The Wait

It was around 3 on a sleepy afternoon - sitting on her chair with her parched cobwebbed feet splayed out on warm stone slabs, the old lady gazed on with quiet serenity as only old people can - she was thinking mundane thoughts such as that her feet like a pair of moldy cheese bars--purplish, squishy and swollen. The warmth crept up slowly through to her thick ankles gradually massaging the pipe-like, greenish-blue veins networking over the back of her legs. She sighed, the days were getting shorter now, the throb in her knee was mild, but within an hour, she knew, it would blow up, keeping her up through the night. What she wouldn't give to be able to sleep one night, one full night for a full eight hours of dreamless darkness. A large toad skipped out of the small pool of water, one she whimsically called a lily pond. Looking back at the porch, she called out to her husband "it's another toad today" she updated him. He nodded, she asked if he wanted some lemonade. he did, so she got up grunting with each movement. 

Saras, her husband, was leaning on the porch swing, hands in his pockets, it was a comforting, familiar sight. She appreciated this routine of theirs, with her non-existent memory, routines had become her crutch. For as long as she could remember, each day, after having their lunch together, she'd spend time at the pool, which even on the hottest of days had water, make lemonade for both of them, then go sit on the couch in front of the tv, massaging her knees. She really did not have any recollection of how her days were before - did she do anything differently? Had her knees always hurt? The house was her world and Saras and she were the only occupants of it - well almost - she knew of a hoity-toity nurse who came around once every often to check on her 'vitals'. Why her she had asked rebelliously, while getting prodded and probed by the sullen girl, of course she never answered her - she only spoke when she had to order her around on taking pills! Saras was three years older to her, or so Saras had told her, but the nurse never looked at him, nor cared to ask about his health. He was strong as a bull she knew, never even had a cough and still looked as he probably did when she had first met him but surely he'd need a checkup sometimes too. That silly girl was going to be visiting again later that evening, the note on her fridge door said so. She decided to bring up the topic of Saras's health again, she decided petulantly, at the rate he guzzled down her lemonade every afternoon, he surely needed his blood tested!

Saras raised the glass of lemonade to her, a sign he enjoyed it, she smiled shyly. He had been withdrawn of late, but seemed to have recovered today, slightly. She let him be, clearing up the kitchen counter when she felt him come and stand behind her, placing his large hands on her waist. She giggled nervously, even after all these years he had a way of surprising her, getting her heart racing. Embarrassed to be having such thoughts at seventy-four she swallowed and in a steady voice with her back to him told him about the nurse's visit. He didn't respond, but continued leaning against her, she could feel him smelling her hair. "Saras, I'm too old for this" she tried to admonish but it came out with a laugh. "Stop wriggling, Pumpkin", he whispered, "it's time now". "Time for what, Saras" she giggled nervously. "We will be taking a trip" he said with a finality as though that explained everything. "She turned around, looking at him incredulously -"trip... to where" she asked, unsure with what was wrong with staying in this paradise they'd built for themselves. "It'll be an adventure, I promise.."she looked up at his face, still youthful, still unlined, glowing with the vitality of youth - and suddenly felt deeply ashamed of how she must appear to him, with all the deep creases on her face, when and why had she stopped applying lipstick! He deserved so much better, as her eyes got weepy - he leant down, "I can't wait to hold you again dear" she stared at him - his eyes were steady, unsmiling. He was serious and that unnerved her. " what are you going on about, Soz" she'd call him that sometimes but could not remember why anymore. "you get to hold me every night" she teased him, reaching out to feel his forehead. As usual, it was as cool as spring, she sighed deeply, wanting to understand more but Saras had always been taciturn, a man of few words - something she admired in him "Wear your best clothes tomorrow" he winked at her "for the nurse" he gave a rare dry laugh as he walked around her to get a refill of the lemonade. " He was acting strangely, she wasn't afraid but was rather worried as he had been the most predictable part of her life, her rock. And this change was unsettling. She followed him to the couch. 

"What was my life like, Soz" he looked up to her and then patted the cushion besides him. She sat down and leaned against him "tell me about my life, how did we meet?.....I just cant remember anything". she asked feeling the tears beginning to form. "Hmm... so you don't want to know anything about the trip" he laughed. She shrugged, one thing she had known, despite her struggles with remembering was that he would tell her something only when he was ready, not a moment sooner, she could plead but he had the frustrating ability to withhold information until it was the 'appropriate' time to share - appropriateness being determined by him. She had learned to label him an 'Ox' and accept it over the years to keep the peace. Kissing the top of her forehead, he gave her a soft squeeze, "Who you were, what we were may not matter so much compared to where we'll go". Again, she could hear a tint of excitement in his voice. He continued to stroke her arm as she snuggled against him "But, I will tell you..." and with the practiced ease of having said this numerous times before he began but without any trace of impatience in his voice "we met very young, I saw you at a seminar in your University - don't remember, don't care - what it was on". His voice seemed tender and emotional, he was relishing revisiting the past again " I just remember that during the break I approached you with an excuse to copy your notes as I had been a moron and come to the session without a pen. Lame, I know, but I had to get to talk to you as I had been staring at the back of your head straight through the two hours." He looked down at her again, lifting her chin he planted a gentle kiss on her lips."I still remember each strand of your hair and the scarf you had around". She smiled, she could now remember exactly what he  was describing. She had been stiff in her seat throughout that seminar, keenly aware of his eyes boring into her back. She too did not remember what the speaker had said , except that when he had tapped her shoulder, she had known then that there would be no going back to a before - she had known her new life, the 'after' had already begun. She didn't, she couldn't share her thoughts with Soz for she had pretended to have not noticed or remembered the day for so long. 

She couldn't tell how many times had Soz repeated this story to her, did she remember the day each time? She looked at his hands, they were exactly as she remembered from that class - large, beautiful and soft but with strength, and then she saw hers, deeply ashamed at the mottled, loose hanging skin covering her huge knuckles. He seemed to have remained in his twenties forever and here she was a haggard. "Hey,..." Soz stopped recounting their story as he noticed her sobbing quietly, "we had a good life, short it was, but what we had no one else did, you brought me joy and peace each day love". they stayed huddled together in the quiet warmth of a setting day till the static buzz implied the nurse had arrived. "You go see to her, I'll be out" Soz said making his escape as he had done the last time and every time the nurse had come to visit. The unsmiling but effective Jasmine rubbed Soz the wrong way, he hated her cold, uncaring way about her, especially how callous she tended to be with her and so always slipped away to the yard to not let her see his annoyance. She slowly got up, her back and bones screeching with stiffness as she did, envying the speed and ease with which Soz had darted from the couch to the back yard. 

