Sorry, it’s really long. No, I won’t feel bad if you don’t read it. Really. Okay may be just a bit. But don’t let that force you

It’s 2 in the morning. Mitali, aka SuperCopyIdiot swings into her colonial mansion somewhere in south Bombay after a hard day of fighting crimes against animals. Really cute animals.

And investigating paranormal activity.

And fighting bad taste. Some really awful taste.

The mansion was really quiet at this time of the night. She had five hours before she caught a plane to the UN headquarters to discuss new laws against poaching and for wild life conservation. And 30 more before she had to appear at Yale to lecture on the symbolism and pun in Milton’s poetry.

Her last paper on lewdity in Alexander Pope’s works had been well-received. The world was close to believing that the masters were actually just writing a bunch of dirty limericks under the guise of religious and political propaganda.

This gave her enough time to write her scathing editorial.

She changed into her pyjamas and padded softy to her study. It was her favourite place in the house. It had been camouflaged to look like a walk-in closet so that Tushar would never bother her there.

He, in retaliation, had built a game room behind the kitchen. You needed to make tea on the gas to get in. And carry it to Tushar.

He was in there now, engrossed in the new gaming thingummy she had bought him after she accidentally let their elephants play with one of his more expensive toys.

It had been rather hard to get out of that one.

She tapped the red sequined Dorothy sneakers on the foot stool to the beat of the Birdie Dance, and a door slid open exposing the impressive study.

It had huge bay windows with seats overlooking the Bombay skyline, and it’s mini-skyline of slums. The walls were lined with hardbound Terry Pratchetts and several collections of poetry.

On one wall, hung a large painting of a chocolate cake.

After spending years pretending she could understand high-brow literature, Mitali had given up and accepted that she understood chocolate better.

BooBoo bounded towards her as she entered, parking his nose into the back of her knee. Science had been kind to him, and he would always remain the overgrown pup she had rescued from the petrol pump.

He was the perfect sidekick to her superhero alter ego. By day he was a playful black dog, by night he was a sleepy black dog.

Even superheroes need a nuzzle.

Just as she was settling down in front of her really tiny, shiny black laptop, she spotted a beacon in the sky.

She sighed. She was really against all these trappings, but Ahmed had insisted that it was Tradition™. As she watched, the beacon changed from the small ‘m’ that stood for merlin, to a joystick, to a PDA, to naked Minnie mouse.

She waited for Andre’s response. Soon enough, from the western suburbs came the beacon of a rainbow. Only it was dark and gothic.

Jaison alias Deer Huntar sent out his beacon of a maki roll.

That was the sign for the Black Labradors to convene. It really was a lame name. But Andre had been really enthusiastic and the gang didn’t have the heart to shoot it down. And Tushar had said that all superheroes needed to have silly names, like Birdman and the X-Men. That too, he said, was Tradition™.

At least it was better than being called X-Rated Men/Women/Andre.

She wearily head out of the study and went to the game room. She didn’t bother with the tea and used the knob. Tushar didn’t notice her come in. “Hi stupid dog,” he called to Boo, putting out his arm for a wrestle.

“A call has been sent out,” she said. “You coming?”

“Naah,” he said “I need to finish this level”.

“Okie, I’ll be back soon”

“Have you got your phone?”

“Yes”

“Wallet?”

“Yup”

“Umbrella?”

“Yup”

“Gun?”

“Yep”

“Did you remember to load it?”

She shot back a stare that saved her from the embarrassment of having to answer that.

“Did you smoosh the dog?”

On cue, Boo offered his face. Smooshings over, she headed to the basement garage through the hidden elevator.

In the black beetle she had carefully restored from her childhood, she didn’t drive as much as sputter towards the meeting place – Ahmed’s house. The others were already there.

“It’s a vampire,” said Ahmed.

“Yeah! A real live undead,” said Andre. “This is so dark and gothic na?”

“So what do we know about him?” Mitali asked, though what she was really thinking was “What do I wear when we stake it?”

“Well… I’ve already Googled him. He has a blog, and a Flickr account. You better come see this Mitali. It’s really bad. He writes poetry,” said Ahmed.

“Groan,” said Mitali. “That’s all we need. Is it any good?”

“The usual ‘the neck that got away’ types. Seems harmless.”

“Does he mention any sisters?” asks Andre.

“Harms animals?”

“No da. Has adopted a kitten”

“Cousins?”

“Can we spot him for some blood? You can make this really good smoothie with it,” said Jaison looking up from his buffalo meat casserole. He gave the team a bad name, but he was good with his hands. Many an offender had been kneaded into dough by them. A light and fluffy pastry base was made from them later.

“Bad fashion sense?”

“Nope, classic black velvet cape wardrobe”

“Ex-girlfriends?” Andre was beginning to sound depressed now.

“Maybe he knows where we can get fresh blood”

“So why did you boys send out the call?”

“Erm…The thing is we don’t hang out any more. It’s always work. We need to meet and just chill you know,” said Ahmed.

Mitali gave them the look she used to point out grammatical errors that weren’t her own.

“Andu broke up. He’s kinda depressed,” said Jaison.

“Guys, I need to be at the UN tomorrow. It’s a really long flight. Not that I don’t want to hang out. And I really am sorry about Carmen, Andu.”

“Her name was Karen,” said Jaison.

“Really? What happened to Carmen?”

“She dumped him last week. Karen’s her cousin.”

“I need to go,” said Mitali.

“Me too. I’m hungry,” said Jaison.

They both ignored Ahmed’s silent plea. He’d have to handle Andre alone.

“Look at this shiny elf, Andu,” she heard him say as she walked out the door.

Back home, it was almost time to leave for the hangar. She called the butler to bring around the aircraft.

“Tushar, we need to go. C’mon” He raised his sleepy head. “C’mon, I really don’t want to be late. I hate walking into a full room. The Gen-Sec’s been giving me the glare. It makes me feel so guilty.”

As she waited for Tushar to wake up, she walked to the closet that was filled with the kind of clothing seen only in magazines. Rows and rows of designers she didn’t know how to pronounce. Vintage items bought from flea markets around the world.

Silently, she picked the jeans handed down to her by her brother. Walked over to Tushar’s shelf, and took the black tee he had worn on every single date with her. The corduroy jacket from Colaba was next. And the man’s Swatch she had nicked after she cut off the hand that wore it.

The man was her first. He thought stoning animals was a sport.

She headed into the dawn to her waiting plane that was filled with marzipan and raspberry soda. Simon and Garfunkel were playing in the backround. Live.

Tushar was walking the Boo. He too was wearing a black tee.

They headed to New York wondering if they could get chai and khari before the meeting began.

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