“Hey ma-an,” Koko said, “you need to cut your hair, have you seen what you look like? Positively frightening. The woman will kick you out for sure, you need to act your age ma-an.”

“I need sleep,” I told him, “I have a lot of work to do later.”

“That’s bullshit ma-an. I’ve been watching you. You sleep, make coffee, read, sleep some more until it is time for your evening walk. In between, you watch TV, drink coffee and smoke like a trooper. Then you have a bath, change, cook dinner and pretend for the wife that you’ve been working throughout the day,” Koko said.

I do not need attitude from a dog! “I have to review the book for a website,” I lied.

“You need to write my column this week,” he told me. It had become his column, I thought darkly. “As an African hound, I have important things to say,” he added.

“Later,” I said.

“Now! Listen to your kids ma-an. Get disciplined, have a bath, groom yourself, wear fresh clothes and look civilised, if you don’t want to land in a home for old people.”

“Listen,” I started to speak…

“Join me on the terrace,” he said sternly. He’s rude that way. He added, “You need some sunshine on your skin ma-an, your skin is turning grey. Ten minutes, we have work to do!”

*********     

He let me sip my coffee. But not without a stream of his comments. He wanted to know about all the plants I was growing. He wasn’t happy that I had a nice healthy karela (bitter gourd) vine growing, in what was once a large plastic bucket of paint, on the other side of a partition that was a cane bed. In another plastic bucket, I had a tiny, almost dwarfed cucumber-like ivy gourd – which neighbours referred to as ‘tondli‘ in Marathi, ‘tendli‘ in Konkani, ‘kundru‘ in Hindi – or the more exotic ‘tindora‘ aka ‘kovakka’.

He interrupted me, snorting the way a musician hearing a bum note would. Koko had smelt the coffee. 

“Hey ma-an, what coffee is that,” he asked. “Arabica?”

“Yes,” I tell him smirking.

“Is it grown in India?” he asks with a sneer.

“Yes,” I said.

“India doesn’t have real coffee ma-an, back home we would feed these beans to the cattle. You are a good Indian, do you know that? Uneducated about most things African. Did you know ma-an that there are fifteen countries in Africa known for their coffee or that we were harvesting wild coffee trees in Ethiopia around 800 BC?” Koko asked.

I finished my Indian coffee while glaring at him. Not that it made any difference.

“Okay ma-an,” he said, “till they design laptops that are paw-friendly, you have to start making your notes of what I have to say.”

“About Nigeria winning Moscow 2018,” I ask. 

“That’s a given ma-an, but we play in June…there’s a lot of time to educate you guys about football in Africa before we win the cup in 2018. It’s not just Indian coffee beans that I have a problem with ma-an, let me tell you,” Koko said.  

“Have you seen the news of Donald Prump?” he asked.

“Trump,” I tell him.

“Prump, Trump, whatever. Have you seen the news about the proposed Israeli takeover of Jerusalem?”

“Yes, I’m not illiterate,” I said.

“What do you have to say about that then ma-an?”

“I strongly oppose such a step,” I told him.

“It has angered the whole world,” he said, his eyes gleaming. “As an African hound of impeccable pedigree,  I must tell you that your country disappoints me.”

“Hey dog,” I told him. “We did not support that in the UN.”

“It was wishy-washy,” he growled. “It was just about as bad as what Togo did. That wasn’t African solidarity ma-an…and beside let me tell you, Togo has produced only one player, Adebayor, whom I respect, but ma-an, there’s too much corruption in Togolese football, it’s just like the people who rule that poor country.”

“In any case, your country is smart. Your leader is the smartest guy in town ma-an. He hugs every leader who visits India. You give his country business ma-an, he’ll give you a hug. So now, the leader of the country that wants to make Jerusalem its sole capital is visiting you guys. And he will get a huge hug, and he will do business and your leader will do business and whatever is not so good, everyone will ignore. What happens next is dependent on whoever he wants to hug next…everything is rosy ma-an…and everyone conveniently forgets…” 

“Everyone forgets Palestine ma-an, and I say this as someone who was once a reincarnation of a football player whom people talked about a lot because it brought them peace and happiness…and NOW…I want to talk about Palestine with you Indians because of FOOTBALL!”

