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Sreesanth in New York

by Gaurav Sethi


Sreesanth walks into the deserted station, clad in flashy clothes, gold chains; close by is a black kid with his hi fi system, hip hop playing. Sreesanth starts to breakdance. From nowhere a bunch of rapper hooligans emerge

Ho Mofo, wataya dancing like that fo

Sreesanth senses trouble, he kisses his locket, crosses his heart, head, prays, all he usually does at the start of his run up.

Mind it, do you know whose son you are clashing with – the prodigal son of Indian cricket

One of the rappers slaps Sree, who immediately starts to cry – the rappers are zapped seeing an adult cry like a baby.

As Sree cries, a loud train pulls into the station - a new bunch of gansta’ rappers emerge – the old bunch run, Sree is still crying. The new bunch give Sree the thrashing of his life, rip his gold chain, clothes, watch. Sree is left standing naked in the tube station, clapping.

Morgan Freeman appears, he’s the cleaner, broom in hand. Nirvana plays in the background

Did I just see what I just saw – you were stripped naked by those boys and you stand there applauding them – are you outta your god damn mind, son?

You won’t understand, it’s called Sarcasm.

Sree continues to clap and cry inconsolably.

Cut, cut…Sree that was total crap, I’m gonna cut 20% of your fees

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

This is just lame! Do something constructive with your fucking lives.