The doctor’s deft hands worked the thread and needle like an expert seamstress, sewing up the portions of my muscles that had been torn apart in the accident. I had been injected with a local anesthetic, so I felt no pain when she treated my injured arm like a piece of cloth.
“The sight of blood frightens you?” she asked me as she wiped my sewn wound with a cotton dabbed in antiseptic.
“A little. One doesn’t get his arm ripped apart revealing the insides every day,” I remarked. Now that the painkillers had started to have their effect, I could notice other things besides my agony. I noticed that she had beautiful brown eyes.
“Aha, but then I thought your generation was fond of movies like Saw and Hostel,” she said as she took her rubber gloves off and washed her hands in the sink.
The words ‘your generation’ struck me as absurd. The doctor was hardly in her late twenties. I was nineteen. We were not exactly from two different generations!
“Why do doctors wash their hands when they already have rubber gloves for protection?” I asked her casually as I waited for her to finish her ablutions.
She turned around and smiled. Yes, she was pretty. A little too pretty in fact. The kind of pretty that would make a patient wish for frequent injuries and infections.
“Google it,” she replied as she picked up a small white towel and rubbed her hands dry.
I knew they would be here. They have
never missed a single event in my life. They had been always there, keeping
aside their pre-occupations, taking time out of their busy schedule, just for
me. For me, my parents were my pillars of strength, and their presence was more
important to me than anything in the world was. Be it the first day of the
school, or the solo singing competition that made me nervous in the second
grade, or the tennis finals in eighth grade, they were always there. Always
motivating me, propelling me further forward and today was no different.
Anyways who would miss their only daughter’s graduation day?
On even the smallest of your achievements,
the adulation and ecstasy reflected in your parents’ eyes is second to none. Today it was the same. Their happiness took me down the memory lane – right down to my childhood. I was
the youngest in the family and the only daughter after two sons. Naturally, I
was an apple of the eye of everyone around. I used to be the focus of everyone’s
attention. My dad was a strict disciplinarian and ideal match for my mom – tender,
loving, and caring. They used to go on walks together every evening to a
nearby park. Sometimes my brothers would join us but it was a fixed routine for
dad, mom and me. Sticking to a routine was something dad was very particular about. One thing I always noticed while walking was that my dad used
to walk fast and ahead and mom always followed behind. I used to oscillate back
and forth between them. Sometimes the distance was huge. It always perplexed me
why mom walks so slowly; or dad walks so fast for that matter. Dad was strict
and this was a stupid, childish question; one that I never asked out of fear. As I grew older, I had to walk with one of
them rather than oscillating. Mostly, it was dad, as he walked ahead and I liked
to be in front, plus he was my hero. Other times it was Mom, when I was upset
with my dad or crying or feeling sad. But I never walked with them together or saw them walking together. It was atypical
for me and hard to understand as all my friends used to walk at the same speed as me,
always together. However, my parents walked at their leisurely pace, never equal to the
other. With none of them ever trying to match it up with the other, apparently
it never mattered to anyone but me. As time flew, I stopped giving it much of a
thought too. You know teenage years- you have a lot to think about other than a
stupid childhood anomaly.
Now today when I see them something is
different. The distance between them is reduced to minimal. They look great walking together. That how it should have been, I knew it. As the time flew the distance between
them receded, slowly but surely, syncing up their speeds. As of now all three
of us siblings have moved out and have our separate lives, there is no one to take
care of them, and they have no one to take care of. I see them taking care of each other and
complimenting each other. The feeling is exhilarating more than anything. I always wanted to walk
with them together, and today I have a chance I might savor for the rest of my
life. Any distance can be reduced over time, surely!
She spotted me
from a distance and ran upto me quickly before asking the above question. We
were meeting after quite a few weeks; however, it appeared as if the gap had rather
increased her excitement manifold. That glitter in her eyes was unmistakable;
Infact it was a characteristic of her. Frankly, it was that same thing had
brought me to her once more.About her,
everything looked too good to be true: Her innocence, her energy, her smile,
her eyes, her persona, her exuberance, her excitement, every damn thing.