The bell kept buzzing impatiently till she had made it to the door, the frowning Jasmine almost pushed her way in brushing past her to the dining table. She smelled of sweat, petrol and a long day at work. "Would you like a glass of lemonade, dear, I just made some for Soz and myself" she asked . The nurse continued clattering about with her stuff, laying out the tools with which she would prod and probe her - she wasn't ailing, just old, she almost screamed out loud. Why would they not leave her alone, she despaired. Not all old women got the kind of intrusive medical attention she had to bear. Jasmine seemed to be in a mood that day and snapped at her to stop loitering and go sit on the couch so her BP could be checked. Something told her it was a good thing Soz had made his escape for he would have given Jasmine an earful for treating her so harshly, worse than she usually did. 

She personally did not mind but Soz would just seethe anytime he saw someone treating her with less than the respect he though she deserved.  She hated scenes and Soz was not one to shy away from those, she had learned that early on in their relationship, when he found something wrong he would stand up to it clearly and unequivocally.  She smiled up to Jasmine as she put her hand out for her to draw blood. Apologizing for the trembling of her arms as Jasmine almost hit her arms to keep it steady as she applied the cotton swab. Suddenly the yard door screeched open, Soz was standing there seething - Jasmine jumped almost a feet in the air when she saw him. this was the first time that she had met the elusive Soz. As he started to bound into the room with angry strides, Jasmine shrieked and ran out of the house, her equipment scattered everywhere. The poor girl had also left the purse and her ID card behind without a backwards glance. "Soz, shut the damn door, you're letting all the bugs in" she snapped at him sternly, partly for the bugs but more for him scaring the girl away. She didn't know how to reach her, maybe she'd return in a moment. As the situation sunk in, she could not help but start to laugh,  Jasmine had got what she deserved - the girl had been a pain, once she had even had the temerity to ask her to shut up as she had tried to share one of Soz's stories. Hopefully they'd send someone different next time she sighed. People had always ignored her, brushing away her complaints as they would a dead mosquito, maybe this time she'd have Soz go in to the hospital and ask for a different nurse, she chuckled - no one dared say No to him. Also, what the heck was wrong with her, she felt perfectly fine, maybe Soz could have them leave her alone too.

Soz shut the mesh screen and returned looking slightly crestfallen, "Sorry, pumpkin, she was being a boor today.." he kneeled down in front of her. But looking at her face flushed with laughing he smiled, looking endearingly attractive, it gave her heart a sharp squeeze and they just looked at each other for a while motionless. "So should we continue" he asked, indicating to where they had left off in the recollections. She denied, "What is wrong with me Soz? Why the nurse?" He looked down at her tenderly, "I could tell you but it won't matter after tonight, I just want us to sit here on the couch, with each other, and just be" He looked at her enquiringly, she nodded, somehow it no longer seemed to matter who she was, what their story had been just that they were together, and would be, forever. She felt exhausted. Soz helped her get up and walked her to the bed. He laid down besides her, with his shoes still on. She couldn't bother, they'd be leaving on the trip tomorrow. Snuggling next to him, she breathed in his scent as he stroked her thin hair. She didn't mind him seeing her balding scalp, somehow the fact the he didn't seem to notice had made her feel better about herself. "So, Bunny," Soz whispered just as she was just about to drift off to sleep "remember the trip I was telling you about - " she perked up but he soothed her down "I will need to head out slightly early, I may not be around when you wake up." No ways, she tried to sit up but he kissed her forehead gently forcing her down, "It's just temporary, I will send for you - all you have to do is rest, not panic, okay..." she nodded uncomprehendingly "we are going away someplace where there will be no nurses to worry about. It'll be us together, forever" this time Soz looked into her eyes. She could sense his intensity as he said those words. there was some fear, some uncertainty in his eyes but he seemed genuinely excited. It was her turn to pacify him now, she nodded. She didn't have to say so but he knew she trusted him implicitly so much so she genuinely did not have any curiosity to know where they were going or why. "What do I need to prepare, Soz" she asked, the fridge would need emptying and even though she only had three dresses, she would need to pack her clothes and toothbrush. Soz only had the one pair he had always worn. He shook his head,"No, just rest tonight and don't be upset when you don't see me tomorrow. We'll be together again very soon, I promise". 

The next morning, she was awoken by repeated buzzing of the bell, someone, Jasmine she thought, was very keen on getting in. She let the buzzing continue, she'd get up when she wanted, giggling at how she was adopting Soz's evil stubbornness. Hope he was okay, she sighed in her bed, he would hate to see her worry but she did worry about him a lot. She couldn't recall when they had last been separated but while her heart ached to see his smile as he greeted her every morning, she recollected all that he had said yesterday, she would wait patiently for him. He had said it could be a few days but hoped it would not. A loud crash broke her reverie, startling her with white anger as she saw not just Jasmine but two other men clad in white uniforms rush into the room. they seemed to be yelling at each other, ignoring her completely. She tried to sit up but they pushed her back down and then all of a sudden they were pricking her with needles trying to hook up some kind of a bag to her. It hurt, Soz had said it wouldn't but it did - they did not seem to realize she was human. They were pounding her chest and it hurt so bad but she couldn't even lift her hand to ward them off, before she knew she was dumped into  a stretcher and amidst a lot of yelling and shouting was being carried away from their home, were these Soz's men. Were they taking her to him, through eyes blurry with tears she watched her beloved house, the faded yellow flowery curtains till she was blinded by strong white light, her only regret was that she had not been able to take the photograph of Soz and her with her.

As they rattled through loud, wild roads she realized that these people were not even looking at her, they were avoiding to see her in the eye, as Jasmine sitting next to her seemed to be staring out the window of the van, she could have spoken some caring words to her just this one time, what she wouldn't have given to hear someone mention Soz's name. Helpless, she allowed the tears to block her view after that and as day turned gradually to night she no longer felt the bumps or the needles anymore, neither could she hear any of the harsh sounds that had pierced her ear drums earlier, Soz, show up she pleaded quietly before drifting off into the darkness. 

----------

Jasmine trembled as she entered the room. she clutched on to the cross in one hand while holding the keys in the other. the room was dark and heavy, not smelling of death as the other rooms in the hospital did, it smelled of a home and something floral.  Theressa had been an inmate there for over forty years, the longest duration for a resident to be in a comatose state, although she had withstood multiple attempts by the hospital to shut down her support systems.  Each time, she had been bailed out by a support group her husband had setup, she did not know it but Theresa had become a local celebrity - her grit and resilience as she wavered between illness and good health through her years of coma had been documented in the local press. She had had four full-time caretakers, Jasmine who had looked after her solely for twelve years being the last. Shortly after the accident had left Theressa comatose, the husband, Saras, had created a fund to keep her on the support system. Legend went that till the day he died twenty years ago, Saras had been a daily visitor, he would stop by every afternoon during the visiting hours of 3 to 5 pm, spending an hour by her bedside, reading or cleaning her up or even putting on her makeup. Once Saras had died, it had seemed like Theressa's body had started to fail rapidly before the healing had returned to everyone's surprise, there had been steady improvements in her vitals and eventually, while she could still not move, one day she had opened her eyes. That had been the day Jasmine had started to become her care taker. 

