Green Card or Ration Card?

By 16Leaves

ASHOK KHANNA is an alumnus of Mumbai University. A trained percussionist, he travelled to Europe and the Middle East with a band playing the drums. An actor and voice-over artist, he worked in many Hindi films as a character actor. With the help of his close friend Subhash Ghai, the legendary filmmaker, he made a few films with notable stars like Rajnikant, Jackie Shroff, Madhuri Dixit, Meenakshi Seshadri, Amrish Puri and others. Writing for Indian television and many blogs later, he was also responsible for translating Prime Minister Narendra Modi’s Hindi speeches into English in the book Turbulence and Triumph: The Modi Years. The lockdown prompted him to venture into English fiction. Unsure of what to do with it once completed, he approached 16leaves, and this is the result.

• Language: English
• Publisher: 16Leaves
• Release date: Oct 3, 2022
• ISBN: 9789394831759

16Leaves

16Leaves is a publishing company that offers publishing, self-publishing and book production support to independent authors and businesses. Besides having a keen interest in supporting independent authors, we also offer customized solutions to the content ideas of academic institutions through workshops, book and magazine production and digital distribution.

Book preview

Green Card or Ration Card?

Green Card or

Ration Card?

Ashok Khanna

First Edition, 2022

Copyright © Ashok Khanna, 2022

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,

distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying,

recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the

prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations

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by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher at the address below.

This book can be exported from India only by the publishers or by

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to Civil and Criminal prosecution.

Paperback ISBN: 978-93-94831-74-2

eBook ISBN: 978-93-94831-75-9

Note: Due care and diligence has been taken while editing and printing the book;

neither the author nor the publishers of the book hold any responsibility for any

mistake that may have inadvertently crept in.

The publishers shall not be liable for any direct, consequential, or incidental

damages arising out of the use of the book. In case of binding mistakes,

misprints, missing pages, etc., the publishers’ entire liability, and your

exclusive remedy, is replacement of the book within one month of purchase

by similar edition/reprint of the book.

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Foreword

Creating comic mayhem is one of the toughest challenges that face a filmmaker or a writer. The sur or the note is vital and the likelihood of falling flat is very real. Additionally, adult humour carries with it the danger of slipping into the obscene.

It is the ability to maintain that tricky balance which makes Ashok Khanna’s debut novel, Green Card or Ration Card brisk, comical, and romantic.

Everyday endearing characters entangled in situations where chaos ensues, take the wheel for a non-stop fun ride.

Follow the maddening trail of dashing Jaikishan Patel or Jackie, the well-heeled Gujarati-American who can’t keep his hands off girlfriend Samantha, the Caucasian-American with the moral inhibitions of a traditional Indian girl. When Jackie takes a break from home in New York and lands in Mumbai, he steps into a jumble.

Amla the Don’s daughter – God bless you if you kidnap her, Prem Godbole a retired cop’s dim-witted son, Rekha/Naina the bride with compulsions of her own and Mukul the matchmaker, criss-cross one another with Jackie at the centre.

Ashok Khanna keeps it brimming with light-heartedness as the variegated threads get knotted and finally untie as love prevails over all else.

The first-time novelist makes the reader feel a part of the medley of amusement. The real achievement is that Green Card or Ration Card is a breezy book but also feels like the template of a hilarious romcom.

Bharathi S Pradhan

Columnist, Critic and Author

Chapter 1

Jaikishan Patel aka Jacky was in a tearing rush. He was already late by 7 minutes. Samantha hated to be kept waiting. OMG! 7 minutes meant an eternity to her. Jal tu Jalal tu, Sahib-e-Kamaal tu, Aai Bala ko Taal tu. He had learnt these chants from his friend from Hyderabad who now lives in New Jersey. According to him, it kept all evil spirits and misfortunes away from the chanter.

It had worked for him in Hyderabad then why not for Jacky in America?

As he got out of his car, a traffic cop stopped him. One of his car’s tail lights had been smashed in. The previous evening, his friend Freddie had borrowed it and never told him about this mishap. He didn’t mind the fine but the time taken was agonizing. Each second contributed toward the catastrophe that awaited him.

Samantha was a beautiful girl. She was a white Native American. Her figure was to die for. Every male in Huntsville had a secret desire to make out with her but she cared only for Jacky. All this was fine but her temper was volcanic. It erupted ceaselessly for no rhyme or reason but when there was a reason, she spewed lava for days together. Was this one of those horrendous days? He wondered without looking and bumped into a fat lady who was lovingly licking her Ice Cream Cone thinking it to be only she knew what.

