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

The applause for the imitation Bee Gees rang loud and clear in the heads of Raj, Ramesh and Ashok. Even now, when they were sat at the bar in the local snooker club, they were reflecting on the events of the evening. For Ashok, it wasn’t too much of an inconvenience because he was just doing it for a dare anyway, but for the other two, it was like a bombshell.

“I can’t believe I missed it”, Raj lamented, “I was practicing for weeks”.

“Weeks? Man, I just picked up my wig yesterday”, Ashok commented.

“Well that’s the difference between you and me then. I took this seriously”, Raj was slightly annoyed at Ashok’s throwaway remark.

“I was just doing it for a laugh. I can see you went to a lot of effort though…that Elvis get-up sure is convincing”, Ashok said. Then he looked at Ramesh. “But for the life of me, I can’t make out who you’re meant to be”.

“Peasant”, Ramesh retorted, “I’m Mohammed Rafi…do you know who Mohammed Rafi is?”

“Yeah I know who he is, but I don’t know what he looks like. It was a look-alike contest, so it’s no good going as someone that no-one recognises”.

The Asian barman overheard the comment and nodded in agreement, “He’s right you know”.

“Who asked you?” Ramesh was angry now as well, “We don’t need your pity. Mohammed Rafi needs no introduction, his voice precedes him”. He turned his attention to Ashok, “Anyway, I don’t know how you have the nerve to say anything, you don’t look anything like Bob Marley.”

“Not Bob Marley! It’s Stevie Wonder”, Ashok responded.

“See what I mean”.

Silence. They looked at each other in quiet dismay, not really knowing if they should say anything else. Raj, finally broke the ice, “So are you guys serious about singing?”

“Oh yes”, Ramesh said, “in fact I am a professional singer”.

“Really…are you in a band, have you done any gigs?”

“Well…no. The performances I give tend to be one-to-one”.

“What do you mean?”.

“He means he performs for royalty and for presidents”, quipped Ashok.

“Listen mate, I don’t know you, but you’re one verb short of a thumping”.

“Ooooh, is that a Mohammed Rafi song…sounds more like Black Sabbath or something”.

Ramesh got up from the barstool and faced Ashok. Ramesh was considerably shorter. For years, Ramesh had thought he was persecuted. He was short, bespectacled and Asian and if he had been a woman he would have had all the minority complexes. As it was, here he was, standing up for himself and the years of torment he had suffered at the hands of school bullies. However, just as he was about to push Ashok back, there was a stream of laughter from one of the snooker tables. The three of them turned to see a group of four men with snooker cues looking their way and laughing.

“Well I seen a bird fly” started the ring-leader, “but I sure have seen just about everything, when I see Stevie Wonder fight”.

The rest of his gang laughed vigourously. The ringleader, with a pint glass in his hand approached the bar. “So you guys here for a little drink. On your way home from the funny farm?”

Raj could sense that Ramesh was about to blow a fuse and held his arm back. “Leave it”, he whispered.

The ringleader looked at Raj. “So what are you then, the Guardian Angel? Didn’t anyone tell you…Elvis is dead man”.

Raj stared at the ringleader, this man who had dared to utter the name of The King in contempt.

“I don’t want any trouble here”, the barman intervened, “my brother is in the police you know”.

“Yeah right”, retorted another of the gang, “there’s no Indians in the police force round here.”

“I’m adopted”, said the barman as he pulled a baseball bat out from under the counter.

With their back to the bar, Raj, Ramesh and Ashok hadn’t realised that the barman was brandishing a bat. The gang walked a few paces back. The ringleader was repentant, “Hey man, we were just joking”.

Ramesh, thinking that the gang was now scared of him, advanced to the ringleader and poked him in the chest. “So when a little guy like me stands up to a big ape like you, you crumble like my dad’s garden wall.”

“What?” the ringleader was taken aback. “Are you stupid or something?”

Raj had now noticed the bat and was desperately trying to attract Ramesh’s attention. He walked up behind Ramesh and tugged at his arm. “I don’t think he backed off because of you”, he said as he motioned for Ramesh to turn around.

On seeing the bat, Ramesh was instantly silenced. He turned back to the ringleader and tried his best smile. “Hey, man – what I just said…no hard feelings”.

“No hard feelings”, agreed the ringleader and then added with menace, “but plenty of hard kicks”.

At this comment, Raj and Ramesh ran towards the door. Ashok was slightly slower, as he first drowned his drink and then bolted out the door. The gang chased after them and onto the street.

The residents of Hounslow had seen many things in their time, but to see a gang of youths chasing Elvis, a man in a kurta and a bad imitation of Stevie Wonder…well this certainly was new.

One on-looker commented, “Was that Bob Marley?”

The one advantage that the costumed runners had over their pursuers was speed and agility. The gang of four had obviously not been to the gym too often and had probably packed away their fair share of take-aways. After only a couple of minutes, the chase was over, as the pursuers had aborted their attempt and joined the queue at the kebab van.
Raj, Ramesh and Ashok stopped running a few seconds later and when they had all caught their breath, they looked at each other and laughed.

“One thing about Hounslow gangs you can always count on”, Ashok said, “they were never picked first for a game of football”.

The other two laughed, until Ramesh remembered, “Oh man, my chicken suit”.

“What?” came the unified question.

“My chicken suit. I left it in Jas’s car”.

The other two looked at each other, but neither really wanted to delve into this particular aspect of Ramesh’s life.

“I’ll give you a lift”, Raj said, “I’m going across town”. He paused and then said, “Listen guys, if you’re ever interested in getting together, you know just to throw a few ideas around…just give me a call”. He picked out a couple of business cards from his pocket.

“You got business cards for a grocery?” questioned Ashok.

“Yeah of course…it’s big business”.

“What kind of ideas you thinking about?” asked Ramesh.

“Oh I don’t know”, said Raj, “but I just think maybe we were brought together by fate”.

“That and a bad sense of timing”, commented Ashok.

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

Part 1 of the story – part 2
Ravi Mangat is contactable on: rav38man@yahoo.co.uk