Something no one had noticed was that Theressa's face would show emotions and movement during the visiting hours. Jasmine had seen Theressa blush and smile and that had scared the living lights out of Jasmine. She had stopped going into the room between those hours. The week before her passing, Theressa's body had started to deteriorate once again, her smiles and grunts had started to get fainter and even when she opened her eyes they had seemed to be glassy, unseeing. What had forced Jasmine to go in to Theressa's room during the visiting hours that fatal day had been a flurry of alarms alerting the monitoring staff. Theressa seemed to be showing signs of rapidly decreasing blood pressure. While a scared Jasmine was trying to get the equipment setup, the photograph of Theressa and Saras caught her eye. They were at some party, making a goofy face at the camera. She had picked it up to look at it closely but dropped it accidentally, bending down to ick it up Jasmine felt  a sudden cold draft come in from the open door. Startled, she turned to look up - only to see Saras standing there, grimacing at her as he advanced towards her - he looked exactly the same as he did in the photo. Jasmine had always prided herself on her practicality and common sense. But the feelings that went through her as she saw the man approach had almost given her a heart attack. That had been the last time she had entered the room alone. She would have immediately resigned from her job but Theressa crashed the very next day - all attempts to resuscitate her had failed. She had died a peaceful, natural death in her bed of forty years. 

Per her husband's instructions Theressa's room was to be converted into a resting area for any caretakers of comatose patients. The builders would be coming in tomorrow to tear the room apart and install, of all things, a mini lily pond in the middle of the hospital. Maybe that's what this place needed, she sighed as she locked the door behind her, the photo of Theressa and Saras laughing gleefully at her as she exited.

Kindness

 Unknown to Roslan he was born to a couple who should not have been - first generation cousins whose parents, his grandparents, had been also separated by just one additional degree. He would have said his slight stutter were a result of copious and very surprising inbreeding, in this day and age, had be been able to. Roslan's mother and father had been quite young and when it had become apparent that matters had gone too far, they'd been married to save the family's honour. What the new parents had not taken into account had been a slightly odd looking, hyperactive child that would not stay put. All the baby videos that they'd planned on posting would never happen because their baby was not cute enough, the opposite, in fact. With a rather large, elongated head and bulbous eyes he did not cry out 'lift me up'. Resentment grew in moments and hours at the loss of social stature, partly by the ugly child god had given them as punishment and partly realizing parenthood wasn't really as what it was made out to be. 

With everything going against them, Roslan, sadly, was the only one they had any control over and so bore the brunt of all their frustrations. While his father escaped to go into their wood carving workshop, spending as long as he possibly could there, his mother would cringe at the very prospect of having to pick him up or feed him. He would not be touching her breasts, that was a given, she shuddered at the thought of having him latch on and had him weaned off after three weeks, right after all the muted social festivities around the birth of a boy child had concluded. Her own parents had never extended a warm smile or hug to Roslan, let alone coddle him or fuss about as grandparents were prone to doing. 

He was surely a devil child, his mother mused, washing the unnaturally thick hair that stank worse than the door rug, giving it a hard tug and immediately regretting it as the boy started to wail in the most unpleasant of tones - rather than the beguiling, sympathy inducing cries of other children, Roslan's was a cry that would make one want to slap him, and that's what she'd do. Though it had been five long years since, he still looked two - a feral two year old, with a large head covered by thick glossy hair, eyes that were always flitting about to catch a whiff from where the next punch or slap would land, and forever wrapped in a cocoon of putrid scent that was more a defence mechanism, fending off not just his mother but also the other bullies - the children in his neighborhood. 

When he turned ten, his mother had had enough, one morning he slept in till late on the floor besides the bathroom, without the standard beating by a broom to wake him up, he woke up silently, stretching out on his mat lazily, his muscles didn't ache because he's had a full night's rest. But then a wave of fear gripped him, the house seemed quiet and he worried if there'd be hell to pay for not having been up - maybe there were guests in the house but for sure his mother would not have forgotten that he had not left the house early enough - that had been the pattern, his father would clothe him in a fresh pair of clothes, mostly his old clothes that hung about him making him look worse than the vagabonds that loitered around, and send him off with a whack to his head. Roslan was not to get back to the house before the lights had gone on - his mother had demanded that and to maintain peace in his life, his father had acquiesced.  His father would make a monthly payment to a local eatery on the corner and they would throw him a bun or a plate of fritters twice a day, he was on his own after that. 

His lack of coordination did not help, maybe it was all the whacks to his head he had got but he somehow walked in a strange fashion, his hands pulled close to the chest, as a boxer would to defend themselves, at all times while he shuffled around slightly sideways, like a crab, which again was probably to defend himself for he got abuses hurled at him, sometimes a shove or even a punch if he bumped into someone. No one wanted a stinky vagabond running into their fresh clothes at the start of the day, especially getting emboldened to physical abuse due to his tiny stature. Walking sideways gave him a better chance at avoiding touching people as he wandered about the locality,  stopping often to stare at any one or any thing new -  anything except for his father's shop where he was forbidden to visit. Since he didn't have anyplace to be, he'd spend hours rooted to a spot when he found something interesting, absorbing like a sponge all that they did or said.

That morning he ran out of the room into an empty house. His mother was no where to be seen, The house stood dark, in the shadows of the brilliant sunshine outside.  An air of heavy staleness wafted in from the kitchen. He did not know what she was doing with the rope but she seemed busy, swaying slightly. And then she jerked, he saw her eyes red as usual and bulging out staring straight at him, she had seen him and would soon be lunging  straight at him any minute for her hands had gone to the rope clawing at it, trying to take it off, screaming he ran out, stumbling into the streets. He wandered about a bit, his mind running wildly with the various ways he was going to be beaten up later that day. She had been gurgling some sounds too maybe she had told him what she would be doing to him, but he had not understood a word of it - to him it had sounded like water trying to escape a dried up faucet. His tiny shoddy feet stumbled on and eventually he found himself in a new street, he had seen it from afar but had never gone there for he had been told to stay on his street where he could be found if he were to ever get lost. Roslan did not know this but his parents had a secret desire that it is what would happen one day, that they would hear of his untimely passing and had complete futures planned around that event, to the exclusion of one another, of course. 