The very first time I saw her, I was convinced she was one of its kind. Her childish
smile had an enigmatic delicacy to it. Coupled with her eyes, those big, brown,
beautiful, glittering eyes, it made for a compelling sight. Her disheveled hair
only enhanced her charm, as if it needed anymore. That morning she
was playing with the stray puppies in the park, giggling and looking even more
enticing. Wait! What was I doing there? Well, I was on another one of those
laborious endeavors called morning walks. I used to take my camera hoping for
some nice clicks. ( I guess I had just found one ;)). Till date, I don’t know why I was so fascinated. Her exuberance and persona had me captivated
at the first sight. She could not have been more than seven-year-old. (Say what?
Yeah, not another love story, this).However, her aura and
innocence made for a compelling click. But, first I had to make acquaintances. I found that she lived in a nearby slum area
in Dharavi, about 100 yards from the park. She had a working mother, working father
and an “quarrelsome but
loving elder brother.” Then I asked if I
could shoot her with my camera. She said “Nhi”
(No) and ran away giggling. Why did I even ask? Should have taken the pic and
then showed it to her. What could have she done then? All this work at
interaction and you just get a “No.” That’s it? But then, when someone says no,
it just makes you want it even more, right? That hope saw me become a regular at the park
for two whole weeks. In this time, we talked a bit, and I got four more “No” s
and 'giggles' and 'run away' s to my repeated requests for a photo. After all this hard work, we had become good friends. One
day, she wanted me to take a pic and I obliged. After that day, I didn’t go
for another morning walk. ;)
A few weeks
later, a national magazine selected that pic as a cover for their next issue.
It was my first too ;). This, coupled with a brand new orange shirt (my present)
was the above-mentioned surprise. My intention of giving this to her in
person was to see her reaction. It was truly worth the effort. She took the magazine and was euphoric,
showing it to everyone on the way to her home. The excitement in her voice was
unparalleled. I had never seen anyone this happy before. Everyone around her was
seemingly involved in her happiness too and I felt rather jealous, as I never
had so many people to share my happiness with. I met her family and gave them
the allowance for the publication. It was just a hobby and I figured the
published pic was reward enough.
About two three
months after this, I saw her in the same park (this time it was evening).
However, what I saw that day was nerve wrenching. There were no puppies around her;
she was sitting alone gazing into the infinity. She didn’t even notice me until
I called her. As if, I woke her up from a long slumber.(that rhymed.) Her eyes
had lost their glitter; they looked soar, pale, red, and dull, presumably from crying. She was
wearing the same shirt I had given to her, but it too looked old and rather shabby,
like never washed from eternity. Then it dawned on me. Her characteristic smile
was gone. The hairs were dirtier and drier and in a disarray. She looked tired
and lonely like after a long battle. She still had that magazine cover,
clutching it tightly in her small fingers.I asked her how she got to this. “Koi
pyar nhi karta mujhe!”( No one loves me here! ). I thought it was a childish thought and didn’t
go deep into it.
Sometime later,
her brother told me that she was dead. He explained everything. After the pic, her
behaviour had changed considerably. She was no more the same cheerful,
talkative self. Other kids fought with her and happened to ostracize her. She
was proud of that cover-pic and kept it with her at all times. She started to dream
big and garner aspirations. Instead of support and motivation, she was mocked for
that.Even from her family, she was
abused and lambasted for those ambitions. With no one she could confide in, and
tired of battling everyone all by herself, she committed suicide; about a week
after our last encounter. Hearing all this got me thinking. How a girl, at a
tender age of seven, could have dealt with all this? Who was to blame? Was it
her parents who couldn’t understand her, or her peers, or was
it that she was lonely and depressed, or was it me who’s request
for a photo started all this?
