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

“You must be crazy”, Malkit said with indifference.

Raj hadn’t really expected anything else from his father and to be truthful, he was unsure of the idea himself. To pursue a musical career was hard enough, but when you were Asian, living in the 1980’s and the only lyrics you knew from memory were those of Elvis Presley, then you really must be crazy. To contemplate teaming up with two other Asian men who hardly oozed confidence and enthusiasm was crazier still, not to mention the fact that one of them, Ramesh, seemed highly temperamental, while the other, Ashok, seemed too laid back.

Raj was stacking one of the shelves when Malkit came out with another pearl of wisdom, “Music is not in our blood. Your grandfather was tone deaf and your uncle had a guitar for ten years and never played one proper note.”

“But that’s just it dad. I want to break the mould. I know you don’t think much of music, but I love it. I’m not even talking about playing instruments, I’m talking about just singing…to backing music.”

“Backing music?” Malkit was puzzled.

“Yeah, it’s recorded and you just sing over it.”

“You mean cheating,” Malkit countered.

“It’s not cheating…loads of groups do it.”

Malkit sighed heavily. He put the float money in the till before placing an arm around Raj. Raj was surprised as his father had hardly ever shown any sign of affection. “Son…you have to remember one thing. Music is for musicians, singing is for singers and groceries…well that’s for grocers. That’s why we have the sign outside, Bains and Son”.
He relaxed his hold of Raj before going off to the back office and whistling – out of tune.

Raj thought he had been on the verge of some breakthrough with Malkit, but instead he had just received what he always got and that was a reminder of what the family business meant to him. With an air of disappointment he flicked through the local newspaper, whose leading headline proudly proclaimed, ‘Designer Label Briefcases Stolen From Warehouse’.

“Haven’t they got anything better to do with their lives?” Ashok’s mother said as she read the same article. “Youngsters these days…stealing, killing, using drugs”.

Ashok had just entered the room, bleary-eyed and hungry. “What’s that?”

“I blame the parents you know. If they showed some discipline…none of this would happen”.

“Come of it mum. Crime has been around since the beginning of time. People stealing land, property, claiming things that weren’t theirs, all in the name of exploration and exploitation”.

His mother looked at him in amazement and Ashok was surprised at his own rhetoric.

“You have to be careful that you don’t end up like one of these people. I don’t want to read about you in the local newspaper”.

Ashok smiled cheekily, “Don’t worry mum. When I make it…it will be the national papers”.

His mother shook her head and asked, “Is it the D.H.S.S. today?”

“Yeah…later”.

“So before that you’ll go and look for a job isn’t it?”

“Job?” Ashok paused and from his pocket he pulled the business card that Raj had given him. He looked at it solemnly. “Yeah…a job”.

Ramesh watched his roommate, Jagpal, fall around the room in laughter. What was so funny? All he had said was that he was thinking about trying out as a singer at a few clubs. Jagpal, of course was not averse to all of Ramesh’s ideas, but this one was surely the mother of them all. “What are you going to sing?” mocked Jagpal, “There’s no call for ghazals in the pubs around here?”

“I’ve got plans”, lied Ramesh, “I met a guy last night who suggested that we should do something together”.

“Is this the same guy who was dressed as Elvis?”

“Yeah”.

Jagpal laughed even harder. “The only person you’re tall enough to be is Sammy Davis Jnr”.

“Say what you want, but Raj was sure of what he wanted to do. I bet he doesn’t get this kind of reaction from his family and friends”.

“You’re right”, Jagpal was trying desperately to conceal any further laughter. “I can’t wait for you to tell your family. Imagine at any weddings you go to, you’ll be described as the middle one who is not an accountant”.

Ramesh shook his head and showed Raj’s business card to Jagpal. “I think this guys got the right idea. We’ve all got to try and make something of ourselves, otherwise what’s the point? We got to push ourselves, explore what we are capable of achieving”.

“So is that what you’re going to do today…push the boundaries?”

“Yes”, said Ramesh emphatically, “right after I go and pick up my chicken suit”.

A furtive, young Asian man was quivering with fear inside the interrogation room of the local police station. The detective, Inspector Harris, fixed a steely gaze which the young man was trying frantically to match, but it was plain to see that he was like a rabbit caught in headlights.

“Come on Jez”, began Harris, “why are you holding out on me? I know. You know. The whole station knows. Probably my dead grandmother knows as well, so why don’t you just put it in writing for me”.

“I already told you, I don’t know nothing”, protested Jez.

“Don’t know nothing. How wonderful the English language is. Don’t you know that’s a double negative?”

“What?”

Harris leaned closer, “Why are you covering up for anybody? Do you think they’d do the same for you if they were in here instead? All I want is a name. One name of who gave you that briefcase”. Harris pointed to a designer label briefcase in the corner of the room.

“Like I said, it ain’t mine. I never seen it before in my life”.

“Oh really…I suppose that’s why we found your packed lunch in it”.

Jez glanced nervously at the floor.

“Really, you should know better than to carry it around only a couple of days after the robbery”, Harris persisted. “Come on. There’s ninety-nine of those things out there and I want to know who gave this one to you?”

“Ain’t you got nothing better to do…like finding some murderers or something?”

“No I ain’t”, mimicked Harris. “This is the fourth robbery from the warehouse and I want to know who’s involved.

Jez looked at Harris whilst trying to keep some level of composure, but inside he was fighting with his conscience.

Ramesh waited outside Jas’s flat. His knock was answered by Maria, who was Jas’s flatmate. “Are you the chicken man?” she enquired enthusiastically.

Ramesh was slightly embarrassed but nodded his confirmation.

“Hold on”. Maria walked away and called out, “Jas…it’s the dump-o-gram!”

Ramesh shifted uneasily, but his nervousness was soon overcome by admiration. Jas appeared at the doorway looking radiant and didn’t seem to be acting like someone who had just been dumped via a singing chicken. She invited him inside and although he had always made a rule not to mix business with pleasure, he felt a certain attraction towards her.
“You can tell me all about your contest last night”, Jas said. “Did you win?”

“Not exactly” said Ramesh.

———
The fifth 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 – part 2 – part 3
Ravi Mangat is contactable on: rav38man@yahoo.co.uk