All the new sounds and sights flooded Roslan's budding senses, everyone seemed to be running about there and all the screaming and shoves and punches that he had learned to manage on his own street came bounding at him at twice the speed. He started to run, holding his head and kept running till he fell. Laying in the dust he finally opened his eyes and looked up -  the sky looked down at him serenely. He stayed still observing, this was something new he had discovered. When he woke up later, hunger clawing at his innards he found a mangy dog panting right next to him. A rush of musty breeze hit his face sharply slapping minute jagged edged debris into his nostrils and eyes. Rubbing his face he raised himself to breathe better and saw the road just a few feet away from him, cars and buses zipping past him, dumping even more dirt and putrid smoke each time they crossed him, unseeingly. Had it not been for the dog, the filthy Roslan, indistinguishable from a rag, had a very good chance of getting squished under one of those enormous wheels. Tottering up he let his hunger guide him towards a shack, the dog followed. 

The shack was a haphazard one, he could not tell what it was for - it must be a shop but of what he thought - there was only garbage piled up in the front, it had broken chairs, old beds rusted metal everywhere. Roslan didn't know to avoid those death traps, but somehow managed to navigate beyond the war zone to find a clean patch of tiled floor. The shack only had a roof over the debris, the tiled patch was open to the sun, which by now was beating down severely. He found what had drawn him to the shack - an open fire with a pot on it - something was cooking and to his starving self, it seemed like manna. Tottering as close as he could to the pot , he crouched down in front of it hoping a plate would appear from the boiling pot for him. The dog followed suit, salivating just as his new master was. 

Observing the pair from the shadows the hunched man who looked like he was in his eighties decided the pair were not a threat. He hobbled towards them making warning sounds as Roslan, unable to bear the clawing in his stomach reached out to the hot pot. Startled both Roslan and the dog gave out loud yelps but calmed down upon seeing him. To the rest of the world, he was an outcast, a ragpicker, chased by wild dogs and people alike for his ugliness caused hatred and fear even in the saintliest of hearts. Like Roslan, he had a misshapen skull. A paralytic attack had left the right side of his face drooping and even when he had bathed himself in the pond behind the shop he would still look filthy. Life had knocked him around so he looked sixty but was barely a day over thirty. To Roslan, he seemed to be the kindest person he had ever met.

The man told Roslan he would serve him, atleast thats what Roslan understood for all the man uttered were grunts and big gestures. If Roslan had learnt how to, he would have smiled, he continued to stare at his movements as the man ladled steaming hot broth onto a plate for him and to Roslan's surprise he pulled out a spoon and scooped a little blowing on it. Satisfied he pretended to eat by taking the spoon towards his mouth before handing it over to Roslan, teaching him how to eat. How he had known that Roslan had never been able to feed himself was a mystery to Roslan but he followed the instructions clumsily with each spoon. The man and the dog sat there on their haunches, observing him eat, his unbridled joy with the bland meal tugged at the man's heart. He not only understood what Roslan's life had been until then but also shivered thinking of the years to come. As the tiny duo polished off the pot the man laid down in a corner, dozing off instantly. His was a hard life, the physical labour of loading all the iron and metal junk into the truck earlier in the day had exhausted him fully. He knew he had been cheated by the man for the work he had done but was grateful to have got some money, few more years and then he would be able to go back to his father's village. He dreamt pleasantly on an empty stomach of a future that in most likelihood would not materialize, but it was the most content he had ever been and he slept and slept. 

It had started to rain he thought when he woke with a start, but found that it was only the dog and Roslan chasing each other in the yard. Panicking he sat up, why was the child still there, he had assumed he would leave on his own after eating, it would not bode well for him if someone found a child, even if it was a child as deformed as this, in his shop. He yelled, stopping the madness, gesticulating he pointed to the road outside but Roslan continued to stare at him instead of looking at his outstretched arm. The sun was setting now and the street lights had come out, some of his customers would start to come now. Once again he yelled at the two, trying his hardest to look unwelcoming but they just crouched together sitting on the ground. the man picked up a stone and pretended to throw it at the dog, the dog barked at him and then slunk away after a while. Taking Roslan by the arm the man dragged him out to the road, pointing to it he indicated as best as he could for him to leave. Roslan looked at the traffic lights, he had never seen those before for he knew what would happen if he reached home after the lights had come on. Suddenly, events of the morning flashed through his mind, he started to wail thinking of his mother and the stick she would beat him with once he was home. What had she been doing playing with that rope. He had after all not listened to her when she had called out to him that day, there'd be hell to pay. Startled at the volume of his sobbing the man came back out, he'd have to drop him off somewhere else.

Roslan's protective stance of holding his closed fists in front of his face while walking sideways were back, the man tried to make him rush but it only caused him to stumble and fall. His wails grew louder and coarser with each step, sounding less than the cries of a child and more the annoying blasts from a damaged megaphone. The ragpicker smacked him on his head, all love for the child evaporating in front of the dread he had started to feel. Lifting the boy onto his hunched back he tried to distance the boy away from his shack as fast as he could, making for a peculiar sight. Cars slowed down as drivers rolled down windows to get a photo or just stare at the sight of a despicable old man lugging away a wailing boy. 

He had barely gotten to the cross section where Roslan had wandered in from when a small group of people blocked his way. He knew they were asking about the boy but he could not stop till he had dropped the pest on the other side of the road. He grunted at them trying to brush past but one of them pushed him back angrily. He and Roslan took a nasty fall, the man landing partly on top of the boy's leg. Roslan let out the shrillest of screams, stunning the onlookers who had circled them. Prostrated on the floor, the ragpicker tried to answer but all he could get out in his fearful, frenzied state were disjointed words slurred by his paralysis and that seemed to incite the man even more, he said something to the rest of the crowd and all nodded in unison, some rolling up their sleeves and making fists at the pitiful man slurrily making garbled sounds. Roslan, in the meanwhile had noticed a welder nearby using a welding gun with a bright helmet across his head. Curious he had wandered off to watch. He was so immersed in the bright light that he missed out on the spectacle taking place behind him.

By the time the crowd dispersed, they had beaten the ragpicker so badly that the cops had to call an ambulance to pick up his mangled body for the hospital, he would be returning neither to his shack nor to his village No one remembered the boy the ragpicker was supposed to have been kidnapping. 

Tough Love

 The hurt in his soul glistened through his eyes. He hid it, but she saw through the smiling facade.

Wasn't he but just a fluffy ball of cotton, not even a shroud of paper to protect against the onslaught, she imagined?

Weeping silently at her son's future,

Trembling with fear at the tribulations the world would put him through,

All the evil machinations that were bound to shred to a million pieces his fragile sense of self

So, she held him close, tight as only a mother would.

