Manoukian, Author at The Pure Life of Dreams

February 16, 2024March 20, 2024

The Shops by Hammersmith and Main

Mao Senior and I had an argument. It was nothing new. I left the house although it was already dark and took the Hammersmith Road back to the main street.

And I wasn’t familiar with the area, the houses bound tight together, like where the Jovanović‘s lived. At the end of the road, I turned right onto Main where the shops too, were packed side by side.

They were closing up, I noticed, when I got there. I went into the first one despite its dim light only to find out that it was a laundromat.

So I went to the next one. I peered in through the glass door, opening it just a little to get a clearer view, and I saw that it was the dryer shop, where I assumed you would go after you’d washed your clothes at the laundromat.

The third shop looked promising but just as I arrived, someone inside sharply pulled down the grey metal barrier until it was halfway.

My baby was getting antsy by now though I jogged her up and down against my shoulder. I wouldn’t be able to find cigarettes anywhere. So I turned back and just then, there appeared a Chinese woman pushing a pram. She too was trying to find an open newsagent.

“How about the other side?” I said to her and we walked together, back to the Hammersmith Road to go left on Main instead of right.

The pram was pink and plastic but it looked unwieldy against her small frame. Her black hair was cut in a bob, she had a round, somewhat plain face and I thought she would chide me for wanting cigarettes.

We crossed the Hammersmith Road and the first building, on the other side, was just a row of houses. But the entrance to the following building, hidden somewhat by being on a corner, had a shop light dimly projecting from the door. It was located on the diagonal of the next intersection.

I pushed open the glass door and inside were the familiar rows of newsagent goods.

And I was about to step in when I thought to call my dad, to see if he wanted anything, when the Chinese woman suggested I take her number. Or was it the other way around?

Anyway I was juggling the baby and my phone, while holding the door open, my back to the shop. I tried to enter dad’s number, it would be a reconciliation thing; and the same time I was looking at the woman and wondering whether I needed another child in my life when she said:

“I’ll call your mobile. That way I’ll have your number.”

Then she started to dial.

Photo by Alt-x cropped, via Flickr.

February 10, 2024February 12, 2024

Alcohol Ice Cream

She peeks around the partition. Her hair is shaped in an upside down V of tight light brown curls, she has a freckled face and light brown skin.

“What are you you ordering?” I ask.

January 29, 2024February 12, 2024

Go Fish

I am in hurry to go to the airport but am still in my cubicle talking to Brendan. The desk has been cleared, nothing is left but the plain light beige wood slightly scratched up after I removed the computer and pencils and things, but Brendan won’t stop talking.

He waves his long blonde locks as he speaks, so that they fall in his face when he bends his head forward a little.

Under the desk I have a red petrol can and a dark blue roller case. The case is small enough to fit in the overhead cabin. I put on a red fluffy dressing gown. It us oversized and warm, and it’s my hint to Brendan that I need to go.

Then he stands up and makes to leave. I turn my back to him and with the can and roller case in hand I walk round the partition and into the corridor.

Only I forgot to tell Bill that I am going back to London. After having just returned.

I am going make an excuse. Last time I was there it was to see mum because she was sick with pneumonia and it was unlikely that she’d make it. But she’s still alive and this time I am just going for a holiday.

What will he think of my going again?

Last time I requested leave, it was a no brainer and he just said “Go fish!”

I walk over to his office and from the approach I see him through the doorway.

“I have to go back to London,” I tell him. He’s standing next to his desk.

“My mother’s sick again.” He looks over at me, he always has that handsome gait and even his greying hair works, though it’s thinning and brushed back from his temples.

“Go fish!” he says again.

“Thanks,” I reply and I walk back along the corridor to my desk again. Maybe this time they’ll fire me anyway.

Then I realize.

“Shit, I am naked again!” even though I am wearing a big dressing gown. I can’t go on the plane like this, like last time.