His brother also
told me that she never took that orange shirt off. My mind had drifted to our
last conversation while still trying to come to terms with the present.
“Yahan
koi pyar nhi karta mujhe!”(No one loves me here)
“Kyu? Kya ho gaya?” (Why? What happened?)
“Sab ladte rehte hain mujhse. Kisi ko parwah
nhi hai meri.”(Everyone is fighting with me. No-one cares for me anymore.) ...
“Achcha chal ek smile de de, ek photo aur
leni hai teri.”(Leave it. Just give me that smile. Want to take another
picture of yours.)
“Mujhe
nhi khinchwana koi photo!” ( No more pics for me!)
And she ran away.
-The End
P.S. This is just a story, entirely a work of fiction.I dont mean to put anyone in bad light on account of what happens in the story. The characters in this story could have been set anywhere: with any background regardless.
It was autumn, and the Indians of a remote reservation asked their new
Chief if the next winter was going to be cold or mild. Now, he was
Indian Chief in a modern society, so he had never learned the old
secrets and as he watched the sky, he could not predict what would
happen in the next future. Anyway, to be sure, he told his tribe that
the winter was going to be cold and that the members of the village
would have to collect firewood to be prepared. But, being also a
practical leader, after a few days he had an idea: he went to the
telephone cabin and called to the National Meteorology Service and
asked:
- Is the next winter going to be very cold?
- It seems that the next winter will be cold enough - said the meteorologist in charge.
So, the Chief returned to his people and told them to collect more firewood, to be prepared.
A week later the Chief called again the National Meteorology Service and asked:
- Will it be a very cold winter?
- Yes - said the meteorologist in charge - it is going to be a very cold winter.
The Chief returned again to his people and ordered them to collect all the pieces of firewood they could find.
Two weeks later the Chief called the National Meteorology Service once again:
- Are you absolutely sure that the next winter will be so cold?
- Absolutely, without any doubt - the man answered - it will be one of the coldest winters ever.
- How can you be so sure? - asked the Chief.
And the meteorologist said:
- All you need is to watch the Indians collecting wood like mad!
There were only two of us there. She was about twenty feet away from me. There was no sound whatsoever around us spare for the noise of the running a/c in the vicinity. Where were “we” you ask? Or Who are ”we” you ask? I guess the whole of library was empty that day, empty even for the likes of a library that is, which was typical at the start of a semester (: P). However, there she was, sitting right in front of my eyes, so engrossed in reading her book and there was I, noticing her every move. Not really, but I bet that’s what you wanted to hear (: P). I was also reading a novel, a classic Charles Dickens “Great Expectations”. Then suddenly she looked up, adjusted the hair locks from her face, looked at me and gave an enigmatic smile.
Say what? Let’s rewind a bit.