Preparing him each day to build his shell, particle by particle, hurt by hurt;

A shell that would be his when she was gone - she would hurt him as no one ever could!

That, she thought would be the only way; to protect she must hurt, to love she must kill.

Disenchanted

 She knew she would have to step out of the house someday, why did today have to be that day, she rued loudly, in her mind. It had only been a month since Menon had walked out of her life, it hadn't been enough time for her to get over the shame of abandonment. She did not miss him, nor did she want him back, but the suddenness with which he had exited her life had left her stunned; it had been done with surgical precision, cold and neat, with no loose ends to fret over. In their time together, there had been no drama, no heated exchanges and no moments of passion - they had existed together, barely lived. Her memory of their time together was the constant feeling she had, of being suffocated, by a soft, silken pillow, something that would eventually put her to sleep before smothering her by its officious civility. Eventually she had been no different than that packet of meat that had remained frozen in their refrigerator, in plain sight, yet forgotten, and their relationship had ultimately shared the same fate of being tossed into the garbage can in one sudden swoop.

Hidden behind the recess in her window she watched the world zip past outside, everyone forever in a hurry, running towards something, stressed, harassed, oblivious of their aliveness, ungrateful of the miraculous gift of life bestowed upon them. Hadn't she been one of them, focused on her 'hustle', destined like the hamster to always dance to someone else's tune, striving for that pot of gold at the end of some rainbow. It hadn't been anyone's fault, no one had set out to cheat her, she sighed. She had herself, drifted away from her consciousness, the choices she had made had kept pulling her ever deeper into the churning morass of 'productive' society. She had been fortunate though, hadn't she, her wakeup call had had been the blazing trumpet of Menon's disappearance from her life, had that not happened she would have ended up like the toad in a pan of slowly heating water.

But now, she perked up, trying to force herself out of her morbidity, the sun was setting, soon it would be dark, perfect for her to slip out; everyone would be cozying up in front of their mindless bingeing on televisions or laptops. She stood there, waiting patiently, silencing her mind, watching the street clear after the flurry of increased traffic from people bound homewards, mindless honking, and the dusty atmosphere of irateness dissipate gradually. Eventually, she could hear only the lazy rustling of palm leaves and the stars started to shyly play hide and seek. The next five minutes went by without her knowing, her body still remembered how to get ready and out for she soon found herself at the entrance of the lighted garden. Looking at it uncertainly, she reminded herself - "One step at a time", as she eased into her slow walk, looking down at her shoes, her trusted old sneakers. People passed her by as she continued on the walkway, eyes fixated on the ground to avoid making eye contact, her earphones plugged in but silent, only to signal she wouldn't respond to people calling out to her either. A regular to the park, she had not been visible for more than a month, yet no one had called out to her - not even the security guard whom she had given all of Menon's left-over clothes - of such impeccable quality and taste that it had caused the man to reel over in ebullient gratitude and now he had his face turned away from her. She had wanted to be left alone, but her becoming invisible this quickly hurt deeply.

She noticed a new path had been cleared with fresh tiles laid out and took up the trail, her regular path had only about five people but to her it was a crowd. How long she had run for that evening, she could not recall, puzzlingly she did not feel any soreness in her muscles. She had been a runner before the break, even so she could not claim this level of fitness. Not wanting to regret her over-enthusiasm the next day she did some stretches and seeing a stone bench sat down to cool off. This new trail had not seemed to help for she still felt neither tired nor rejuvenated. Maybe she needed to get back to her morning runs as before. "One step at a time", she reminded herself as she found herself panicking at the thought of getting out during the day.

 She could not have been alone for long before someone came up the path leisurely strolling as they spoke loudly into their phone. The man was likely one of the painters who had been painting their apartment complex walls, she deduced based on his overalls. Maybe it would be good practice for her to try and strike up a conversation with him. She had been garrulous decades ago, she squirmed at the thought of the gibberish she had spouted in the name of 'conversation', Menon had taught her the power of silence, of using few but powerful words. Her friend circle had disappeared soon after that, "good riddance" Menon had approved of the change. 

Why had someone as astute, as awe-inspiringly brilliant as Professor Menon stooped down to marry her, she had often asked herself in their marriage of four years. A few months back, during a dinner party, when she had sat obtusely through the complex discussion on world affairs and had hesitatingly stated an overly simplified viewpoint, she had noticed Menon freeze, going red in the face. On the drive back, he had maintained an aloofness that scared her more than if he had yelled at her. And that's when she had asked him the question about why had he asked her, then a student of his, to marry him. He had looked at her for a long time before shrugging, "Opposites attract". The humiliation had stung, she felt tears well up but had hastily swallowed those away, Menon detested overt displays of emotion, calling them childish. Each day she had changed - a bit here, a bit there, until there came a day when she looked into the mirror, she saw Menon and not her goofy face, she had finally truly become worthy of being his wife, someone he could take out to meet his colleagues without dying of embarrassment. A few weeks later, after dinner, he had calmly conveyed to her stunned face that she should expect the divorce papers soon. As usual he had been gravitas personified, cool, precise, and masterful, His eyes glittered through his specs as they seared right through hers, cold as ever, she had not even blinked, he would not have any of that emotional outburst, she knew. Had it been her hair? she could not help blabbering incoherently "I was going to get it cut this weekend", it had been a lie and he had just smirked at her, reverting to correcting the exam papers. 

Her running and her hair had been the only things Menon had been unable to get her to change. Just like her mother, she had been blessed with thick waist long hair. While everyone had admired her Jezebel locks, Menon had hated it. No educated girl should allow herself to have hair as long as this he had told her, "for heaven's sake, you look like a farmer's wife" he had grimaced through tight lips, yes, she had wavered, but had not been able to get the bob Menon had so badly wanted her to get, instead, she had started to put her hair into a tight bun ever since, anything to avoid Menon noticing it or commenting on it. 

Something tore through her as she realized that her hair was still in a bun, he was still in control, "No!" she yelled out furiously. The guttural howl that shook the leaves around her seemed to have come from somewhere behind her, stunned, she looked around to find the painter guy on his knees, whimpering. Had she been the one who made that thunderous noise? Embarrassed, she stood up to find her hair had come lose. She shook it letting it fall over her face, liking its texture, its smell. She had forgotten how her open hair felt, she was never putting her hair back in a bun, she promised herself. The man had turned white, whimpering with fear. Guiltily, she extended a reassuring hand out to him but he cried out, finally scampering to his feet and running away. She smiled, ashamedly at the surge of power she felt at scaring the man. She hated herself.