I had never seen Koko this ferocious. He looked dangerous, his hackles stiff, most definitely more frightening than be straight-out-of-bed in the morning.

“You should pay attention! You have turned into an Indian who only thinks about business,” he growled, his hackles stiffening. “Did you ever know the injustices faced by Palestine when Indian football hadn’t even started?” 

“Some of us Africans thought that India would lead the fight against recent incidents of racism. That India would remember the lead it gave to the world when it decided to boycott apartheid in South Africa but you guys reduced this to a question for your Indian exams. You know ma-an, I think most of you Indians follow paid news on TV, of that fat guy with glasses…er…er…Ar-knob Gooswame. ”

“Hey, you can be sued,” I told him, looking around if anyone was listening to us.

“You can’t sue a dead dog, even if he’s an African hound,” he said with a hint of insolence, “and besides I have an important work today, I’ve got to go and meet this amazing dog with an even more amazing tail.”

“But I want it on the record. Football players from Nigeria, Senegal, Tunisia, Morocco and Egypt condemn racism practised in Israel, both on the football field and off it. You tell that to everyone. Okay, I’ll be seeing you later, off for a walk now.”

“Wait a minute,” I shouted as he started fading.

“Hey ma-an, Moscow 2018 is a long time away…we got to see the larger picture first. You take it easy ma-an…don’t worry, be happy. I’ll be back, there’s more about African football.”

I grumbled all the way back to my cup of coffee and the book next to my pillow.

Recipe for Fish stew: 

Take either Kingfish slices, or fillets of Mackerel, or Pomfret or Rawas or even largish prawns and rub them with olive oil and a smooth paste of ginger and garlic.

(Keep all the bones and the heads. First boil some water with chopped onion, and some spices like clove, cardamom and cinnamon. Then add the fish bones and heads, or the heads of the prawn. Boil and thicken it till the onions have turned thin and have had all the juices sucked out of them. Sieve this and keep it aside. It must not become too thin.

(Also peel some potatoes and cut them into thick rounds which you must half-cook in the pressure cooker — one whistle on high flame and then turn it off. If it doesn’t work, blame the pressure cooker.) 

Process:

In the casserole, in which you are cooking, add three tablespoons of olive oil and some garlic cut into long thin strips, and one dried Kashmiri chilly sliced in rounds. Then light the flame and let the chilly and garlic infuse into the oil. When the garlic is beginning to brown, add onion rings and let them start separating before adding the purée of one tomato. Let the mixture change colour, a sign that it is cooking well, and then add the potato rounds on top of the bed of onion rings. In between them, also add some rounds of tomato as well as some rounds of capsicum (no seeds) and let the potato cook in all the juices. Make sure that all this is done on a low flame, which you may make slightly higher. Don’t take out a potato round and chomp on it to see if it’s cooked or not. Instead, take a knife and gently poke it. If the knife goes through, then the potato is cooked. When there’s almost no sauce in the pan and it looks like the whole bed of onions is going to burn, add in the fish stick. Do this bit by bit, gently stirring the bottom to start thickening the sauce. When the stock has been poured in, bring to a boil. As soon as it boils, lower the flame and place the fish or prawn in it. Do this aesthetically, so that it doesn’t look like cat vomit. When the fish is all in, cover it with a lid. Turn off the flame after simmering it for three minutes. Don’t boil the fish for three hours in the curry or it will taste like cotton wool or baby food.

Serve with a side-plate of shredded lettuce, and finely sliced cucumber slices, a dressing of burnt garlic fried in olive oil with raisins and a stick of cinnamon (that you then chuck out), lime juice, and of course a thick slice of nice bread that you smear with olive oil or butter that you’ve heated with some finely chopped fresh coriander.