🍛 MASALA MILE

A Short Story by Gerard King – www.gerardking.dev
Genre: Diaspora Satire | Culture Clash Comedy | GTA Lore
Tone: Absurd, Poetic, Deep-Fried Realness

🎬 Opening Line:

Vishnu arrived in Canada with three things in his suitcase: a cracked Motorola, a 2-kilo packet of homemade garam masala, and a dream to become “head of something."

📍 Scene 1: “Straight from Chennai to Scarborough”

Vishnu stepped off the UP Express and onto the cracked sidewalks of Scarborough like a Bollywood extra who wandered into a different movie.
The air smelled like weed, winter, and hope deferred.
His uncle dropped him at Markham Road and Lawrence and said:
“Stay warm, don’t trust white girls, and avoid Brampton drivers.”
That was the whole orientation.
Vishnu clutched his Canada Goose knockoff from Karol Bagh and repeated his new mantra:

“Canada is upgrade. I am upgrade. Scarborough is upgrade-adjacent.”

But deep down, he felt like a curry leaf in a Caesar salad.
Disoriented. Hungry. Curious.
First job app: Bubble Tea cashier.
Second job app: Security for No Frills.

📍 Scene 2: “Square One Job Fair, a.k.a. Sadness in Dress Shirts”

He suited up.
Slicked hair. Heavy cologne. Collared shirt 1 size too tight.
Stepped into Square One's makeshift job fair like it was a UN summit.
Booths everywhere: Shaw call centres, Pizza Pizza, a mystery crypto startup run by a man in flip flops.
And that’s when it happened.
A voice behind him said:
“Yo... Vishnu?”

He turned around.
It was his cousin Ajay from Hyderabad —
But now wearing Tech Fleece and speaking in pure 905 dialect.

“Big man! Man’s out here surviving still, you feel me?”

Vishnu: “Ajay… why are you talking like… Drake if he failed math?”

Ajay laughed:

“G fam I’m Scarborough now. We don’t say ‘namaste’ — we say ‘nah I’m blessed.’”

📍 Scene 3: “But I’m Not Indian…”

They caught up over food court dosa and Mississauga dreams.
Ajay said he had roommates from Guyanese, Trini, Fijian, and actual Desi lanes.
Vishnu tried to bond: “Oh, more Indian brothers!”
Ajay nearly choked on his chutney.

“Nah bro, Guyanese is not Indian. Trini is not Indian. Fijian is not Indian.”
Vishnu blinked.
“But... they eat aloo? They say ‘beta’? One of them said ‘my roti buss up.’”
Ajay:
“Yeah bro but try call them Indian, you’re gonna catch more smoke than Diwali fireworks in Malvern.”

Vishnu’s first paradigm shift.
A crack in the curry cosmos.
How could people look Indian, sound Indian, smell like masala —
But swear they weren’t?

📍 Scene 4: “The Black Guy From Durham”

Then came the final boss.
A tall, chilled-out guy named Malachi they met in line at the Tim Hortons inside Shoppers.
He wore Crocs, chain out, and smelled like incense, cologne, and generational swag.
He introduced himself smooth as oxtail gravy:

“Yo I’m Malachi — half Trini, half Guyanese, born in Scarborough, but I live in Durham now.”

Vishnu tilted his head.
Something was wrong.
Malachi… was Black.
Like, definitely Black.
Waves. Melanin. Perfect fade.
Not even “ambiguously biracial.”

Vishnu stammered:
“Wait… but you’re Black?”

Malachi laughed like this wasn’t his first rodeo.

“Fam, half my family makes roti, the other half makes bake. I had dhal before I had chicken nuggets. I played Mas at Caribana before I learned how to ride a bike.”
“My grandma got a mango tree tattooed on her chest. I don’t know who Rihanna is — but I know who Ramdass from Richmond Hill is.”

📍 Scene 5: Mind = Masala'd

Vishnu didn’t blink for 14 seconds.
He whispered like he was seeing a ghost:
“…even the Black people here are Indian?”
Ajay laughed so hard his dosa folded itself.
Malachi just winked.

“Nah fam. They’re just more Caribbean than Bollywood ever prepared you for.”

Vishnu’s world collapsed.
His aunties never warned him about this.
Back in Chennai, Trini and Guyana were punchlines, not cultural blueprints.
Now his brain was being seasoned with shadow beni and post-colonial identity crises.
He looked at Malachi again, shook his hand, and said:

“This country is very… advanced.”

🎯 Final Scene: “Masala Mile”

Now Vishnu walks the Scarborough streets differently.
He nods at Black guys with roti in their lunch bags.
He doesn’t assume Desi names mean Desi passports.
He gets bubble tea AND doubles.
He even tried oxtail once. Almost cried.

One day, a new Indian immigrant said to him:

“Why all these Indian people say they are not Indian?”

And Vishnu smiled like a man who touched enlightenment.
He said:

“Because here… even your race gets lost in the snow, bro.”

And they walked off together…
down Masala Mile.

🧷 Tags

🧠 Creator Notes

This story has real potential as a short film, animated special, or monologue performance.
Can be stylized visually with mixed media art, Bollywood film-style transitions, and actual GTA locations.
Explores themes of cultural identity, migration, unexpected community, and food as language.

“In the Masala Mile, nobody is who they look like — but everybody can buss a roti.”

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