The next day, she woke up to a massive headache, how long had she been asleep! Looking on languorously at the setting sun, it seemed she had slept through the entire day, had her run been that tiring, she thought, noticing she still had her running clothes on. With  no recollection of getting back to the apartment, she concluded the run must have been very emotionally draining, maybe she'd wait to get back to running.  Gazing out from her sofa, she could see the familiar rush of people and cars, everyone was either with someone or trying to get home to be with someone. Her loneliness hit her hard between the ribs, there was no one thinking of her, wanting to be rush home to her, she swallowed painfully. She was still clutching her knees trying to reduce the hollowness within her chest, when a sound alerted her - the front door was opening. Her mouth went dry as she looked about her, no one had the keys to the place except Menon and her. And then she heard his voice. She wasn't ready to meet him, not like this, she scrambled to her feet, panicking. She ducked into the closet, closing it lightly just as the voice came closer, he was almost into her room!. She heard the voice fade in and out as he walked about the front room, it most definitely was Menon's but he sounded different, apologetic, humble, scared even. 

"....it's five years now, this was my first flat...would love to get back here..." apparently his companion had not agreed for he continued his groveling, trying weekly to convince them. And then she heard the second voice, it was sharp, static, deep but distinctly female, "get rid of it, it stinks of middle class". That seemed to have ended the discussion. She had to see who it was that had Menon shut up. Quietly, she stepped out of the closet and peeked around the door, Menon was running his finger over the coffee table, fondly even, while the woman, with her back to her was standing huddled up in the center, afraid as though to get contaminated, of what, she thought. There was something familiar about her - she had the short wavy hair of one of the students that Menon had tutored, deciding to know more she stepped through into the drawing room. Menon looked up at her, expressionlessly, almost as if he was seeing past her, she almost gasped aloud, noticing how much he had aged in the past month. He had been her Professor in college, almost a decade older but had always had youthful vigour about him that had been a huge hit with his students, including her. His companion turned to look as he exited the room, and just like Menon, ignored her completely. She was used to being a wallflower when with Menon but being someone of no consequence even to this young thing, was humiliating. This female version of the youthful Menon was unaware of the treacherous phase of life she had entered into, feeble or not, Menon was dangerous. She stepped forward, into the girl's line of sight hissing "Why are you here?" The girl seemed to look away, hugging herself tighter, then suddenly she yelled out "Menon, we've got to leave....Now!"

Menon came racing out, "Anything's the matter honey". "Don't honey me you!" she snapped, "this house gives me the chills.... you can't expect me to move in where she died.." "Baby, it's been five years, this is prime property..." he cooed, completely ignoring her confused face. Who were they talking about, who had died there - Menon and she had bought this newly constructed apartment just a year back. The way Menon was looking at the young girl reminded her of how she had looked at him, what a fool he looked like, she giggled but then stopped fearing he would hear her, But he did, both of them clutched hands gawking at her, were they fearful of her! She burst out laughing, their fearful faces looked comic! One of the windows flung open blowing a strong breeze through her open hair, ignoring the thought that she'd be struggling to comb her hair the next day, she twirled it around, loving the feeling of how her hair swirled around her. She was glad Menon and his new young thing got to see it. As the girl shrieked, both of them tumbled towards the door, she bent over howling with laughter, The girl's purse and the keys they had used to get in lay strewn about on the floor as they fled, they had even left the door open. Outside, in the corridor, a painter, the same man she had seen in the walkway sat washing his paint brushes. He looked up, startled at the exiting couple, then he  peered into the house and seemed to see her - he seemed to be the only one who would actually acknowledge her presence. She moved towards him to reassure him but he too screamed and fled, upsetting his paint can all over the granite floor. 

So, it seemed her newfound superpower was to drive people away, that was indeed hilarious. She had never laughed so much and never for so long. Still howling with laughter, she made her way through the empty corridors. Reveling in the wind blowing through her hair, she headed towards the walkway, she was not going to hide inside the walls anymore, she had found her voice and she would never stop laughing.

I noticed...

The double lines running from the nose to the chin;

The chin that wobbled with the added padding,

The neck that looked like parched earth, waiting for the rain.

Knees that hurt with each step, fingers that swelled up every morning,

It did not escape scrutiny, those thinning strands of silver, same as the watery, fading eyes

The canopy of leaves, inviting, green with young life, mellow with the morning dew

A decadent jar of sweetness, the call of the cuckoo bird, persistent, divine

The enchanting yellow flowers strewn across the walkway, soft and deadly

The little blobs of red grass, the ones that had escaped the lazy gardener

As the heart grows bigger, softer with tenderness, beating with heightened awareness,

Shuffling feet turn leaden, unwilling to walk away.

Spellbound at the cacophony, the melody and gladness of the birds, this buffet of sensations, 

The current of life, passing through the darkening skies, the soft wind, even the immutable rocks.

It had been sunrise a long time ago, now, it was time for sunset to bloom, 

Vibrant beyond the peacock's bloom, it beckoned, come, pause a while.

The gladness of life, that celebration of awareness, so temporal, so infinite

The journey would continue, beyond time.

I sat there as the last rays of the sun flickered fervently for a while, fighting, resisting,

and then,

I noticed how they gently paled into the iridescent darkness, contented, at last.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Her Birthday wish

 It was to be her birthday in a week and she would finally turn ten, an adult, she thought dreamily swinging idly on the playground's rusted equipment. Would her mother remember, a querulous voice from within asked. She had checked the calendar in the apartment supervisor's office - it was to be on a Monday this time, one of her mother's double-shift days. Even on her single-shift days like today, all she would do is cook and pack food for the week that she and her brother were to heat and eat in the evenings. She would soon be coming home, her greasy work uniform would still smell of heated oil and other things that always made her want to puke. But her mother would often start cooking even while she still had her uniform on. Her face fell as she recalled the ghastly sight of her mother waking up that morning with her make-up caked up and packed thickly into the deep crevices on her face. What she disliked the most were her large, unwieldy hands with swollen veins popping out and the red nail polish she always had on even on her broken nails. She had prayed everyday that her mother wouldn't come to the bus stop to see her off, she often did so even with her mascara smeared on her paper like skin and her hair tousled in the previous night's hairdo. Her brother was too young to understand and was just always idiotically delighted that his mom was there, not understanding the looks from the other mothers at the bus stop - wary, haughty and sometimes pity, her haggard family of three stood out like a caterpillar on a plate.

