Shakira

Shaky waky was, in fact, the larger than life djinn - Shakira, though she preferred to be a called a Genie, or even a Jeannie, she was a definitely a djinn with huge pretensions.

If you could weigh a Genie, Shakira would have weighed in at about three hundred and sixteen pounds, give or take an ounce, and every pound appeared to be bursting out of her scanty satin and silk belly-dancer’s costume, with tassels - which may have fit her when she was a size eight, but now was beginning to look positively indecent. Those few parts of Shakira which were covered with strands of pink satin and lacy silk, pearls and shimmering sequins left very little to the imagination, and even the innocently imagination-challenged Just-Abangah had got the message and stood with his eyes popping out. The Geek, on the other hand, witnessed the female abundance which was Shakira, and winced as her vision in pink floated about three feet off the ground, surrounded by translucent clouds of pink smoke.

Of all the bomohs, in all the worlds, whom Shakira had worked with it was Melvyn she had a soft spot for, in fact quite a large soft spot, as it happens – in tune with the rest of her corpulent figure. Shakira’s heart was as large as the vision she presented, and was ever doing free favours for the, mostly male, bomohs who she worked with, but she mainly saved her largest of favours for Melvyn, and forever waited for him to call upon her, so that she may demonstrate her largess.
For Shakira, waiting in the world of djinn for a summons from Melvyn was like a spotty teenage girl clasping her favourite pink teddy-bear, waiting by her pink telephone for her boyfriend to call, and when the call never comes lay crying into their pink satin pillows and eating copious amounts of soft-centred chocolates, or watching sad, love, movies on DVD which actually makes them feel much worse, but when enough tears have fallen and they feel so very very bad it acts like an immunization and they start to feel better – but there again they are perverse.

Melvyn, on the other hand, liked Shakira as a friend and appreciated her kindness, but there, for him, it ended. Even before the days of his dear, now missing wife, Aisah, Melvyn was just not able to look at Shakira in the way she had wanted - his eyes were simply not big enough. It has to be said that Melvyn had never been into large demonstrative women with a predilection for pink, especially, as being djinn , they were quite likely to pop up in a pink cloud just about anywhere, which initially Shakira did, even without being summons. Then it was a stern and pretty hacked off Melvyn who had to draw the line, and tell Shakira to ease of a little with the sudden appearances, otherwise his all customers would get spooked with all the pink – kampung people were just not used to all that pink in once place and at the same time, he would explain. So, over the years, Melvyn had called upon Shakira less and less, so as to not let her get her hopes up for a relationship. But today Melvyn needed Shakira’s resources, and that was the only reason he had conjured her from the world of the djinn.

“So how’s my big boy today then” enquired a husky voiced Shakira “Still taking his beef soup on Friday nights, still drinking the old tongkat ali coffee dearie” Shakira said with a large slow wink. “Shakira, please, you’re embarrassing me in front of my friends” the Geek and Just-Abangah turned to each other and said in tandem “Friends”, and both smiled big smiles at being recognised as friends of Melvyn. “What’s the matter with my big boy den” Shakira said as if talking to a fully grown male baby, or an imbecile. “Shakira, please” Melvyn said earnestly, while blushing a bright red. She sniffed “Well, ok then, I suppose you want something” Shakira said a little annoyed at the reception she was getting from Melvyn. “But I was only being friendly Mr high and mighty Melvyn the bomoh”.

Melvyn quickly explained about getting married, losing Aisah, his quest to find her and the difficulty they were in presently, “Quite a little acar (pickle) you find yourselves in then” Shakira said, not without a hint of irony in her voice “And I suppose you want me to help, Mr married bomoh, who never invited me to the wedding reception.” This was said with more than a little vinegar in her voice, and the three companions could see that the lady djinn was less than pleased with the man she had admired for countless years. It was as if they had a lover’s tiff, but without being lovers, and the coolness which often sets in after a tiff was to be heard in Shakira’s voice when she said “And why should I help a married man, Melvyn” and with that Shakira theatrically disappeared in a large cloud of pink smoke, only to reappear just as suddenly some seconds later, theatrically wave her perfectly manicured pink nail varnished fingers and shoot a pink lightning bolt at the Rocsta jeep then disappear again. A spooky faint sobbing could be heard as Shakira disappeared for the final time, and the pinkness of the air slowly returned to normal.

“What was all that about” enquired the small cheeky Geek, but Melvyn just responded with a stare full of snakes which in other times, and other lands, may have, indeed, turned the Geek into stone. Just-Abangah was now not only wide-eyed, but also open mouthed as his less than quick teenage brain attempted to take it all in, wondering just what he had, figuratively, signed up for. Then, as one, the three travelling companions turned to stare at the jeep Rocsta, all their mouths agape, and their minds quite agape too, with not one of them quite able to believe their dilated pupils, including the worldly wise and reasonably experienced Melvyn.

Shakira’s parting bolt of lightning, apart for doing anything else to the vehicle, had turned the formally manly maroon and black jeep Rocsta into a bright girlie pink. The whole car was pink from its sparkling pink roof to the car’s pink undercarriage too, there was pinkness beyond all pinkness’s, but, to add a modicum of design, and to offset the pink, Shakira had turned the wheels and tyres a brilliant white. The companions slowly looked, one to the other, to the other, as if looking at someone else might reaffirm what had happened really didn’t happen, that everything was fine, just fine, and that the Rocsta really wasn’t pink - but it really was and things really were not fine from a macho male perspective. The Rocsta was pink. Not just the outside either. The once rough and aged upholstery, the seats, the sun bleached black(ish) steering-wheel and even the black rubberised floor mats were radiating a very girlie pink girlishness to anyone who cared to look. Melvyn’s embarrassment was complete. In the quiet aftermath an innocent voice was heard to say “’ere what’s my dad gonna say” said a sheepishly disbelieving Just-Abangah.

But the big pink hearted Shakira wasn’t all vengefulness. She had released the jeep from wizard Waadbi’s spell, by putting on a stronger djinn one of her own, but, just at that moment, Melvyn couldn’t decide which had been worse going back to where they had come from, or all the pink, but at least, he mused to himself, they were able to continue their journey.

Startlingly the Rocsta purred into action like a large pink cat. Everything about its handling appeared to be different, smoother; everything which had previously been rough and manly was now very smooth and just a little feminine. Even the gearbox had changed from a rough manly manual to a girlie automatic and, on driving; Melvyn found that he now had a spare foot. The grand belching announcement of black diesel smoke from the jeep’s ancient exhaust pipe was reduced to a mere puff – of pink smoke. Melvyn visibly cringed as he drove the jeep away, hoping against all hope that no one would see him driving such a vehicle.

Picking up speed the Rocsta once again traversed the oil palm plantation’s undulations, sped along the straightening road and headed towards the foothills of Tea Mountain, it was there that Melvyn’s stomach began to growl and so the jeep’s companions stopped, intending to take refreshment from a small Malay restaurant. Almost at once Melvyn regretted to decision, for as soon as they began to park, all eyes in the restaurant turned to look at the vision in pink Rocsta, not wishing to be noticed, and to hide his acute embarrassment Melvyn pressed his foot hard down on the accelerator sped off again, towards the foothills of Tea Mountain, and eventually to a quiet picnic spot. It was there that the three companions ate the food, and drank the drinks carefully prepared earlier by bomoh Clark.