage of learning Kamasutra from Aghoris on the slopes of Himalayas. You can go on and on like a perpetual dildo, until she swoons from multiple orgasams. Never give time for her another breath, just keep at it. The heartbeat is the G-spot of mortality.


I was back with the treaty a couple of days later. I was given a promise by the PM and news man - they would come in handy when things got too much of a handful for me. My first skull. Memento to keep in the glass cage in the apartment. A bowie knife. 2003. Chimgan.