It is a sunday. I have been waiting endlessly , in between numerous cups of tea and cigarettes, sunday newspaper and short stories for the rain to abate. I hate the rain. It makes the frog croak so badly. Folding up my jeans and throwing away my chappals to the sea I feel like running amuck, to feel the rain water splashing up my ankle and the rain beating down fiercely on my face. I never do it . I may fall sick.
It is eleven at night. The rain relents. Should I or should I not go for a walk? I need my stock of cigarettes for the night. I go for a walk pulling up my jeans, armed with an umbrella. The wind is with me. It is delightfully cold. It pushes me, goads me and urges me to towards the small shop at the street corner. It whips around the edges of the building with a sharp cry. It whistles past the leaves of the coconut palms, and they bend obligingly. The palm leaves have just had a marvellous bath and large drops of water shrugged off by them fall on my head.
I buy the cigarettes. I turn around. The rain washed street reflects the light of the street lamps.I light a cigarette. It warms me.I start walking towards home. Now the wind rushes past my face. It tries constantly to push me back.Walking is not easy anymore. It has become an effort. The street lamps suddenly go off. Power failure!
Oh! What a night! Starless, cold and windy.
I feel something strange is going to happen, something unusual. A strange kind of fear seems to take hold of me. It does not make my teeth chatter, but it makes me breathe faster. I wish for a car to pass by or a truck or a beggar or a cat to cross my path, anything! Anything to dispel this loneliness. I want to run. The wind is against me.
Wait! What is that which shines like dulled steel in the darkness? Is it a weapon? Who is holding it? Right at the corner of the street shielded by the building with just the steel sticking out? Is it somebody taking refuge from the rain? But it is not raining anymore. I stand rooted to the spot, waiting for a move. Surely, he has seen me. Where have the police disappeared? I want to shout but I cannot. What does he want? My watch? It is expensive. I do not have much money. Thank God! I have my umbrella with me. I will knock him down with it.
I deal a blow and rush past him with celerity. What is this sound of steel hitting the ground.? I look over my shoulder. I expect him to come after me. But he doesn't. I retrace my steps. Closer, closer. Is it a trick? I have my umbrella with me. A few more steps. I peer. The figure is huddled as though out of exhaustion. Such an unlikely posture for someone who wants to attack and rob me. Surprised, I go very close.
Oh God! It is a woman! Her eyes without reproach or pain are staring at me. Her threadbare saree is hardly enough to cover her emaciated body. I dig in to my pockets. I press in to her hands whatever I have . She is still staring. The lights have come on. Her eyes are almost listless. I am scared. I walk a few steps away from her, accidently hitting the bowl. What a clatter it makes! I break in to a run. The chappals slip away. I am not bothered. It has started raining.
Tuesday, August 5
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