The drizzle wet Vasu's face as he sat next to the autorickshaw driver. His body was at an uncomfortable angle on the seat, which felt as inviting as a wet mattress. His right hand ran over the metal rail behind the driver and clutched its cold end greedily. In the other hand he juggled a faded chocolate-colored umbrella, and a five rupee coin: the exact fare for the ride.

He hated wasting other peoples' time; so he took the greatest care, at all times, to carry the exact fare down to the last paisa. He'd once walked a total distance of twelve kilometers to and fro in sweltering heat; all because he feared that the driver might twitch and die if he offered the poor man a hundred rupee note when the fare totaled a mere fifteen rupees. Vasu gazed happily at the coin in his hand. The Sarnath pillar on the coin was two headed; the fuzzed lions seemed busy murdering a yawn.

Experience had resigned him to the fact that searching for money in wallets is time consuming. And time is money. So he always carried the fare in his hands: neatly folded if it was a note; between his index and middle fingers in case of coins. The speakers blasted some jarring Bhojpuri song on the rickshaw's cheap music system, which surprisingly sounded better than the one he had at home. Maybe it was the rain; everything is better when it rains.

Vasu tried to make sense of the hazy world that lay before him as seen through the windscreen. The mirror in his bathroom fogged by warm vapors as he bathed flashed before his eyes. The windscreen wiper seemed to have given up wiping midway; presently it lay in the center of the foggy screen. On an impulse he tried to wipe it clean with his hand; realizing that he was presently as limbless as a snake he gave up. Vasu marveled at the driver's motor skills as he navigated the wet streets with his eyes fixated on the girl in the middle on the backseat. He wished he were with the girl on the backseat with the rickshaw on autodriver and they snugly rode toward the end of the rainbow.

As the rickshaw neared the market, Vasu rehearsed what he would tell the driver to stop the three-footed rodent. He preferred to think twice before he spoke. The only time he'd thought thrice was when he'd confessed to Pia that 'he kind of liked her.' 'Thinking twice saves a lot of talking later on,' he'd often tell her as she'd gaze at him whenever they sat by the sea at Bandstand. He loved the way the breeze messed up her curly hair. He loved more the fact that she just let them be.  'She's just a close friend,' he'd tell the guys in the office to the sounds of 'whoas' and 'ahas.' 

He could see the market approaching steadily. He began to panic. What should he tell the driver? What would the people seated on the backseat think of him; the beautiful girl in the middle who reminded him of Pia.

'Boss, stop near the petrol pump.' Too patronizing; he was a metrosexual guy, that's what Pia had told him shortly after she'd said yes. 'I am heterosexual,' he'd told her incredulously; to which she'd laughed till her eyes overflowed with laughter.

'Bhaiyya, stop near the petrol pump.' Possibly offending; the driver looked stronger.

When they finally reached the market, he merely patted the driver's shoulder. It was raining harder now. As the rickshaw came to a halt, Vasu opened the rickety umbrella. As he paid the driver; slyly checked out the girl in the middle; and set his feet on the damp concrete, his right leg landed in a pile of cow dung, kept fresh by the rain.

'What the fuck,' he muttered with a scowl. The driver gave him a don't-blame-me look, which he returned with his you-scum-of-the-world-couldn't-you-stop-an-inch-ahead look.

The sandalwood-colored sides of his Kolhapuri chappals were a bright green now. The girl in the middle giggled. The driver nodded his head; the rickshaw sped away. He looked around for a puddle, these were aplenty.

The day being Sunday, the market was filled to the brim with matronly women, bored husbands, hoarse-voiced hawkers, colorful tarpaulin sheets, vegetables the same color as the dung, goats and stray cats. Vasu gingerly made his way through the slush filled narrow alley squeezed between wooden carts made a shade darker by the rain. He carefully avoided the passing umbrellas, which threatened to gouge his eyes out. He fished his trouser pocket for the hastily scribbled note written in a hand which bordered on the illegible detailing what he should buy.

'Amma! I don't need a list,' he'd protested as he'd slipped on the chappals.

