hasanfulhu calls me up for lunch. it’s been a while since i’ve seen the guy and if he’s giving, why not?

so we soon find ourselves at coffee shrub, and i immediately order rice and curries for us both.

‘quick with the order i see,’ remarks hasanfulhu, settling into his seat in the airconditioned area. ‘you didn’t even consult me.’

‘consult, eh,’ i say. a lawyerly word. ‘i’m a man of taste, hasanfulhu, unlike you.’

‘still,’ he says. ‘you don’t have to impose your taste on people.’

‘it’s not people, it’s just you. and in any case, haseena said it was a good meal. 65 bucks for a rice and chicken curry. who can fault that?’

hasanfulhu looks at me and grins slyly. there’s always something not quite right about this man. i think he thinks he’s better than everyone else. sure, he’s a hotshot lawyer, but i don’t think he’s been with a woman in years. maybe he thinks he’s above women, too.

‘what are you mumbling?’ asks hasanfulhu. ‘did you have enough meds to last that huvadhu trip?’

it’s always the meds with these people. a guy can’t think out loud without being deemed crazy.

‘i had enough,’ i say.

‘are you sure?’ he asks, leaning over a little.

‘not funny.’

he grins and settles into his chair.

the server brings our food. along with the curry, there’s brinjal moju, tempered potatoes, a carrot salad, and rice.

hasanfulhu starts gobbling it down at fantastic speed. the man vacuums his food, it’s disgusting to watch him eat. and to HEAR him.

‘it’s not chicken, it’s fish,’ he says.

i take a look at the meat, it’s hard to be certain because it’s chopped up. but then i pour some curry on to the rice, mix it up a bit and have a taste.

‘it’s chicken,’ i say.

‘gotcha,’ says hasanfulhu.

i feel a wave of annoyance but i remind myself that this pathetic man is footing the bill. i turn my attention to the meal. it is pretty good, maybe not k-cafe good but still decent. i love the brinjal moju especially, it adds some caramelised sweetness to a spicy meal.

at the end of it, hsanfulhu pays up and sits in the outdoor area, having a cigarette.

‘you know,’ starts hasanfulhu. ‘the world has changed since your trip. tensions have flared up. a war is looming, it seems to me.’

‘i sometimes think,’ i begin.

‘do you?’

‘shut up, ok? so, i think when europe was going up in flames during the crusades, we dhivehin were just fishing and fucking around, you know? isn’t THAT a comforting thought?’

‘is it?’ he asks.

‘spanish inquisition, right?’ i say, really getting into it. ‘burning the heretics and infidels and the jews. torturing, beheading. all that horror. meanwhile in raajje: ey dhaleyka mulahdhan’deega bodu mulisseh nagaifi!’

‘you should never do comedy,’ he says, and we get up to leave.