It all began during the early days of my fifth semester when I used to go to library to read classics kept there. I liked the silence and ambience at first as I find it easier to concentrate in a deserted and reticent environment. It was blissful and refreshing for me and became a habit. Continuing for a week or so, I noticed a girl coming there regularly too. I usually do not take much notice of the surroundings but it struck me that she used to sit in the same corridor, wander in the same classics’ section (read the same kind of books, perhaps?) and used to sit there until I did. That day she was sitting just a few feet away from me, that black hair neatly tied with a few strands escaping the shackles to end up on her face, those searching eyes, attentive ears noticing every movement around her, indicating she is unsure of something. But, what and why? Well, her Salwar-Kurta apparel rather gave it away. :P . So, a fresher escaping the seniors and quad sessions (no ragging in IITK, remember?) by coming to the library. Quite innovative, I must add. However, I was curious to know what she might do there for three- four hours. I just happen to pass her desk and found her reading War and Peace. Tolstoy!! Seriously! Not that bad but too philosophical for anyone’s liking. And so boring that even Tolstoy took six months to write it. Contrastingly this also reminded of this fantastic article , but then I can imagine anything I want, right? I was reading Dickens (yeah, again) at that time. Next day I didn’t see her anywhere. I was immersed in reading when a loud, shrilly voice happened to divert my attention. I found that the same girl was sitting behind me and was being yelled at by two of her seniors apparently for bunking (?) quads. Being in third year means you can show your authority without worrying about creating a fuss. I knew they were sophomores and asked them to be quiet and leave her alone. (I might have said something on these lines. ;)). They weren’t happy about it and left giving her warnings in undertone. She looked at me and then went back to reading. So much for all my heroics! I didn’t see her for the next two days and totally forgot about her. Today, suddenly, there she was, coming and sitting on the desk next to me. Maybe she was hoping I would scare her seniors away like last time. She looked at me and smiled mysteriously. I felt like I was transformed into a virtual bodyguard but gave her a smile nevertheless. In her hand was a Dostoyevsky’s classic “Crime and punishment”(Whoa!). How much philosophy does this girl reads? Over the next few days, we exchanged glances and smiles but I could never talk to her. (Hint: Her choice of books was a big reason ;)). During this time she had moved over to Dickens (Great Expectations) having completed persuasion, Jane Eyre and Anna Karenina (Tolstoy, again!) in between. Was her choice of novels trying to tell me something? (Or that was me just being paranoid with patterns? Maybe the latter.) Then there were exams and both of us had to study in a crowded library. After the exams, the same sequence continued. We looked at each other, exchanged smiles but bloody hell; I didn’t even know her name and had no courage to ask her either. By the way i kept track of what all she read during this time (i just happen to find out :P). ). She was onto Orwell (1984) having past Harper lee, JD Salinger and Hemmingway (A moveable feast). That is one hell of a reading speed :P. How much can a girl, or for that matter, anyone be into philosophical classics? Every time I saw her a part of me wanted to go over and talk to her, ask the name atleast but I could not. How could I do it just like that? Without any pretenses, i was clueless as to how to do it.
Then she didn’t turn up for a week or so. I had left it too late. After some weeks i saw her at the CC canteen. She was with a couple of girls from her batch. Again, we exchanged smiles but in my mind, i was brooding over whether i should go over there and talk to her. "What if she ditched me? In front of her friends! those first years!! More so in front of my friends, who would never let me forget it!" I was scared like hell. Should I just go over and talk to her? Wouldn’t that be awkward? If she were alone maybe then I could have talked to her! ”She was alone sitting in front of you for almost a couple of months”, an inner voice in my head said. Why girls can’t wander alone, I thought. Why do they have to move in groups?? I was occupied by these thoughts when she went over to pay the bill and eventually I followed. She smiled at me at the counter (again). My impulses took over me and suddenly I mumbled, "Hi! So, what’s your name?" She said, "Excuse me?” Yeah I didn’t say it out loud enough for her to hear it. However, I again repeated my question with a heart going at supersonics and mind numb with fear (now that I think of it, it wasn’t like that). She replied "Oh, that! And I thought you would never ask."
Another one was caught today, it's all over the papers. "Teenager Arrested in Computer Crime Scandal", "Hacker Arrested after Bank Tampering"...
Damn the kids of today. Damn them. They are all alike. All result of a misspent childhood. Damn them.
But hey, you, yes you, who thinks all the world's wisdom lies in your pea sized brain, yes you, in your three-tier psychology and a apartheidic mind, have you ever dared to look into the psyche of a hacker?? Ever wondered what turned him on, what forces molded him, how come he is like the way he is??
I am a teenage hacker, enter my world.....a magnificent one that it is....one that would sweep you off of your very foundation......one that would overwhelm you and stupefy you at the same time.
Mine is the world that begins from school.........I'm smarter than most of the other kids, the crap they teach us bores me...."Damn these kids....why do they turn up when all they are interested in is watching birds and trees."