As he opened the note, the faint blue splotches on it made as much sense as Pia's mood swings. The ink ran in all possible directions trying to break free from behind the bars of the papery prison. This did not bother Vasu at all; his list could not be dampened by the flood of dew drops from the gray skies. He closed his eyes and this came to his mind: a fish coated in crystals of sugar eating biscuits as it sipped on fresh coconut water from inside coconuts the shape of onions as a giant spinach leaf fanned it. He needed to buy the fish first.

Amidst bargaining with hard-nosed vendors, his polythene bag was steadily filled with tuna (at a special discount just for him), sugar, Parle G, coconuts, onions. It pleased him no end that all transactions were successfully sealed; and not once did he face the indignity of not having the exact amount asked of him.

'Now the spinach remains,' he spat in disgust as the thought of walking through slush toward the very end of the market where the vegetable vendors sat crossed his mind. Walking down the alley he noticed that a sliver of dung still clung with a gooey resolve. He spat again as his eyes rested on a jagged rock by the wayside. With the dexterity of a tightrope walker he began scraping the dung off the sides of his chappals.

'Tweesh!' or some such sound erupted as the leather toe band gave away much to his chagrin. Limping like a three-legged chair he made his way toward the spinach seller where a good many women were bargaining. Not everywhere did the women flock. Vasu was convinced that women flock toward the vendor who sells the freshest of vegetables.

'How much for a jodi?' he asked the mustachioed vendor.

'Ten rupiya sahib,' the vendor expelled the words wearily through his betel-stained teeth.

'But that man over there,' Vasu said pointing toward his left to no one in particular, 'he sells these for only eight rupees!'

'Arrey sahib, I sell the freshest vegetables in the entire market,' the vendor said as he filled his scale with a kilo of tomatoes chosen with great care by an exquisite beauty clad in a wet sari. Suddenly he missed Pia a lot

'Theek hain. I'll take them,' he said as his hand felt the coins in his pocket. He carefully counted them.

'Two, six, nine.'

He counted again. He desperately searched all of his pockets; not a coin more. The vendor was looking at him now; all the women were observing his every move. The entire fucking market held its breath to heave a collective sigh at his defeat.

Finished with the womenfolk, the vendor turned toward Vasu.

'Sahib, what happened?'

'!'

'Sahib?'

With the face of a man who'd just lost a kingdom Vasu mumbled, 'I've nine rupees '

'Only nine rupees?'

'Yes'

'Oh,' with this the vendor filled his scale with a kilo of what looked like a pile of dung to Vasu.

The spinach did look fresh; he'd had enough of this marketing as his mother often called it. With the reluctance of a man being led to the gallows, Vasu fished out a hundred rupee note. He could feel every eye in the market keenly celebrating the spectacle of his very public defeat.

The vendor in a swift, almost robotic, move bundled the spinach in a bag, took the note from him, gave him the change in the form of soiled tenners, and at the same time yelled out his wares as he asked others what they wanted to buy.

A dejected Vasu counted the change. 'Fifty ninety hundred!'

Never good at Math, he recounted. The figures did not change. His face was bathed in astonishment; he wondered if the vendor was a little dense.

'Kya hua sahib?' the vendor asked' 'everything OK?'

'Yes,' Vasu hurriedly beat retreat the broken toe strap notwithstanding.

 After he'd walked a good hundred meters he turned uneasily to make sure that the vendor was not following him. All he saw was the Sunday rush; he instantly felt relieved. Now that he'd swindled the man, albeit not by design, the guilt pangs slowly set in. The sight of the vendor's starving wife and puny children flashed before his eyes. He could almost hear their cries for at least ten rupees, which will buy them life. He felt like a defiled sinner, much like a young unwed mother. He decided to return to the vendor and give him the money. But it was too late now; the vendor might question him on the detour he'd taken.

Divine intervention arrived in the form of a toothless cobbler who huddled under a yellow tarpaulin sheet surrounded by clamps, heel shaves, awls, hammers, and nails among other things. Vasu signaled toward the broken toe band with his eyes. The cobbler examined the extent of the damage done, and offered him a soiled slipper to wear as he mended the strap. Vasu resisted.

'First tell me how much will it cost?'

'Ten rupees sir,' the cobbler replied with a toothless smile.