I tip the roller on its side and unzip it enough to insert a hand and pull out a pair of slacks. The slacks are a charcoal blue and they’re shiny but they will have to do. I won’t even look for underpants, I don’t have time and nobody will notice anyway.

I am sitting under the desk, the chair is pushed away and I am pulling the slacks over my naked feet, aware that the cloth will feel weird against my privates; but I can’t be bothered to get some underpants and maybe it will feel OK.

Then I stand up. I should have ordered the Uber, it will take a bit of time. I roll the case to the elevators, the petrol can still in hand but when the elevator arrives I notice that the roller case is leaking.

A thin spurt of gas is jetting out from halfway down, where the zips meet. Then there starts two lines of gas like taut threads spurting from the case. I won’t have time to fix the problem.

The first elevator is full but the second, the workman’s elevator has room. I get in and the walls are covered with painted red and black plywood, the paint slapped on carelessly. I turn to face the iron trellis doors. Someone tries to pull the doors shut, but another man stops him. The man puts a large hairy hand in the way, while another person hands us a baby, pushes the baby through the gap in the doors.

Oh come on! I don’t have time for this. It’s just as well I didn’t order the Uber.

The roller is still leaking, there are more spurts, and a puddle is forming on the elevator floor, a dark puddle. I hope that no one will notice, and that the leak will stop once the level of the liquid drops below the level of the zippers.

We get out at the lobby and I push through the circular doors into the parking lot. A car is waiting, its back door already open. An old Toyota from the 70s with an angular shape, painted an old chrome maroon. I throw in the petrol can and in the boot goes the roller case.

Then the taxi heads off to the airport, it’s not far, only 15 minutes and the British Airways desk knows me by now. As I climb the long escalator to the check-in counter they can whisk me through.

My passport is already in hand.

Photo by Bil Simser via Flickr

July 6, 2023July 31, 2025

Jungle Trekking in China

I am heading deep into the Chinese jungle on a double decker bus. It is great to be on the road. The bus is packed with locals and I am looking out at thick dark jungle vegetation, taking a picture.

July 1, 2023July 3, 2023

From Scottish Rites to the Hindu Temple

I am standing with Siobhan, Malik Qureshi and his new wife in the forecourt of the hotel and temple grounds. His wife is beautiful, a petite Indian woman with ~~the typical South Asian coloring~~warm South Asian coloring and delicate hands, dark straight hair and thin, especially compared to Malik who has become quite portly since I last saw him, thicker now that he is much older.

But Malik retains his jovial manner and I am quite jealous of his new bride. He reminds me of his Scottish roots as we stand together making introductions and then his wife leads me away over to one of the temples, a Roman-like columned building to show me around.

“What is your last name?” I ask her, but her response is not clear.

“No I mean your original last name,” I repeat.

But I still can’t make it out though she too goes on to assure me of her own Scottish heritage.

A light spitting rain starts as we walk over to another building where she has to perform a family ritual, part of the marriage ceremony . She wants me to come and it feels quite illicit. I cannot suppress a little desire for her despite my being Malik’s friend.

We climb the steps to a new Hindu temple fronted by square grey concrete panels, through the gaps of which I can see red alters and other religious goings on.

On the top step she squares up to one of the gaps and propels herself with both arms in one graceful movement into the temple. A blur of red and orange sari disappears behind the right side panel before she turns around to motion me in.

I try the same manoevre but I am bigger than her and not as fit, and I struggle to lift myself over the step and through.

“I’m going to need some help,” I excuse myself.

Then I try to angle myself in, instead of approaching the entrance full on as she did. But still it won’t work. And Malik’s new bride puts a fireside log in the gap between the panels so that I can grab onto the log instead of having to push myself up from the step. But that won’t work either.

And then a man who would be a priest comes over from the left side near the altar, his thick square hands open, palms up, in front of me. I see only large pudgy hands with thickset carved life lines; they fill the gap between the panels, as if to give me something to hold.

Goddess from the Sri Circle Maramma Temple via Wallpaper Flare