About the book
Popo’s relentless pursuit lands him in Bombay, India, where ‘Indian Fixer’ unmasks his super-patriotic English father … a ‘True-Brit-with-Grit’ in aristocratic guise; crowned ‘Top Bollywood Film Producer’—boasting ‘n’ hosting Kama Sutra masterclasses: smacking his ‘entertaining empire’ into orbit. Latching onto his belligerent, eel-like father exposes Popo to the ‘unsavouries of life’ – suckling Bollywood’s underbelly. Indian Fixer’s untimely death exasperates their animosity: fingers of suspicion all point in one direction.
Popo is saddled with dilemmas galore: antipathetic father; Bollywood-Diva-Stepmother; troubled twin brother; scorned Russian girlfriend, and his multinational ‘drama therapy’ group: now reformed, but still needing supervision. Nothing but nothing, is going to thwart Popo’s lifelong ambition—to lead and stage a Bollywoodesque Romeo and Juliet in London-
Popo Gigi: Shakespeare Goes Bollywood …
Category: Humorous Fiction
£12.95 | $19.99
Category: Humorous Fiction
£6.95 | $9.95
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Every morning, on the way to work, Mother Ammi recites to us sayings from Gandhi’s works and tales from Hindu myths—passed down to her from generation to generation, which she always has at hand, something which would tickle our fancy, and something which would inspire us all in pursuing our survival convictions.
If only Bio-Dad were around—life would be perfect—but life rarely is. Nor can it be, unless I can make it so. So I make a start, by distracting the thought, with happy thoughts. Life can still be wonderful.
Keeping her dignity and sobriety throughout, Ammi always holds her head up high for us, even when troubled, coping with numerous legal problems thrown at her—social issues—as a single mother and racism—all by herself. She even barters her cleaning services for English classes and takes distant learning courses in English Literature and Social Studies.
She is keen on bringing us up like English gentlemen, seamlessly weaving us into British Society—assuming they allow us entry. She is keeping busy but is lonely and has not heard a word from Bio-Dad despite her countless attempts in contacting him; even via third parties. There is no financial or even moral support for that matter forthcoming from him, not even any promise of hope which we can latch onto for a brief stretch.But then again, why would we. He doesn’t have the time, does he.
As a family, we feel superfluous to requirements—his.
We thump along in tandem, I am now in on the act, approaching a set of huge teak double doors with engraved tableaux of couples indulging in various Kama Sutra and other heavenly sexual acts. Again, I am too shy and now too nervous to do a double take. I feel I am overdosing on my fair share of Indian Erotica—for this afternoon at least, which is culminating into a throbbing headache.
Then, as if on cue, the door opens, it’s Miss Brazil, I can tell from her genetically well-rounded bums: somehow triggering in me a craving for double scoops of chocolate ice cream, making my tongue spring out; all welcomingly and erect for a good licking. She, with dripping wet lips, wet-look lipstick, beckons me in. I can smell the linseed oil, but Mr Sumo is nowhere to be seen.
I stare into her eyes. Eyes of intelligence, eyes of innocence. My heart can’t help but sing. She flicks into theatrical mode, standing up straight for her delivery—
‘So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call’d,
Retain that dear perfection which he owes
Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name,
And for that name which is no part of thee
Take all myself’
I stand here shell-shocked,
embarrassed by my presumption of her—
Popo Gigi … in Love
This, a reversal of Pygmalion (George Bernard Shaw) also turned into My Fair Lady. The flower girl—educated, pretty, intelligent, humble, and all I can do is mumble, and crumble.