'Okay'

The cobbler offered him a rickety stool. Vasu sat with his chappal-less foot dangling in mid air. Meanwhile, the toothless wonder had launched into a series of calculated moves as if in a divine trance. All Vasu could see was a needle, some thread, a hammer, and some nails. He slipped the chappal on after testing the toe band by pulling it in every conceivable direction. Satisfied with a job well done, Vasu fished out 'the note.' He had singled out one note as the tainted one; it was the most soiled of the lot.

An instant before the cobbler's eager hand made contact with the papery piece of sin Vasu took his hand back. For the image of the cobbler hanging upside down over a pot of boiling oil from a rope that was steadily burning on one end with Lucifer flogging him flashed before his eyes. No, he had no right to force the poor soul to partake in his sin. He fished out a harmless note and handed it to the cobbler who was lustily smoking a beedi now.

'Smoking and not sinning will kill this fool,' Vasu thought resignedly.  

Once he reached the main road, the thought that he'd sinned overpowered his thinking. The heavens had opened up again with all their fury. As the rain crashed in parallel lines over his umbrella, he began to think of ways to dispose of the note. Across the road he could see a temple with a good many beggars squatting on the wet tiled verandah with only tattered plastic sheets to shelter them from the rain. He did not believe in encouraging begging. He thought of dropping the note carelessly on the street. Better still, walk up the towering water tank, and leave the note at the mercy of the monsoon wind. Nothing convinced him. Moreover, he was trying to shake off sin of his tainted self. He wondered whether the first couple felt the same in the Garden of Eden.

He thought real hard for about ten minutes under a peepal tree. The tree looked at least a hundred years old; his grandfather often claimed to have seen it when it was 'as tall as him' when he was a boy. Vasu knew that the old man was fond of boasting. Nonetheless, at the end of the said ten minutes Vasu's face glowed with determination. Suddenly he felt very happy, content, and light inside.  He felt like a bodhisattva. Enlightenment at last!

Vasu folded 'the note' in a series of shrinking squares. When the smallest square was attained

he swallowed it.

# 1

grace fell in his arms

seductive in fur

oh the cat!

#2

a fly sits on a face

a sunny porch

the man smiles

#3

bug lies curled

a foetus

powdered wings

#4

a moonless night

look for him

a shadow lost

#5

a cloud burst

the parched earth

not a drop

#6

the lantern burns

a baby sleeps

a woman cries

#7

mirror on the wall

the midnight oil

my father's face

#8

alone a man sings

no notes

silence dances

#9

silence prevails

not a word

the cell phones dead

Not a single word escapes your lips
I search your eyes for the unsaid
As I gaze at you in the summer sun
All I hear is silence's song

You close your eyes as we kiss
I run my fingers through your auburn hair
As I feel your heart in the winter night
All I hear is silence's song

You smile at me from across the room
I feel so warm inside
As I walk toward you through the crowd
All I hear is silence's song

You walk on dew on a misty morning
I see you melt in a wall of mist
As I carve your name in the silken moss
All I hear is silence's song

You chase a wave into its shell
I think I have the right words to say
As I take you in my arms
All we hear is silence's song


PF’s Quote: ‘A prose by any other name is a poem.’

Friends,

I am all asleep. Will be back soon.

They could feel the cool moonlight. The man on the moon was probably chewing on mint. They were tired. Scaling the five stories high spiral staircase was easy. Doing it noiselessly without even the stairs waking up had taken its toll. And now a stubborn lock stared haughtily at them. Its arms firmly crossed across its metallic torso; it challenged them with an impish smile. The elderly darkness, it was half a century old now, worked hand in glove with the bratty lock it seemed. The chipped stone stairs felt like wet bathroom floors in winter. Atop the tall Rajabai tower, time stood still. Her face was bathed in sweat. There was a hint of stubble on her chin.

'Are you sure we should do this?' she asked him.

'Yes'

She slumped back on the floor. Wiping her face with her gaudy, chiffon pallu she fished out a beedi. The pungent smell of the beedi fought with other smells inhabiting the smelly tower. She smelled of cheap perfume. Probably of liquor too. As she blew smoky circles, he noticed a deep gash on her forehead. The blood had caked into a clot. She'd tied her hair in a severe bun. Her eyes were lined with thick lines of kohl. They brimmed with emptiness. A curvaceous sari covered her unflattering body; however, it could not disguise the love handles and the pot belly.

