'Listen Kulchoo,’ I said, ‘Do one thing for me. Because I’m your mother na.’
‘No!’ He said. ‘Why didn’t you tell me before?’
‘Unfortunately you have taken all your jeans from your father. Not even my fear complexion and my light light hairs you’ve taken from me.’
‘You mean I haven’t taken after your bleach bottle?’
‘You can be sarrhial all you want, beta, but in London also people think I’m European’. ‘Really?’ He asked. ‘One summers I crashed into a gora in Harrods and he hissed at me: ‘Watch your step, you filthy Spanish tart.’ I was so happy. Before I could even say thank you, he’d pushed past me and gone. And one day I was on Oxford Street wearing a loose sa flowered maxi and gold hoops in my ears and a woman shouted at me, ‘We’ve got Brexit now so you lot can eff off back to Romania.’ Tau dekho, she also thought I was Romanian. Vaisay, shweeoto, where’s Romania? I hope so not in Africa...
Kulchoo sighed like his father and said, ‘What can I do for you?’ ‘I want you to make me into an influenza. On Instacrap’. ‘An Influencer on Instagram? Why?’
‘Haw Kulchoo because I’m also human being. I also have dreams. I also have a heart in my breast. I also want to saarho people with my Channel bags, I want them to jallo over my designer joras, my Jimmy Choo ki sandals, my imported flowers, my cleansing nashta with almond milk ki coffee and nectarines and other erotic fruits, my Lulu Melon yoga pad, my simple, mind full si life. And also with photos of my holidays sometime roaming in Roam and sometime beach holiday on Crabby and sometime flat hunting in Lesbian’. ‘Lesbian?’
‘Haan baba in Portugal only. Where Bobo and Guddu have bought flat and passport. Two for price of one. And I also want Hashtack, Kulchoo.’ ‘What hashtag?’ ‘Hashtack SoBlessed. SoBlessed with my four kanal kothi. SoBlessed with my nine naukars. SoBlessed with my three cars. SoBlessed with my baby shweetoo who will make me Influenza…’
‘No!’ He said. ‘Why didn’t you tell me before?’
‘Unfortunately you have taken all your jeans from your father. Not even my fear complexion and my light light hairs you’ve taken from me.’
‘You mean I haven’t taken after your bleach bottle?’
‘You can be sarrhial all you want, beta, but in London also people think I’m European’. ‘Really?’ He asked. ‘One summers I crashed into a gora in Harrods and he hissed at me: ‘Watch your step, you filthy Spanish tart.’ I was so happy. Before I could even say thank you, he’d pushed past me and gone. And one day I was on Oxford Street wearing a loose sa flowered maxi and gold hoops in my ears and a woman shouted at me, ‘We’ve got Brexit now so you lot can eff off back to Romania.’ Tau dekho, she also thought I was Romanian. Vaisay, shweeoto, where’s Romania? I hope so not in Africa...
Kulchoo sighed like his father and said, ‘What can I do for you?’ ‘I want you to make me into an influenza. On Instacrap’. ‘An Influencer on Instagram? Why?’
‘Haw Kulchoo because I’m also human being. I also have dreams. I also have a heart in my breast. I also want to saarho people with my Channel bags, I want them to jallo over my designer joras, my Jimmy Choo ki sandals, my imported flowers, my cleansing nashta with almond milk ki coffee and nectarines and other erotic fruits, my Lulu Melon yoga pad, my simple, mind full si life. And also with photos of my holidays sometime roaming in Roam and sometime beach holiday on Crabby and sometime flat hunting in Lesbian’. ‘Lesbian?’
‘Haan baba in Portugal only. Where Bobo and Guddu have bought flat and passport. Two for price of one. And I also want Hashtack, Kulchoo.’ ‘What hashtag?’ ‘Hashtack SoBlessed. SoBlessed with my four kanal kothi. SoBlessed with my nine naukars. SoBlessed with my three cars. SoBlessed with my baby shweetoo who will make me Influenza…’