Later that evening, she took out the diary her grandmother had gifted her the previous birthday. Her brother had already written his name, or something similar in hieroglyphs, in various sizes, through all the pages. The diary had originally opened up to be a cake with a huge cherry on top. Her brother had also taken care of the cherry and chewed through it within a month. Seeing that he was now trying to help her mother with the cooking she pulled out her pencil and found an empty space that hadn't been scribbled over. She carefully typed out "My Birthday Wish", and later changed it to "My Birthday Wishes" as she did have more than just one. She hesitatingly listed the battery-operated robot and the roller-skates as an after-thought. Then her imagination ran free and her list kept growing till she had covered the whole page, front and back. Finished, she looked at it with deep satisfaction, just writing her wishes down made her feel like she already had those, she started planning how she would race around on her skates in the evenings with all her friends watching enviously. She decided to place her list strategically near her mother's work satchel, that way she would not miss seeing it. Satisfied with her plan, she ran out to see what her mother and brother were upto, for the house had gone silent - only to find them both crashed out on the couch, snoring wildly. As she had done on many other days, she poured herself some milk and went to bed.

The diary was still on the counter when she returned from school that day, and for the rest of the week she got no indication that her mother had made any efforts to buy her any of the gifts she had listed. Rather her mother seemed even more haggard and seemed to have double-shifts every day that week. She would barely see her and once when she did, her mother had swollen eyes and a puffy face that scared her so much that she burst into tears. Her grandmother came over one day that week to spend the night with them. With a special dinner of boiled eggs and jam on toast and some of the games she had brought they had an exciting time, so much so that she completely forgot about her birthday wish list. It was only when their grandmother boarded them into the school bus the next morning that she remembered and yelled out from the bus "Don't forget what it is on Monday, Gramma" The bus moved on slowly but not before  she saw her grandma turn around looking deeply sad. She was perplexed at the reaction, but sat back happily having successfully reminded her of the upcoming event. She was always one who had good gifts and for the rest of the bus ride she dreamt of what might she get for her birthday that year.

By Sunday night she was dismayed to see absolutely no change in her mother or her routine, she seemed to have got even busier  than before. She had just rushed out with some instructions for dinner and to go to bed by eight. Her brother was zooming around brainlessly with his red bus with no comprehension of the turbulence within her. She sobbed her heart out into the pillow, all the while her brother was running around in circles assuming she was playing a game. She would wait until tomorrow and then the two of them would run away she decided. Once her mother had left for work, she'd pack his red bus and her books and they would go and live on apples in the forest on the other side of the town. Satisfied with her plan she fell asleep. 

She woke up to an eerily silent house, her mother wasn't screaming out instructions, nor was her brother running around like a firecracker. Disappointed at the damp start to her big day she ran out of her room angrily, ready to break the first thing she'd lay her hands on. How could her mother forget the day, she screamed inside, tears welling up in her eyes. No wonder they did not have a father like the other kids did, who would want to live with a woman like her, she kept shouting silently as she approached the kitchen. Sitting on the rug, cross-legged was a beautiful lady, she stopped in her tracks, looking closely she saw it was her mother, her hair tied back and a huge smile on her face, Her brother was snuggled up tightly on her lap happily sucking at a lollipop. She set her brother aside and stretched out her arms "Happy Birthday Sweetie" she whispered. To her ears the words seemed like a roar and as she ran into those arms her tears started to fall, she knew she was ten now, and no longer supposed to cry but she could not seem to control it. Her brother had started to kick her wanting in on some of the action as well and soon before they knew they were all entangled in a confused pile of arms and legs shouting and laughing and crying all at the same time. "So who is going to help me bake the birthday cake?" her mother asked eventually and she knew then it was the only birthday she had ever wanted.

Gulu Bhai - Street food to die for

 Constable Binapani tapped anxiously on his lathi, his stomach rumbled in anticipation. It was almost six and time for him to get off his shift. The fog was thick that day and he peered unblinkingly into it, searching for the familiar sight of the red and yellow hand-cart, "Nandi Ghosha" as Gulu called it with the same pride as that of a young father. It was Tuesday and Gulu Bhai would have Dahi Bara with piping hot, spicy Aloo Dum for the day's special. There were already some of the other regulars milling about the place, he decided to brave the chill and step out of his check post to beat them to it, he didn't think he could wait for another five minutes, as hungry as he was! Seeing his familiar portly figure huff about in the early morning chill some of the other regulars smiled at him, it was always good to have the police on familiar terms, they reckoned. He was oblivious to the scrutiny and just paced up and down trying to ignore the rumbles from his stomach, the last meal he had was the cold stone-like rice and watery daal his wife had cooked, something even the street dogs around his house had judiciously learnt to avoid. The small meal Gulu provided had nourished his soul for several years now, the fresh, aromatic dishes he doled out was the only reason he had always asked for the night or early morning shift, for by 7, Gulu was sold out. Considering that he had been inching towards retirement and had over the years been a more or less harmless sort, the Head Constable had been more than willing to accede to his simple request. For Constable Binapani. the Nandi Ghosha had always been worth waiting for, the only bright spot in his dreary life, about to go grayer even more post retirement. He sometimes pitied the senior officers seeing them frivolously throw away their money for the paper-like food served on equally unpalatable paper plates in those shiny, bright restaurants that dotted the road leading to the biggest universities in the city. If only they knew what they were missing, but then overcome by a strange envy he would quickly change his mind, he did not want Gulu to get rich and go away setting up another of those shiny monstrosities that served horrible, pitiful food, no Gulu had to be protected from that fate. Sighing, he stopped pacing and perched himself on the stone bench, the one that was closest to where Gulu put up his stall.

Unfortunately for Constable Binapani and the others, Gulu Bhai broke the tradition of the past 7 years and did not turn up at all. His customers were confused, they waited patiently, ignoring the other stalls for as long as they could, rudderless, some eventually turned disloyal and sheepishly bought breakfast from a rival and went their way. Others stood about, at first, talking about everything except what was on their minds the most, Gulu Bhai's absence. Eventually someone casually remarked about the new Food Commissioner's vow to make the city a safe haven for all foodies - he had recently vowed on TV to end all instances of food poisoning, diarrhea and the type, caused by, they stressed, unlicensed food vendors. He had started a campaign - My City the Cleanest. All people gathered there turned towards Constable Binapani, as though he was the Food Commissioner, afterall, he was the only one there in a uniform. Reddening to his neck, he immediately and vociferously disowned the Food Commissioner, letting out a string of choicest abuses that cast aspersions on the Food Commissioner's very birth and parentage. 

