The Games Gent Plays!

Pin It Now! I heard this from the horse’s mouth. I swear I did. And some horse by God! They don’t make them like that anymore!

Gent and his kid brother are on their way to London and gent is nursing his third large whiskey, lolling in his seat, content as a tomcat. Just the thought of all that awaited him, excited gent. “Ummm” he said to himself fantasising in bliss. The kid brother kept throwing furtive glances at him every now and then wondering what could possibly make someone so shamelessly smug as to hum and haw to himself.

But there wasn’t going to be humming and hawing for long. Gent was unaware that the Gulf Air that had brought him to Muscat, where it had stopped over, was bound for Jeddah and that he had to switch planes. The whiskey had made him all frisky by then! The Arab besides him had just reminded him gleefully that the flight was headed for Jeddah and gent had just thrown the Samaritan a smirk when to his consternation, he heard their names being called out directing gent and his kid brother to board the Gulf Air headed for Heathrow, London.

Shaking himself off the momentary lapse of bearing, gent told himself with bravado “London! Here I come” and promptly walked into disaster! The man at the immigration desk took one look at gent’s photograph and then at him, squinting his eyes in suspicion. Ummm… what he saw didn’t please him. Not at all! There standing before him was this hippy with whiskey breath, wild hair down to his knees and a pair of jeans that had seen better days. Allah! What was that on his t-shirt? Never mind…but there was this homely looking kid besides him. He could be wrong. But then again, the visa stamp was just not right. The kid might be a cover of course, and an unsuspecting accomplice! Congratulating himself, he beckoned the others.

An impromptu conference later, an army totting guns and headed by a hooded lady, if that were a lady, suddenly materialised around the gent and his kid brother and the terminal was shut! Apparently the stamp on the visa had jumped the spelling of Madras. The ‘d’ was smudged which in itself wasn’t reason enough for the guns and goons but the fact that the offending visa was in possession of gent who by all visible cues resembled a goon immigrant, turned the situation grave. The gent raved in Winglish (English spiked with whiskey) to the throaty Arab rants. Rant. Rave. Rave. Rant. And on it went.

They threatened detention and the gent raved more as his kid brother broke out into loud sobs trying in vain to contain the delirium around him. Finally, just when the whiskey was wearing off, the Arabs miraculously let them go. But not before handing over their documents to the cabin crew of the Gulf Air that was to take them to London. All was well again. Gent was back in his seat swinging whiskeys once more while the li’l brother kept throwing furtive glances at his neighbour whom he no longer wished to call ‘brother’. At least not till they landed in one piece at Heathrow.

Some time into the journey there was another stop over and a fumigation. The content but bored gent lolled his head just enough to spot a gun totting security enter the plane. His little brother tensed immediately and gent metaphorically smacked his lips! “Here’s opportunity for idle amusement!”

He turned to his little brother and whispered. “There they come now…goodbye! We won’t see each other again. You’ll be in one jail. I’ll be in another…” As the kid balled, gent lolled in his seat once again, content but bored. He had to keep himself amused till he reached London!
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