Bombay to Beijing by Bicycle (33 page)

MUSIC: Indian Sunrise

RUSSELL cycles slowly. He is clearly unwell. He passes out and falls.

DR CHAWLA: CONGRATULATIONS! CONGTRATULATIONS TO YOU, MR RUSSELL!

RUSSELL: Thank you, thank you!

DR CHAWLA: Congratulations! You are having the malaria!

RUSSELL: What?

DR CHAWLA: Yes, your blood test is back and we are making the results and it has come up with a positive test for the malaria!

RUSSELL: Malaria?

DR CHAWLA: Yes, yes. Wonderful.

RUSSELL: Is this … cerebral malaria? You know, the one that goes to your brain … then kills you?

DR CHAWLA: No, no, no … at least, not yet.

RUSSELL: (Weakly) What!? (Pause) Tell me Doctor. Do many people die from this around here?

DR CHAWLA: (Happily) Yes, many! So many, yes, so many people dying, dying, here in Pakistan from the malaria. But don’t worry. I will be looking after you.

SFX: A JET PLANE TAKING OFF

RUSSELL sits in a chair drinking.

RUSSELL: So after Bombay I’m gonna cycle up through India and onwards to China. Yeah. That’s right. Cycling. On a bike, cycling. (Pause) Because I want to get close to your people, to find the real India –

MUSIC: a sitar plays.

RUSSELL: And it’s a great title for the book that I’m going to write: ‘Bombay to Beijing by Bicycle’. Good, isn’t it? It’s got that wonderful bum-de-bum, bum-de-bum … rhythm to it. Yes, yes I know. Very clever. (Pause) What do you mean it’s not called Bombay anymore? … Mumbai? Bombay is called Mumbai? And that’s a fact. Oh, oh, of course I knew they changed it. It’s just that … didn’t they change it back again? Mumbai to Beijing by Bicycle … oh, shit!

We hear someone clearing their nose.

RUSSELL is woken up by the nose clearing. He opens the curtains.

SFX: TRAFFIC.

Horrified, he closes them. He opens them again.

MUSIC: Indian sunrise

RUSSELL: (
opens the curtains
) Ah, India! Beautiful women floating by in their red and pink saris, sacred Brahmin cows roaming freely, the laughter of children flying kites and the smell of incense blended with the scent of poppadums frying at a corner food store while a man takes a dump in the street. I’ve got to write this down! Where’s my journal? Ah!

RUSSELL finds the journal and opens it.

SFX: SNARE ROLL

JOURNAL marches downstage, salutes.

JOURNAL: Att’n! Alright chaps. At ease. Eyes forward! Now, I’ll be taking you through today’s briefing. I am Russell’s Journal. 500 pages of high quality silk paper sewn and bound together in a bespoke leather cover. Previous owner: Mrs Dwyer, wife of Brigadier-General, Reginald Dwyer of the Royal British Battalion stationed in Borneo 1927. Her last entry reads: ‘Oh, what a cute monkey’. Today, we turn a new page and a new mission to write a travel book about Russell’s heroic journey from –

RUSSELL: Bombay to Beijing by Bicycle.       

JOURNAL: At 0500 we set off from –

RUSSELL: BOMBAY!

JOURNAL: – Mumbai then to here, here, here and a slight detour to Kathmandu to achieve our secondary objective, to meet up with his long standing girlfriend of six weeks, the gorgeous Rachael (plays with his nipple). It is in the frisky hills of the Himalayas where we give her a good rogering! (He becomes a humping monkey) Sorry. Monkey bite. Borneo 1927. An Oran-go-tan. Where was I? Oh, yes. The objective. After a month together, Rachael is to carry on with her own trip to Europe while Russell cycles onwards to Pakistan, over the glorious Karakoram Highway then into China. However, time is against us. We must get to Beijing before the harsh winter freezes us in our tracks. All we need to do now is to assemble the bike; the Trek Mountain Bike II! (aside) Very expensive bicycle you numb-skulls!

He points to downstage left. JOURNAL mimes seeing a mangled bike, indicating with his pointer.

JOURNAL: AH! BLAST THOSE BAGGAGE HANDLERS! (
picks up a piece which falls to the ground
) Pack of terrorists the lot of them! (
Addresses the audience
) Volunteers to assemble the bike (
beat
) Right. Two men. Yes, you two. Just pretend it’s a piece of IKEA furniture. Actually, don’t do that, you’ll never get the bloody thing together. (
Pause
) Never mind. Here’s one I prepared earlier.

He crosses to his left and points at the same spot.

JOURNAL: As you can see it’s similar to the original.

JOURNAL flicks his pointer from one side to the other indicating the imaginary bikes.

JOURNAL: Gosh I looove theatre! Well, that’s it, chaps. Dismissed.