Watch where you are going you nut case, and take your eyes off my knockers. She glared at Jacky.

I am sorry Ma’am, I didn’t mean to …

O shut your rabbit face, I know your kind, you must have spotted me from far, and decided to have some cheap thrill by shoving your silly body into mine, and look what you have done to my ice cream? Fatso continued displaying the broken cone.

I am sorry, Ma’am, I can pay for your ice cream but …

Pay for my ice cream? You SOB; you want to pay for …

Jacky just took off; Samantha’s face appeared from nowhere staring at him. Whenever she was angry she resembled one of the Indian goddesses from his father’s prayer room.

She saw him coming and without a word picked up her bicycle and rode off in the opposite direction.

Samantha, wait, listen to me, Samantha …

Buzz off you creep, she yelled from her moving bike.

You got to believe me, that cop caught me for Freddie’s dents and that fat … Jacky was running alongside her bike.

I know your style; you are going to plead the fifth now.

I swear … let me explain … listen … he was panting now.

She stopped the bike. Jacky was out of breath. They stood there facing each other.

The only reason I am going to allow you to explain your tardiness is that my kid sister has started teething, and I am in a good mood. Okay, shoot, she removed his shades.

It’s like this, you know my old neighbor? He bought the farm.

Oh God, Mr. Williamson died? She sounded pretty hurt.

Was that his name? Jacky asked innocently.

You goddamn liar, you go for a funeral and you don’t know the name of the guy who died? Give it to the birds you freak.

Listen to me, I didn’t go for the funeral, I just did ‘in the name of the father’ and stopped for a burger.

What kind of a creep you are? Your neighbor dies, you don’t go for the funeral and instead, you go and stuff yourself, silly.

All right, just let it ride and we’ll talk about it some other time, let’s go and have some Lebanese stuff, Jacky drawled.

There you go again, is that all you Indians think about, pigging out? She was sounding like a gym instructor.

Don’t get racist with me honey, Jacky smiled.

Listen you moron, I am heading home, mama will be back from church and I have to cook for the night.

Now wait a minute, how about a Triple Decker or something.

Jesus, I am sure you were born during the great famine, chomp, chomp, you are a freaking glutton, she glared at him.

Okay give me a tight hug and a long smooch. That will kill my hunger pangs, he looked at her full breasts and smiled knowingly.

I am going to blow you a kiss and that’s all.

Jacky grabbed her from behind and pulled her toward him. They were at the intersection of 5th Street and Garden Avenue, traffic wasn’t much but pavements were crowded. It was a full minute kiss.

Who will be at your place now? Jacky was panting.

Nobody, but why do you ask? She asked.

Let’s go and get it over with once and for all. Then we have a lifetime to talk about it, desperation in his voice was evident.

You freaking dick head, you think my mama is raising floosies after spending half her waking hours in that dilapidated tenement called church? She had that wild look on her face, and in traffic parlance, the lights were going to turn red.

Forget it, it was meant to be a joke.

Why don’t you just cool down and shoot the breeze for a change while I go and collect my toiletries?

She just let the cycle drop in Jacky’s hands and crossed the street to Wal-Mart. That was the trouble with Jacky. He loved her and wanted her as his wife but he couldn’t keep his hands off her. Sometimes he wondered about his behavior toward her. But he just wanted to make love to her. And Sam came from a very orthodox and God-fearing family. She was unlike most girls of her age. Some of her school friends had gone through abortions and some had got married. But Sam was more like a Gujarati girl from Jacky’s father’s village back in India as far as moral values were concerned.

His cell phone rang.

Hello, Ron? Where the hell have you been? Your mobile was switched off. I called your father and he gave me his father’s number and said you were there. If you have finished your inter-generation travel, then meet me at 5th Street corner right now, and don’t give any crap about being broke, just hail a cab and I’ll pay for it, he hung up without listening to his reply.

Sam came running holding a brown paper bag containing her womanly things. She put it in the cycle’s back hold.

Did you miss me hon? She looked at Jacky mischievously.

It depends on your understanding of the word, Jacky countered.

Okay smart ass, let’s go, I have to stop by at the butcher’s too, spare ribs in garlic sauce and mashed potatoes, how about it? Want to come home for dinner?

No, you carry on; I have to wait for Ron.