'But boy, why do you want to stop that clock?' she asked him signaling toward the clock, which presently touched twelve with its hands.

'I want to stop time.'

She looked at him incredulously. A thin boy, probably eight, he looked determined. 'Born to be free' was emblazoned across his shirt. He wore baggy pants. They were clean. His eyes told her that he was scared of her; his actions did not. A digital watch shaped like a rodent's face snugly circled his wrist. He certainly did not strike her as insane.

'So throw your watch away. Why come here?'

'No No. I want to stop time. Haven't you seen the Mahabharata on TV? I don't want tomorrow! Or the day after' he whispered conspiratorially.

'Oh I see. I love Mickey Mouse too.' She said signaling his watch.

'You do?' he asked skeptically.

'Haan baba. I watch Disney too.'

They laughed freely. The tower joined in. The lock looked on smugly.

'Ssssssh'

'But why do you want to stop time?'

'I have math exam on Monday. I hate math. I don't want to fail. Again. This clock tells time to the whole world. My bhaiya once told me that if someone were to stop this clock, the whole world will come to a standstill.'

'Ah! How delightful.'

'Then there will be no more exams!'

'And I'll be me for ever''a eunuch.' She thought.

They heard footsteps. Some voices. They retreated deeper into the darkness. They waited. The sound increased; it was coming closer. Two men; probably the watchmen. He was scared. Then inexplicably, the voices drifted away. They remained silent for a long time.

'You don't like school?'

'I do! I am a champ at sports. I've always been the football captain. Last month we won the champions trophy. I scored three goals, including the winner! But I don't like to study.'

'I want to study baba.' She'd told her father. He on the other hand forced her to beg. He hated the fact that his groin had begetted this refuse. He never missed an opportunity to humiliate her. Her body was evidence of the abuse she suffered. Her mother had eloped with a lover, and her father used her as the battering ram. She was the cause of every single misfortune that befell him. She was a result of the crimes he'd committed in his past birth. She was an insult to his manhood. He wanted her to die.

'No no, one should study. Study and become a doctor or an engineer. A big man!' She chided as she moved her hands gracefully to show what she meant by big.

'You sound like my mother. Will you really help me to stop time?'

'Yes I will. Before that I want to tell you a story. Of a boy like you. But unlike you he wanted to study.' She winked at him.

'What a dumbo! Whoever wants to study?' he said disparagingly.

'Sshhh Just listen ok?'

'Hmmm'

And so she relived her painful past for him. A boy victimized by nature's quirkiness. Living with his perennially drunk father in Vijaywada. The small town doesn't take kindly to her differentness. Every street corner mocks her. She wants to study, and is a good student. But the school benches do not accept her presence. Her pillow soaked sadness lulls her to sleep every night. She has no friends. As she grows up, her different ness strikes her. She becomes a pariah. She runs away to the city of dreams. Here anonymity comforts her. She eventually joins her ilk.

She'd left out the gory details. The hefty price she paid for being different. The guy who said he loved her. The gash that he'd given her. She'd kept all this for herself. For some other day. For some other patient ear.

'Why are you crying?' he asked.

'Hah naah my child. It's just sweat.'

He wiped the tears of her face.

'Don't lie.'

'See you should study. Life's exam is much tougher. If you fail this exam; no one will like you.'

'I like you.'

Oh! How she pined for these words. It wasn't that she hadn't heard them before; but they came mostly from lecherous men. Men who liked to violate her body for a pittance in dark corners. Coming from this boy she'd met hardly an hour ago, the same words sounded so honest. Her eyes welled up with tears. She struggled to rein them in, but her eyelids meekly gave in. She clutched the boy close to her padded breast; ignoring his protests. She knew that motherhood shunned the likes of her. It often shuns the most deserving of womankind. This was the closest she came to motherhood.

'So will you listen to me?' she whispered softly as he moved away from her. He nodded.

'Go back to where you came from.'