He blows smoke and salutes, knocks himself in the head, accidentally dropping his cigarette and bends over.

DR CHAWLA: That’s it. Almost there. A bit further … bit further …

RUSSELL: Aahah!

DR CHAWLA: … Further …

RUSSELL: Aahah!

DR CHAWLA: FURRRRTHER!

RUSSELL: AGH!

DR CHAWLA: No problem Mr Russell! Just a tiny more prick for the malaria. Hahaha! Yes, malaria! Hahahaha!

RUSSELL: You’d be happy if I had any kind of ailment!

DR CHAWLA: Yes! I would. Tell me Mr Russell. This is very delicate question for me. Is the sex in your country (
hands in pocket, finger wiggle
) … free?

RUSSELL: Free? Well … you gotta buy them a drink at least.

DR CHAWLA: Vonderful! All I need then is to buy them a drink and I can be having the sex! Good, good.

RUSSELL: It’s not as simple as that!

DR CHAWLA: I must think of an excellent drink! Perhaps a cocktail. A Margarita! No. What about Sex on the Beach! Oh, yes! I’d like to make a drink for a lovely Western woman as she lay in the sand, rubbing the coconut oil into her back … her thighs … then turn her over and rub her bikini line and (
slips his thumb into RUSSELL’S arse
) –

RUSSELL: Ahh!

DR CHAWLA: Oh, sorry, Mr Russell. Ah, yes. Injection.

DR CHAWLA mimes pulling out a huge needle to inject RUSSELL
.

RUSSELL: No, no! Not that again!

RUSSELL runs upstage left and smashes out the light.

He hides and stands up as DR CHAWLA.

DR CHAWLA: Mr Russell. You have broken the light. Where are yoooouu? I go to infrared.

DR CHAWLA slides infrared goggles over his eyes. He ‘beeps’ where RUSSELL is.

DR CHAWLA: Ah! There you are!

DR CHAWLA harpoons the syringe. RUSSELL runs. We see the syringe flying towards RUSSELL whistling in the air. The syringe finds its target in RUSSELL’S butt. The pain ricochets up his body.

RUSSELL: AAAAAGGGHHH!

RUSSELL morphs into tapping a shower rose. He loosens the tap. Nothing. Loosens it again. Nothing. He loosens again and the whole tap comes off. He whacks the shower rose and water sputters all over him. He blocks it. It shoots out from the tap. He blocks that. It bursts out from under him. He grabs the tap and refastens it just as there is a knock on the door.

RUSSELL: (
He covers his genitals
) AARGH!

A PORTER walks in, hunched over and stuttering. RUSSELL continues to hold his crotch.

PORTER: Welcome to Bombay, sir. Breakfast. Chai, b-budda toast, omelette, j-jam. You vant it?

RUSSELL: Bombay? I thought it was called Mumbai?

PORTER: As you like.

RUSSELL: As you like?

PORTER: Yes, sir.

RUSSELL: But why?

PORTER: Sir, this is India. We call it what we like.

RUSSELL: I like this place. It’s so relaxed. (
One hand on nads
) Hey, does that mean that Bollywood could be called Mollywood because it’s now Mumbai?

PORTER: Certainly not! It will always be called Bollywood! Never Mollywood! NEVER! NEVER I TELL YOU!! That is the full stop! No breakfast for you! YOU SHIT OFF TO PAKISTAN YOU WHITE MONKEY!

PORTER storms off. Go round, on the bike.

RUSSELL: White monkey, white monkey. I’m not a white – OOOHH!

SFX: TRAFFIC

He goes into heavy traffic. RUSSELL mimes swerving traffic. He stops and hears a voice.

TONI: (
Flirtatious
) Hiya! Where ya goin’?

JOURNAL: A thin woman, wearing a yellow bandana and a ring in her nose skids to a halt on her mountain bike. A Trek 7! Very, very expensive bicycle. Bloody upstart!

TONI: (
sniffs the air
) Christ! You’re carrying a lot of gear. What’ve you got in there then?

RUSSELL: Er … things …

TONI: You should ride like me. I’ve been all through India with just these two bags. A pair of flip flops, a T- shirt and a hammock. That’s it. Not all of THAT! (
Sweetly
) Got any water?’

RUSSELL: Er, yeah.

TONI: (
grabs the water bottle from RUSSELL
) I’m so dehydrated!

TONI gulps the water down, sucking it inside out. She hands it back to RUSSELL.

She fixes her eyes on RUSSELL as if he’s insane.

TONI: (
digs in her ear
) ’Ere. Know anything about bikes? Had a bit of bingle on the way down from the Himalayas. Haha! I don’t carry any tools myself or the latest brands – Ooooh! Those tyres won’t stand up to the road! You need Michelin 501s you do. Hahaha!

RUSSELL: They’ve done me fine, thank you.