Damn underachiever. They're all the same.
I'm in high school now. I've listened to teachers explain for the fifteenth time how to multiply two fractions. I understand it. "No Ma'am, I didn't show my work. I did it in my head......"
Damn cheater. Probably copied it. They're all the same.......
I made a discovery today. I found a computer. Hang on, this is way too cool. it does what i want it to. It doesn't scolds me or mocks me. If it makes a mistake because i screwed it up. Not because it doesn't like me.....or feels threatened by me.......Or thinks i am a bloody maniac......I have found my rightful companion......
Damn this kid. All he does is play games. Isn't he taught anything at school. Damn his teachers.
And then as if the floodgates were waiting to open....they opened the door to the world......an entirely different world rushing through the phone like drugs through an addict's veins, a refuge from the day-to-day incompetency is sought......the escape-route is found. "This is it.......this is where I belong...." Its as if I know everyone here....though I've never met them, never talked to them, and may not here from them ever again.....guys I know you all.....
Damn kid. Blocking the phone line again. They're all alike......
You bet your ass we are all alike........we've been spoon-fed baby food when we hungered for beef and steak......any bits that you did let slip through were pre-chewed and tasteless. We have been dominated by sadists, ignored by apathetic. The few who had something to teach found us willing pupils, but those were like the few drops of water in the desert.
But now we have our own paradise......the world of electron and the switch, where the power is in our hands. We make use of a service already existing without paying for what could be dirt-cheap if it wasn't run by profiteering gluttons, and you call us criminals. We explore....... and you call us criminals. We seek after knowledge... and you call us criminals. We exist without skin color, without nationality, without religious bias... and you call us criminals.
Yes, I am a criminal. My crime is that of curiosity. My crime is that of judging people by what they say and think, not what they look like. My crime is that of outsmarting you, something that you will never forgive me for. I am a criminal and I am proud to be one. You may stop this entity but not all of us.......after all we are all the same.
Comment: Writing style not original as i found this on the internet and just wanted to write my own version of it. You might find some content to be the same, especially the tone. I am not claiming it to be my original work.
Naresh had never been to Mumbai before. He stepped out onto platform 14 of Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus as the train drew to a halt with a drawling grind, armed with a briefcase, and a face kindled with fascination. In his mind's eye the place had appeared much brighter and clean; but he cared little. Mumbai's grandeur lies not in cleanliness, but in size and activity, thought he, besides, it's cleaner than most stations I've seen.
Never ceasing his gazing and with his awestruck face, Naresh headed towards the exit. Having spent most of his life in a small naxalite town in Chhattisgarh, he had jumped at the opportunity to visit Mumbai as a representative of the organisation he worked for. He had pleaded his superior to extend his visit, but to no avail. He was to stay only for the day fixed for the conference he was to attend and leave for home the next day.
The clock read two 'o clock, and the conference was at six. With a heavy heart, Naresh decided to head straight for his hotel (which also served as the venue for the conference) instead of sightseeing. There was hardly any time, he was too tired, and had to formulate for the meeting.
Lost in thoughts, he removed himself just in time from the drag of a mob alighted off a local train. Their haste and indifference served only to deepen his enthrallment. He followed them, matching his pace with theirs, swinging his briefcase merrily.
Outside, a clean sky greeted him, along with the hustle bustle of the city with its myriad vehicles and pedestrians. While the former skirted along the roads, ranging from motorbikes to double-decked buses, the latter carried on with their harried pace, some stopping in their way for footpath peddlers selling everything from footwear to toys. All this Naresh watched as he searched for an autorickshaw to carry him to his destination.
Gazing at the quaint mixture of ancient and modern buildings surrounding CST, he beckoned at an empty auto passing his way. Telling the driver his destination, he climbed inside and resumed his gazing. He had never seen such wide roads. There was no sign of animals upon them, no dung, no filthy plastic bags or overflowing garbage bins. Neither was there any sign of loose gravel or potholes.
