Read Online Nothing Like Love by Sabrina Ramnanan - Free Book Online Page A

Puncheon slapped his hand on Om’s back, climbing up next to him. He reeked of a lifetime of drink.
    Om poured a shot and a half of rum into each glass and handed one to Puncheon, who grasped it, red faced. He downed his drink in a single gulp and held out the glass for a refill. “You is a good friend, Hari-Om-Fatty-Om. So what happened to you, boy? Why you ain’t picking ochroe today?”
    Om snorted, his shoulders slumped. “You mean, you ain’t hear?”
    Puncheon twirled his coaster and it spun off the bar onto the floor. “Hear what? About Vims and Krish? Yeah, man! Of course I hear. But what that have to do with picking ochroe?”
    Om finished off his drink. “Who you hear from, Punch? Is only eleven o’clock in the morning.”
    “Lal tell me.”
    Om glanced at Lal, who had the courtesy to look shamefaced. “Where you hear, Lal?”
    Lal began wiping down his bar. “I hear from Bulldog, who hear from Kapil, who hear from Dr. Mohan, who hear from Sangita Gopalsingh.”
    Om nodded. “Sangita Gopalsingh,” he muttered.
    “Eh, man, that woman real beautiful, ain’t?” Puncheon grinned. “Every time I see she, I does want to hug she up and kiss she up and rub she up and love she up. But she always looking so sour-sour like she suck a pound of lime. She need some good Puncheon in she life. That is what she need.”
    Lal shook his head. “One of these days, Punch, Rajesh go carve you up with he cutlass and scatter you across Trinidad.”
    Puncheon shrugged. “One of these days, I go get sober. One of these days, Om go get thin.”
    Om and Lal laughed.
    “So what you going to do, Boss?” Lal leaned on the counter, his eyes sincere. “Talk to the Govinds? Ask them for Krishna to marry Vimla?”
    Om shrugged his heavy shoulders. “Chandani don’t think they go take Vimla.”
    Lal poured Puncheon and Om another drink and added a splash of Coke this time. “How you mean? Vimla real smart, I hear. She real pretty, too. You and Chand is good people. Why the Govinds wouldn’t consider a match?”
    Puncheon jumped to his feet and threw his hands in the air. “Hold up! Hold up! You say Vimla smart, Lal?”
    “You ain’t see the paper?” Lal had saved himself a copy. He slid it across the bar to Puncheon.
    “If Vimla so smart, why she sneak right in front she mother house to meet she boyfriend? She sound like a real stupidee to me.”
    Om shot Puncheon a warning look and Puncheon climbed back onto his stool.
    Om decided to change the subject. “Boy, Chandani ain’t cooking.”
    Puncheon gasped. “What happened to Chand—she two hand break?” He glanced upward. “Lawd, Father!” Then he tapped his empty glass on the bar. “Pour me a next drink, Lal. This is real tragic news I hearing!”
    “No, Puncheon, she hand ain’t break.”
    “Then how come she ain’t in the kitchen? She two foot break?”
    “No, she gone on strike, you jackass!”
    “On strike?” Puncheon dropped his head into his hands. “Man, what I hearing? You let your wife go on strike? What the ass kind of thing is that?” He whacked the bar with his hand. “I getting stressed out, man. You driving me to drink.”
    Lal laughed at Puncheon’s theatrics. “You full of shit, Punch.”
    “But really,” Puncheon continued, turning to Om, “you need to go home and beat some sense into Chandani, and when you done that, beat some shame into Vimla, and when you done that, come back here and buy a next bottle of rum for we to celebrate with.”
    Om gulped his drink. His limbs felt loose and light now, and suddenly the chaos unravelling in his life seemed less important. He looked at Puncheon, who was dancing in hischair to a song on the radio, arms in the air, eyes closed. It was in moments like these that Om understood why Puncheon went through life intoxicated. He thought fleetingly about his ochroe drying in the sun; he thought about his daughter, who had betrayed his trust; he thought about his wife, who had abandoned him for her