Adios amigo, gracias muchacha, and don’t forget to call, Sam pedaled off.

A cab stopped near him, Ron, short for Ranjit got down and came running toward Jacky.

"Kem Cho, Mota Bhai? Where is Sam Bhabhi?" Ron joked.

Ron, let’s go, my car is at the baseball parking lot.

Where are we going? I was hoping we would shoot pool today.

We will, by and by. Where are the others?

"Who others, mota bhai? Bob, Bachchu, and Dipak have gone to Gujarat, and Peter is sick, resting at home."

Want to have a can of Bud? Jacky felt like a beer.

Okay, where? Ricky’s Inn? Ron’s favorite joint.

Yeah, okay.

Chapter 2

The music was at full blast and Mariah Carey was crooning away, Where we belong.

"I don’t understand it, sometimes, mane laage che, you are crazily in love with Sam, and then there are times when you behave just like a dog on the heat with a hard-on. I mean, what the hell, you do want to marry her, don’t you? Then what’s your problem? She is more like an Indian girl than some of your silly India-born Gujarati females. And the closest that she has ever gone to India, is on our maps," Ranjit was fond of Sam.

"I know what you mean Ranjit Bhai, but there are times when I just lose control of myself when I am with Sam, especially when in close contact with her raw skin. Do you get it? It’s just for those few loony moments," Jacky replied.

This was not the first time they were getting theoretical discussing Jacky’s sexual complications. His friends also dated girls and went out to parties and movies, but none of these boys had any problems with their girls.

You know Ron; I think it has something to do with my obsession with Sam’s body, Jacky went on. Or maybe the color of her body, the white skin, red lips … I don’t know.

You are talking like a native Gujju who has never gone out of his village, Ron was getting angry. What’s wrong with you, you are an Indian American, born and brought up in the United States of America. You choose and vote for the people who run this country; you and your family have contributed toward building the society and economy of this nation and you are telling me that you have a fetish for white skin?

No. This is not about skin colors. This is something connected to my hormones, Jacky said.

You mean to say my hormones are connected to the Statue of Liberty? Come on Jacky, you have to show restraint, control yourself before it becomes uncontrollable, Ron had a point.

It was a lazy Sunday afternoon and they were sitting in Jacky’s room. The aroma of Gujarati food prepared by their cook from Gujarat, also referred to as Maharaj, was very inviting. Although everybody in the house, except the cook, ate meat, nothing apart from traditional Gujarati food was cooked at home.

Keshav Kaka, the cook came to enquire if they were coming down to eat or should he bring the food there. They decided to go to the dining table as Keshav Kaka had made Undhiyoo, a special Gujarati dish made out of all kinds of vegetables. It was a Sunday specialty.

Kishor Bhai or KB, Jacky’s father, still looked a decade younger than his age. He was feeling energetic after five grueling games of squash, followed by forty laps of breaststroke. On his way home, he gulped down two glasses of his favorite mixed fruit juice of litchi, apple, and carrot at the club cafeteria. Although he was invited for lunch at the poolside by the secretary of the club, he decided to head home for the special Undhiyoo and Aam Ras Puri.

KB owned several motels around Alabama. It had been a long journey for him without Chandrika. It was like it happened yesterday but after all these years it still hurt him.

Theirs was a love marriage. He barely spent 14 months with Chandrika after their marriage, but they were like 14 eternities. Each second rolled into another second of bliss, happiness, and laughter. KB had decided that he was not going to even think for a second about what will happen in another second or subsequent seconds of their lives together. He was going to squeeze the two lives and get as much out of it as possible. But he had not counted on the ferocity of Chandrika’s grip on the remaining days of her life. She was well aware of her terminal disease, but no force on this earth could move her away from getting the best out of the mathematics of her life. She knew the answer, she had the equation worked out but it kind of takes away the fun when you know the answer to a puzzle you are asked to solve. Despite all this, she was game to have a go at the remaining days of her life.

She loved the sea. It had something to do with the sun sign. Born on the cusp of Cancer and Gemini, she was more of Cancer the Crab. That whacky sense of humor, full-throated laughter, and looking at things from a lateral point of view were some of her qualities. Not to mention the witty one-liner she would come out with.

The cruise was her idea of a fun-filled honeymoon. She would stand on the deck and stare at the vast expanse of the sea with a calm and collective expression on her beautiful face. There was a Gujarati chef among the various chefs on the ship, who would make those nice, small kachories for her and bring them on the