Noor and Parveen were contract killers
Theirs had been a most unlikely romance
The target's photograph was under Noor's coffee cup
And Sam Bhai's Colt .32s tucked into their denims
But they had some time to kill first....
Moon-moon stole a glance past Nakul's right shoulder
He was here, in a blue pullover
Above the pullover, she was absurdly determined not to look
She might catch his eye
And that would be so not done....
Nakul turned his head slightly
He remembered seeing that man somewhere
With a little effort, he was sure
He would recollect his name
Sometimes he was certain that she was having an affair....
Saumitra looked out from the corner of his right eye
Pretending to concentrate on the Daily Mirror
He wanted to tell her
Look at these memories
You were so beautiful back then....
Amrita looked at him in awe
Not many knew that he looked better in real life
Sometimes she thought that she loved him more than he loved her
She didn't realize that the pain she had,
Didn't just magically disappear....
Jackie looked around the room anxiously
From his own side of the restaurant,
His view was partially blocked
By an egg shaped head
For some reason, that man made Jackie uneasy....
Jenny caught her breath
She clasped tightly onto the cold steel briefcase
Under their table, by her shins
She felt grateful that at twenty five
She was still capable of being thrilled....
The egg shaped head ordered a hot chocolate
He surveyed everyone else with quiet amusement
The newspaper masquerade, the white knuckled briefcase,
The flushed cheeks, the stolen glances, the veiled revolvers
Nothing escaped his attention....
Strangely, looking at Amrita, of all people
The Captain felt a sudden stab of recognition-
A composite picture of hundreds of naïve, sad, respectable wives
All looking alike with their mild patient faces and obstinate upper lips
And eyes filled with foolish hope
Veronica and me were also there that day
Our lips colliding as we sipped our cappuccinos
Our millionaire great grandfather was dead at hundred
At the funeral, there had been suspicions
That it was murder....
The Airport cafe, mellowed by the winter afternoon sun
Told many stories that day, commingling and diverging
Do you sometimes feel that we are inside a poem?
I'm so horny that it's funny
My characters are traveling with me
Is it embarrassing to feel like lovers?
Back when I solved that mysterious affair at Styles
Later, they would have to think of doing justice to its contents
She smiled at the irony in that sentence
And at the military-looking chap at the adjacent table
He could easily be an undercover cop
Those peculiar mustaches could only be a disguise
Besides he had a deep mistrust of foreigners
You are still beautiful
In a chubby, jaded, matronly way
Was it possible that the four years of her marriage
Had reduced down to one incident
My libido
Your mascara
Getting all messed up in these rains
Incredible bewitching woman
The rouge and the compact
Working overtime to keep you from fading
Who apart from me knows about his insurance policy?
Moon-moon is slowly getting inebriated
Dostoevsky wannabe
There are one or two curious glances at my face
She's a ruin but a spectacular ruin
His men would be covering the exits
This sandwich has no mayonnaise
Suddenly, right in the middle of the restaurant,
A head fell forward onto the tablecloth,
Scattering silverware and silence
She neither spoke nor thought
Amrita Shergill, plump, painter, housewife, thirty two, was dead
And Hercule Poirot knew
Everything
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