His reverie was broken soon when the auto drew to a halt in a traffic jam. Within moments Naresh found himself engulfed in billowing smoke and bellowing car horns. His eyes smarted, his nose itched and he started coughing. He pulled over his briefcase on to his lap to retrieve a handkerchief -
"What is in that briefcase?"
Naresh wasn't as surprised at the question as he was at the tone with which it was asked: extremely stern and almost hateful and threatening. He noticed the driver's gaze, and replied in a strict voice,
"How does it matter to you? Just keep on driving."
"I will not drive any further until you show me the contents of your briefcase."
Naresh thought of getting off the auto but hesitated as they were yet in the midst of the traffic jam.
"I'm sorry, bhaisaab, but I've had bad experiences with briefcases. I need to look inside to ensure my safety. If you would just show me, I will not disturb you any further."
There was something about his tone, a vague sincerity that made Naresh open his briefcase and turn it towards him,
"See? Just clothes and documents. Now would you please go on?"
"Yes, okay, bhaisaab. Sorry for the problem."
Naresh stared at the autowallah. He was young, almost his own age, with a healthy build, and a stern, square face with short, cropped hair. There was a certain gleam in his eyes that Naresh could not fathom. It puzzled him, as much as the 'bad experiences' he had talked about. Noticing his gaze, the autowallah said,
"I haven't told many people about what happened to me because of fear, bhaisaab, but I'll tell you because you're a kind man, and I feel sorry for troubling you."
The traffic cleared, and the autowallah began driving,
"I came to Mumbai four months ago; alone, and in pursuit of a better life. After being rejected for even the most mundane of jobs, I had to settle for driving an autorickshaw. Most of my day is spent caught up in traffic jams and avoiding collisions. When night falls, I turn to the slum I live in, trying to find sleep in inhumane conditions.
"I was getting used to it, when about two months ago I picked up a man from Churchgate, carrying a briefcase just like yours. The place he wanted to go wasn't too far away, so I agreed and began driving."
He sped the auto past a car, placing it behind a bus.
"There was something peculiar about him, bhaisaab. I swear I saw it when he got inside. But foolishly I ignored it.
"It didn't take long for us to reach the place. He had been fidgeting with the contents of his briefcase; closed it and got off. I turned towards him, expecting money. Instead, he was pointing a gun at me.
"He commanded me to follow him, and led me inside a shabby apartment, where there were two more like him. They had their guns drawn out as they allowed us inside; Now they pointed them at me.
'Sit.' said the man who had opened the door, beckoning at a chair. I did.
'Am I late?' said the one who had brought me in.
'No. He's still inside. We'll have to hurry up, though. He says he'll be out in 15 mins.'
'What about them?'
'They didn't follow him inside, but he's sure they're going to follow him here and ambush us.'
The guy who had brought me then turned away and -"
A couple of motorcycles whizzed past from the left; The autowallah just avoided colliding with one of them. He drew out his head and mouthed angry curses at them,
"I'm sorry, bhaisaab, these crazy bikers are always trying to get themselves killed...
Well, the guy who had brought me in started talking on a phone. The other pointed his gun at me again, and said,
'Do not act smart. Do as we say and you will be unharmed. If you deviate at any point, we will not hesitate in killing you. Even if you escape, we will track you down and make sure you breathe no more. Do you understand?'
I nodded.
'Good. Now you will take Ash here to the Administration Tribune building in Khetwadi. Drive steadily and reach within 10 minutes. Ash will get down and our companion Shaz will get inside when you arrive. Take him where he tells you to.'
I nodded again and followed his gaze. Ash was filling up the Briefcase my captor had brought with him.
He continued, 'Do not panic and keep calm. Remember, any smart moves, and we will kill you.'