'But I want to stop time. I don't want to be a doctor or an engineer. If I go home now, my father will kill me; he beats real hard when he's angry.'

'He has every reason to beat you. You've been a bad boy. Only bad boys run away from their family, and roam the city streets in the dead of the night. If you don't go back to your family, something very terrible will happen to you.'

'What?'

'You'll become a eunuch like me. Someone people make fun of. You will have no family that loves you. You will fail the test of life my boy! I don't like failures.' She bit her lip.
For the very first time the boy looked at her closely; her scarred face, the ghastly make up, fake hair. He stood and walked toward the small balcony at the very edge of the tower. The city was bathed in light. He suddenly turned around, 'So you won't help me stop time.'

'No.'

'Okay then. I don't need your help. I'll do it on my own.'

'Boy! There are things in life which are beyond our control '

Before she could complete her sentence, the boy moved away from the balcony toward the locked door. He kicked the door hard. Taking the lock in his hands, he repeatedly hurled his body at the door. She was shocked beyond belief. She tried to control him, but he was possessed by a madness unseen in boys his age. The ruckus had woken up the portly watchman and some stray dogs as well. They could hear footsteps up the flight of stairs, and men shouting out instructions.

She let go of him, and collapsed on the cold floor. He was yelling at the top of his voice. Dogs barked menacingly at no one in particular. The city slept blissfully, unmindful of the conspiracy. Really, time and tide wait for no man, woman, and for those in between and beyond.

The clock struck two with an extra zing.

Tia felt the cold muck soak through her dress. The city street was indeed cruel. She could still sense the sharp smell the rubber tires left behind. Her tongue cautiously felt around her lips, moving across the edges, over the fleshy bulge. It stopped where it tasted a mixture of L'Oreal color riche and blood. She let out a defeated sigh. Tears welled up in her eyes. Through dazed eyes she could see a coarse carpet of concrete laid out endlessly. The slight drizzle drove the chill down to her bone. She realized she was no longer in the back of the car with his warm body savoring hers. She was lying on the side of a ruthless street on an unfeeling, cold night. Alone. As the rain became harsher, she unsteadily rose to her feet, and sat under the portico of the Asiatic library.

Barely an hour ago the world was so different; it was what she wanted it to be. She was in the pub, sipping bloody mary, flirting outrageously, dancing. Their eyes had met. A fleeting glance it was, but it spoke the unspoken. A magnetic pull seemed to draw them toward each other. He came close and offered to buy her a drink. She didn't refuse. When she felt his smooth palm caress her thigh, her tattooed back, the only emotion her face betrayed was a smile. The tattooed butterfly's wings had smeared his fingers with myriad colors. A little later they had kissed. She could still feel the sweet aftertaste.

'Eh who are you?'

A hoarse voice brought her back to the forlorn library. She narrowed her eyes to make sense of the silhouette that stood before her. It was a woman for sure. Her face was plastered with compact to make her skin look many shades lighter. Her eyes were lined with kohl, and a bright pink color kissed her pouted lips. She wore a tiny top with faded, painfully tight jeans. Her hair was an unknown color. In her hand she clutched a bright red purse in her hand. Her nose ring gleamed.

'Eh are you deaf? Haan?'

'Go away!' she'd managed to mumble. 'I am not a '

'Hooker?' she asked knowingly. 'Don't you try to trick me girl. I've been watching you ever since you were thrown out of that big car.'

She bit her lip with shame. So she wasn't alone. She was being watched. She wondered what her folks back home were watching. Not the watch of course. No one cared. Her mother usually watched the whitewashed ceiling as sleep avoided her. Her brother watched porn on the net unaware that the others knew. Her father watched over them from a framed photograph.

'That's none of your business,' she hissed back. 'Will you leave me alone?' she somehow summoned Dutch courage.

'I won't. This is my area. Yougo away. Walk a few blocks down the street. You can hunt for customers there. Many rich Arabs you see.'

'Will you shut up?' she yelled at the top of her voice.

'Sshh you fool. What's the matter with you? That guy did not pay you ha?' Tia was trembling now. The hooker sensed her discomfort. 'Tell me,' she asked with genuine concern all the while marveling at her expensive dress and refined make up.

