The Yorkshire Biryani

ONE:MAYFIELD CHARACTERS part-03

Day one:

Greg was delivering vegetables to his usual list of customers. He was riding his bicycle because his scooter was still being held at the police station.

"Oye Shaun, get your veggies mate! Don't blame me for being late," he shouted in front of Shaun's Restaurant. He was also murmuring about how nasty his life was, and how everyone seemed to squander him. He seemed pretty irked.

"Delivery troubles eh? I hear you fell arse over tit over a goat mate. Has your anger got something to do with that?" Shaun mocked him, as the assistant at the shop started laughing.

"What's the problem mate? Cat got your tongue?" Shaun exclaimed at a silent Greg.

"I'm knackered mate, here are your veggies," Greg cycled away.

His next stop was Brian's. He took the Neta road and then went left, along Ashoka road.

"Fifty-two years of independence and I still can't make a decent living. Where is this country headed?" He told himself.

He knocked at the door of his next delivery address and a woman opened it. He handed over the veggies to her and shot off without opening his mouth. He knew they paid on a monthly basis. While returning back to his bicycle, he forgot he hadn't handed over the bill. He came back, knocked again, handed it over, smiled a bit and then left the place.

Next stop: Yogi.

Yogi was a much feared man in the locality. He was quite rich and ran a ring of illegal businesses. He loved his food and always wanted to eat fresh. His favorite food was Hindustani, and Greg was learning to cook Hindustani.

"Do you cook, mate? I'm starving for a good meal," Yogi told Greg that if he could cook a great meal for him, he would reward him well. Yogi was a pompous man, and was known for making these kinds of uncanny requests. Greg's desperate need for money made him accept the offer immediately.

There's a whole lot to know about Yogi. Yogi was a once a local bully. He had no formal education, but liked to call himself a graduate; a graduate from one of the premier institutes in Bharat - The Delhi University. However, his intellect and degree seemed like they were at two ends of the magnet and this made some people chuckle when they talked to him. He tried to speak in Hindi, but his accent was so British that people instantly realized he was not from the educated classes. He had visited Bharat a couple of times of course, but he was far away from its culture. However, he dressed like a Hindustani, and wanted his sons to settle down in Bharat to be away from what he was doing. Many years ago, he had killed a husband and wife by accident. One day he had gathered the courage to hold a couple at knife point. As he was threatening them, a huge sign board that read Masala Dosa fell on them and they died. Word spread that he had killed them and he made his gang of crooks talk highly of him, so people started to respect him. Eventually, his toll of two became twenty-two, thanks to the over-ambitious gossip of some of his loyal hooligans. He started to run his own little clique. To smarter people, he was an absolute delight of a sight. Every time Greg saw him, he tried to control his laughter. No one really knew what Yogi was capable of; it was purely the stories of his ill-doings that made men fear his mafia. Greg also fell in to this category.

What if he kills me if I laugh at him? What if he locks me up and lets his wild dogs get a piece? What if the stories people spread about him are true? he thought.

Yogi was about a hundred and fifty kilos. He was 55 years old and had sagging skin around his neck, as well as flab around his arms that looked like wings when he walked. He also had man-boobs that he liked to flaunt and a huge belly that protruded over a foot in front of him.