Hungrier than he had ever been before and reddened by the exertion of proving to the crowd that he had nothing to do with Gulu or the Food Commissioner he went back into the Police Station. His shift had gotten over and the morning staff were trickling in. He peeked into the holding cell, the boy still lay crumpled up and immobile as they had left him, one of his arms stretched out underneath him, obviously broken. He would have to be woken up and made to clean up on his urine and faeces that lay all over the floor, mixed with the blood, the stench nauseated him and he retched near the door. Well, the urchin would have to clean that too for it was his horrible odour that had caused him to throw up. Remembering the night's episode he now realised that he should not have exerted himself so much, he should have allowed the younger ones to beat up that boy.  He couldn't remember why the urchin was in the lock-up, he had simply been the entertainment of the night - the younger constables had been poking and prodding the boy all day for the urchin had the pride of education stamped on his dark, oily face - these ones, with a smattering of education quickly learnt to throw off their shackles, raising their voices, standing up straight - this boy had refused to squat on the floor and had to be taught a lesson. If not them, the world would have taught him the lesson, in a much harsher way, mused Binapani in a wave of sympathy for the unmoving pile of flesh and bones.

About three month later, almost the last week of his service, Binapani stepped out for a breath of air, winter had passed quickly that year, and with a non-existent spring, Summer had gleefully started early. The early morning reddish hue bathed the hedge in its dewy splendour, the birds had started to flit, their morning calls quickly rising in volume as they began to welcome the beautiful new day. Binapani began to feel a strange throbbing in his heart, fondness for his work, this place that had sustained him for forty years, that had stood by him through thick and thin. When that despicable urchin had died, everyone in the Police Station had supported him, they had vouched for him so strongly that the urchin's death had been deemed a suicide and the case had been sealed and closed. The Head Constable had even recommended him for an increase in salary, for maintaining peace and harmony in the locality, this would increase his pension, overcome with gratitude that his team had ensured his record would not get tarnished by that incident, he began to weep. The two other younger Constables who had been present  that day and had been transferred out as a precaution, came walking by and hugged him, consoling him, teasing him for being emotional, they had all bonded that day, a bond formed over murder being stronger than even that of blood. The three of them were getting a Farewell party that day. They had all been asked to come by at noon for the ceremony and lunch. 

Exiting the gate, Binapani looked fondly at the spot where Gulu would be seen, no one had known what had happened to him and like others, Binapani had woefully switched to having his breakfast from another vendor, but those who had eaten from Gulu, could never be satiated with anyone else. Sighing he scanned the horizon again as though hoping to see the familiar red and yellow cart trudging up the slope, he laughed at his imbecility, so bad had been his craving that he imagined he saw the cart. But the sight could not have been imagined, it was the Nandi Ghosha, the flag fluttering in the breeze was as true as the drool forming in his mouth. He turned around, stuttering, his heart beat increasing, half-breathing half choking, he called out to the two others, today, he would show them what true Dahi Bara and Aloo Dum tastes like. He could still teach them a thing or two he thought, his chest bursting with pride, joy and laughter, all at once. Gulu came up and perched his stand, setting it up would usually take him twenty minutes for he followed a ritual of sweeping the area around his stall, sprinkling it with holy water and doing an elaborate prayer ritual before starting business. Binapani decided he would not wait, and gesturing to his two proteges, called them over. Gulu had never been one to talk much, however today he was been quieter, it could have been for he was accompanied by his wife, who had done so only a few times in the seven years that he had known Gulu. Had he lost weight and grown older all of a sudden. thought Binapani, and addressed Gulu "Not to be seen, eh! Did you go to jail?" and the three policemen roared in laughter at the bad joke. Gulu's eyes seemed glazed but he showed his crooked teeth dutifully in a forced smile, Binapani thought he must be high on Ganja and snickered at the two proteges, excited at the upcoming farewell, the three could find nothing to bring down their bonhomie. 

"Two plates each for the three of us" ordered Binapani, waving away protests from the two others, "my treat.... other than welding my lathi to break bones, I know a thing or two about good food.... and you'd better learn how to recognise true Odia test" he said officiously causing another cacophony of laughter that even startled the birds into silence for a moment. Gulu stood immobile for a moment, his wife prodded him and he nodded after a while. Disconcerted a bit by this strangely turned out Gulu, Binapani hoped the food would not let him down, if so, Gulu would have it he thought menacingly stroking his lathi, emboldened by the fact that there were no other food carts there yet, Gulu had been really early. Realising Gulu was not up for conversation the three began to talk while Gulu heated up the stove and started chopping onions. "Don't go stingy on those... has to be your best or else..." Binapani shouted sternly at Gulu, causing him to chop with an increased speed, causing the two others to laugh again. Binapani was on a roll, the last week was turning out to be quite something after all. He would not fade away, people would remember him, not just as a fly on the wall but someone who had the courage of a lion. They started talking about the urchin and arguing about who had dealt the fatal blow when Binapani felt the presence of Gulu at his side. He stood there, his glazed eyes fixed on the horizon, a steaming hot plate in his hand. The aroma of freshly chopped onions, chillies and coriander caused Binapani's stomach to rumble loudly, ignoring the ganja addict he snatched the plate out of Gulu's hand, handing it out to one of the two constables. Gulu went back, shuffling his feet, "He has had a strong dose today..." Binapani winked at them, "but let's just enjoy this for now". The next time Gulu was back with two plates balanced in each hand, he seemed more energetic and alert. He even came back offering to top up with more chips and 'mixture', his secret sauce. They each wolfed down the two plates and ordered a third, Gulu's Dahi Bara was still the one to die for!

Sad to leave Gulu's side, Binapani and the others left , without paying of course, Binapani had to teach them how to get free food out of the vendors. Their stomach's were full and their mind happy. Heading out Binapani noticed Gulu packing up, "Leaving so early, Gulu?" he asked uneasily, something had seemed off but he could not put his finger on it. "No Sahib, I will be back tomorrow, I had not got a lot today" "Okay, you better be here Gulu" saying so Binapani whizzed off on his motorcycle. 

The Farewell ceremony at the Police Station would turn out to be a memorable one, for years to come, everyone would talk about it in hushed tones. The guests of honour, Constable Binapani, Sub-Constable Nakul and Sub-Constable Prahlad were to be felicitated but did not show up for the ceremony. The three had gone home to freshen up and come back to the Police station but neither could make it, while Constables Nakul and Prahlad who stayed in the Guest House were both found dead, frothing from the mouth, Constable Binapani had collapsed on the Highway, apparently he had a major heart-attack and was crushed under a speeding cement truck. The deaths of Nakul and Prahlad had led to a major crackdown on street vendors around the Police Station but nothing conclusive could be found, none of the street vendors there sold Dahi Bara and Aloo Dum, the food that was last consumed by them, as found in the autopsy. Eventually the food stalls were allowed to re-open, but judiciously avoided by the Police, who had learnt to have their meals provided for free from the bigger restaurants. The vendor who got all of Gulu Bhai's clients was always grateful that Gulu Bhai had left for his paternal village after the death of his only son. The boy had been picked up by the Night Patrol team for loitering on the street with a friend past midnight and had then committed suicide in this very police station.