This was too much for her to take. The kindness shown by a total stranger soothed the wound gifted by another. She broke down. Mascara began to scurry away from her eyes for cover. She covered her contorted face with her hands and let the tears unburden her soul. After a while she felt at peace with herself. Now she could clearly see the woman who gawked at her nonchalantly. She had a face which could be called pretty if the gaudy make up were absent.

'Feeling better?'

'Yes.'

'Now will you tell me what happened? What is a goodgirl like you doing here?'

'That's none of your business. Why don't you go back to your business' she shot back bitterly. She was in no mood to take shit from a hooker, no matter how kind she was.

'Now that you are done with yours?'

'You whore!'

'My my! And what are you? You are as much a whore as I am. What hides behind this expensive cloth is a body that has suffered a million deaths. Isn't it?' she asked signaling to her soiled dress. 'I do this for a living. What makes you do it?'

What made me do it? Fun? Freedom? Lust?

She kept a stony silence. Every muscle in her body twitched with pain. The fall from the car had been hard. And now this rabid hooker was making her life all the more terrible. 'He was my boyfriend,' she lied hoping that the deluge of questions would stop.

'One that changes every night eh?' she let out a labored laugh. 'I know all about this girlfriend-boyfriend thing.' Tia gave her an infuriated look.

'I am Pooja.'

The sound of a cruising car broke the night's stillness. It cruised slowly as it drew near. Two men got out and walked to where the women sat. When they were quite close, Tia realized that they were nothing more than boys in their late teens. The one with long hair and filthy teeth was ogling at her.

'Eh what do you want?' 'eh' seemed to be Pooja's favorite word.

'You,' the other guy spoke. 'Both of you,' he smirked. The boys were smiling now. She could hear them breathing heavily, and that scared her. It reminded her of him. The long-haired boy inched forward and tried to touch her. She recoiled in fear. He was buoyed by this. She was scared. Of touch. She closed her eyes tight. He did not touch. The next thing she saw was him lying on his back with his hands over his crotch. He was in pain. Clearly, Pooja had hit him where it hurt the most. The other boy tried to hit her, but met a similar fate. 'You two paisa whore. How dare you 'he mumbled through pain, picked up his friend and drove away into the inky night.

'These young ones are no good,' she let in her trade secret. 'They are too energetic, and don't pay well.' She smiled knowingly.

'I want to go home,' said Tia. She'd realized that her clutch bag and her phone were gone. 'I have no money on me.'

She was struck by the absurdity of the whole situation. Here she was, abandoned by a lascivious man, leered at by a pubescent boy, socializing with a whore, and penniless.

Am I a whore? Nope. She's smart enough to get what she wants in return.

'Well you should have made that lad happy then eh,' Pooja said jovially. She laughed out aloud at her little joke, but stopped suddenly when she realized she was the only one laughing. It was close to midnight now. There wasn't a stray soul on the streets. The city looked so indifferent.

'I want to go home,' she repeated. 'Will you lend me some money? I want to go home. Please.' She bit her lower lip hard. 'I will I will return your money ' Tears ran carelessly now.

'So you plan to come here every night eh?

'No! Why don't you understand!' she was very impatient now.

'Ok Ok!' with this Pooja fished out a cell phone. It was covered with a leopard print suede cover. The light it threw was amplified by the darkness around them. She fiddled with the phone for a while, and finally spoke into it.

'Hello. Abid, where are you. Come near Asiatic na '

Within no time a taxi came to a screeching halt in front of the library. Tia wearily rose to her feet again. A seething pain shot through her left leg. She winced. With every step she descended, the pain grew manifold. The hooker helped her climb down the stairs and into the taxi.

'Abid. Take madam to wherever her house is. No hanky panky. Ok?' she smiled at the taxi driver. She turned toward her. 'My name is Pooja ' she began, but gave up when she saw that Tia had dozed off in the back seat. The driver stepped on the gas and the taxi sprang to life.

As the yellow and black taxi melted into the distance, Pooja stood under the moonless sky, tidying up her hair, stroking the day old stubble on her face. Waiting for the first of her customers to arrive. The night was still young, pregnant with hope.

P.S. Written aeons ago