TONI: Nooo! They’re not thick enough. No traction, luv. Walls too thin. What were ya thinkin’?

RUSSELL: I –

TONI: You just arrived or somethin’?

RUSSELL: I –

TONI: Thought so. (
Toni sees a fly and snaps it with her mouth and eats it.
) I’m a Jain.

RUSSELL: Russell.

TONI: Noo! Jain is one of my religions. I’m Toni. (
sighs
) So … where ya goin’?

RUSSELL: (
Pause
) Beijing.

TONI: Beijing! Are ya daft! You’ll hate it! The roads are horrible from here on. And what’s more there’s people everywhere in India, everywhere you go, staring at ya, staring at ya. And they always ask the same question: ‘Which country, madam? One school pen?’ Drives me barmy!

RUSSELL: Oh, come on. They’re just curious, that’s all.

TONI: No, no. You don’t understand.

RUSSELL shifts gears, cycling faster, getting away from her.

RUSSELL: (
shouting back
) No, I understand alright. Travellers like you.

TONI changes gears to catch up.

TONI: Oh, I see. Travellers like me, ya fat twat! You probably think India is this exotic place with Swamis hanging off temples surrounded by incense and flowers. Well, it’s not. It’s one little
shit-all
town after another. And if it weren’t the fact that I’m enlightened I wouldn’t have maaade it.

RUSSELL: You’re … enlightened?

TONI: That’s right. I’m into the Kundulini!

RUSSELL: Kunda what?

TONI: Kundulini! I’ve been awakened by the female serpent. SSsss!

RUSSELL: Oh, Christ!

TONI: I’ve had all my chakras cleansed. Ha! And now I’m enlightened like a peaceful new born baby.

SFX: HONK (FROM LEFT) TO TONI

TONI: Fawk off ya cunt! (
turn head to right
) I’m ENLIGHTENED! I tell ya. ENLIGHTENED! (
She goes cross eyed. She thumps her head
) Christ! Nearly poked out my third eye there (
suddenly realising where she is
). Anyway. Ya best go. It gets to ya, it does. The noise, the pollution, the staring. Go, Go why you can. GO BEFORE THEY TO GET YOU TOOOOOOOOO!

JOURNAL: Off she went, devoured by the traffic as Russell finally made it out of Mumbai and on to the north bound highway to Rajasthan.

RUSSELL: (
naive love
) Ah, India! Here I come, my delicate lotus!

DRIVER: HONK! HONK!

RUSSELL backs up to the beep horn to back of stage.

INDIAN DRIVER: You are holding up the traffic you English nincompoop! (
spits loudly
)

RUSSELL wipes off spit which forms into wiping off malarial sweat. He’s spread out on the sheet. [Keep action in bed. Be listless, no energy through everything]

RUSSELL’S FATHER: Should’ve stayed at home, Russell.

RUSSELL: (
Surprised, can’t believe it
) Dad?! What are you doing here? You’re … dead.

RUSSELL’S FATHER: Well, I heard you gotta touch of malaria.

RUSSELL: ‘A touch of malaria?’

RUSSELL’S FATHER: You should’ve stayed at home and got ya self a really nice three-bedroom brick venereal in Ringwood.

JOURNAL: That’s Leith, to you people.

RUSSELL: (
honest
) DAD! … I’M DYYYING!

RUSSELL’S FATHER: (
pause
) You right for money?

RUSSELL: Well, actually –

RUSSELL’S FATHER: Is that the time is it?

FATHER turns and deflates into RUSSELL cycling in desert.

SFX: BACKGROUND NOISE OF THE DESERT – CICADAS

JOURNAL is riding a horse. He looks through his binoculars.

JOURNAL: (
Aside
) Ah, there he is. Somewhere in the wilds of the Rajasthan desert our protagonist continues on his merry journey, pushing his bike through sand drifts, desert heat and countless thorns that puncture his tyres.

RUSSELL: (
Mimics puncture sound
) SSSSSSSS! Ohh!

JOURNAL: He falls off his bike.

RUSSELL: What?

JOURNAL: (
not too nasty
) I said ‘He falls off his bike’.

RUSSELL does a lame fall. Get down to floor level but don’t get dirty.

JOURNAL: (
Side of mouth
) Arsehole! He gets back on and rides through the tireless heat for hours. He gets another puncture …

RUSSELL: No I didn’t.

SFX: SSSSSSSSS!

RUSSELL: Blast!

JOURNAL: Has a stack with a yak.

RUSSELL: There aren’t any yaks in India – MOOOO! AAGGGHH!

JOURNAL: Is chased by pack of wild dogs.

RUSSELL: WHOOF! WHOOF! Get away from me you bastards!

JOURNAL: He unwittingly steps in a human shit.

RUSSELL looks under his shoe.

JOURNAL: And … it’s his own.