Meanwhile, Ash had completed with the briefcase. Pointing his gun at me, he beckoned me to follow him, and said, 'Let's go, Rob,' to the guy who had brought me in. He followed us out, while the third stayed inside.
"Rob didn't come with us. He went in a different direction. Meanwhile, I drove with Ash. All the time I was aware of the gun he kept pointed at me. I had no desire to disobey them, and did as was told. We reached the Tribune building within 10 minutes, and as I halted in front of it, I saw a man emerge from within, with a briefcase identical to the one Ash was holding. Ash paid me and left, leaving his briefcase behind. Shaz approached me and was telling me where to go.
"He repeated the same address on his phone as I began driving, after which he disconnected. He was panting, but there was an air of pride about him; as if he had succeeded in a very difficult task."
The autowallah took a sharp left turn which almost propelled Naresh outside. He continued,
"Shaz looked at me and said,
'Hurry up. We are being followed. Do not let them catch up with us.'
I looked at the rearview mirror, and saw a car tailing me not very far away.
'Do you know what this is?' he said boisterously, pointing at his briefcase, 'These are copies of extremely secret documents. They didn't suspect me earlier, but now they are following me all the time. They believe I haven't noticed them and want to catch me delivering these to my associates. But that's where You come in.'
"I hated that guy, but made sure I didn't show it. He was the one responsible for my predicament, and his haughty tone only served to accentuate my loathing. Yet, I was very afraid; I didn't know if I would escape this alive. Even if there were no mishaps, I feared they would kill me to protect themselves.
He took a long breath, and released it in a sigh,
"We arrived at the destination soon. Before he got off, Shaz exchanged his briefcase with the one Ash had left inside. I saw Rob waiting nearby; he approached me and got inside as Shaz was leaving. There was no sign of recognition on his or Shaz's face. He ordered me to go back to their hideout.
"He ensured that we weren't being followed and then opened the briefcase. There was a momentary gleam in his eyes, but he hid it as soon as he saw I was noticing him. As we got away, I saw the car following Shaz stop in front of the place he had got off. There were people getting off. But I turned left and couldn't see any more.
"Rob got off with the briefcase as we reached the hideout. I looked at him with extreme apprehension. I have never been more afraid, bhaisaab. But he just reminded me not to breathe a word to anyone else, and then turned away."
The autowallah paused for a moment and continued in a voice heavy with emotion,
"I cannot express to you the relief I felt when I watched him go. I drove away as fast as I could; nobody followed. I was free.
"Since that day, I have been living in dread of seeing them again. When you opened that briefcase, I thought you were one of them."
There was a long silence. Naresh couldn't think of what to say. He blurted out, "So, you didn't tell the authorities?"
"No, bhaisaab. I told a few friends about this and they advised me not to go to the police. They say there are informers within the police."
"But then, why do you keep staying here?"
"I cannot leave. Not until I have made for myself a proper living. I don't think I'll see them again. They would have killed me otherwise. I won't return to my village worse than I was when I left it."
Naresh looked outside. The city appeared to him much more familiar now. Behind the shining mask, it was hollow, ridden with disease, poverty and crime . Now and then he could discern shoddy buildings, filthy huts, and angry, troubled people. No longer could he see pride on their faces: it was replaced with worry and hidden sorrow.
The hotel arrived. The fare was Rs. 65; but Naresh paid the autowallah the spare Rs. 80 he had with him. He went to his room and prepared for the conference, but couldn't concentrate. The conference was trivial; he didn't have to do much. Probably this is why they sent me here.
Naresh woke up early next morning to catch the train that was to carry him back. He prepared himself, signed out of the hotel and caught an auto to CST. During the journey, he kept looking outside and thinking about the city and its people. The autowallah kept returning to his mind.
Thus lost in thoughts, Naresh was surprised to find CST approaching. He looked at his watch. It was only 10 minutes since he had left. The auto stopped. He looked at the fare. It was Rs. 23.
