Sometimes you just want to do something a little different with your life. Something that makes you feel good or makes a difference to other people. Over the next few weeks/months, you can read about a group of young men who decided in the early 1980’s to try and make an impact…and for one night only…you can follow the lives of: The Sultans of Soul.

by Ravi Mangat
Writer

It was almost as if Elvis had been re-born. Raj stood in front of the half-length mirror and surveyed his impressive costume. The one piece, white suit shone in all its glory and his black, slicked back hair was the very copy of Elvis’ memorable quiff. If the setting had been Las Vegas, then surely Raj had found his destiny.

However, he was in the back room of his father’s grocery shop, surrounded by empty boxes and shelves of stock items. He was waiting for his father, Malkit, to close up for the night, so that he could then make his way to the local theatre and prepare for the look-alike contest.

The lip quiver, the hip sway and the southern drawl, were practiced for days and weeks in his bedroom at home. From the time he was seven years old, it was the only thing he could do from stopping himself thinking about his mother. Not that she had died, no, she had let him die. She had left him and his father and gone to live with another man. Raj was left broken inside and for years afterwards he blamed his father, but slowly he began to realise that his mother wasn’t coming back and it was entirely her own choosing.

Ramesh had a somewhat different childhood. He is the middle child of five, in a family that always talked to each other. They talked about his two successful accountant brothers, they talked about his successful elder sister, doctor extraordinare, and they talked about his younger sister, the mathematical genius.

Maybe, that’s why Ramesh had wandered into the rhythms of Mohammed Rafi and the idyllic worlds he sang about. Love that conquered all and love that knew no bounds. Maybe, just maybe, that’s why he was also dressed up as a chicken and standing outside a flat waiting to deliver a dump-o-gram.

Ashok meanwhile was also feeling pensive, but for a different reason. He was waiting to see ‘The Man’. The briefcase in his hand possibly held the key to his next pay cheque and he wasn’t going to let it out of his sight. He waited patiently outside the closely guarded door and looked at his watch. It was almost nine o’clock and he only had a few minutes left to make it to the theatre. He opened the sports bag at his feet, pulled out a dreadlock wig and smiled.

He was happy at the thought of how his younger sister, Rupa, would react when she saw a picture of him dressed as Stevie Wonder. He liked to make Rupa happy, and in some respects that’s why he was waiting to see ‘The Man’. If things went according to plan, he’d have a nice little nest egg set up for her future.

Malkit walked into the back room of the grocery shop, looked at Raj dressed in all his glory and shook his head dismissively. He went to the toilet and didn’t bother to answer Raj’s question, “So is everything locked up?” Raj shrugged his shoulders at the non-response and continued to do a few hip sways. The shop bell rang, indicating that someone had just walked in. Raj looked hopefully at the toilet but Malkit was still inside. Raj quickly glanced through the window to the shop and saw the old and frail looking figure of Mrs Watson waiting by the counter. Raj smiled and pulled down a pair of dark sunglasses over his eyes before strolling out to the shop.

Mrs Watson was oblivious to Raj’s entrance, until he tapped her on the shoulder and said in an Elvis manner, “Can I help you Ma’am?” Mrs Watson turned around, took one look at Elvis standing in front of her and promptly fainted.

Ramesh knocked on the door of the flat. He felt ridiculous in his chicken suit, but he kept saying to himself that a job was a job. The door was opened by Jas, a twenty something Asian girl who stared at him blankly. Ramesh cleared his throat and then sang a ditty, “I bet you never expected a chicken at your door, I have one small thing to say and nothing more. Sanjay sent me round to tell you that he’s bored and doesn’t want to see you at all any more. So with those few words I’ll bid goodbye to you, with a cluck cluck cluck and a peck peck peck, Sanjay says see you.” Ramesh smiles weakly at Jas, who steps forward and then plants a fist in his face, which sends him tumbling backwards.

Ashok was summoned inside to see ‘The Man’, who was seated on one side of a table and had his face partially obscured by the dim lighting. He motioned a hand towards Ashok, who placed the briefcase in front of him. Slowly, ‘The Man’ opened the briefcase and looked inside. A few seconds passed as he continued to survey the briefcase, inside, and then out. He turned it upside down and then gave it a few hard smacks with his hand.

Ashok looked on in quiet apprehension, until finally ‘The Man’ stood up and walked towards him. His face was a bit clearer now and Ashok was somewhat surprised. ‘The Man’ had a very angelic looking baby-face and when he spoke, it was as if his voice had not yet broken. “It’s good quality. I’ll take them off your hands”.

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The second installment of this story will be published next week. This serial is fictional and any similarity with existing groups or individuals is unintentional.

Ravi Mangat is contactable on: rav38man@yahoo.co.uk