The Third Squad by V. Sanjay Kumar

Author:V. Sanjay Kumar
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: ebook, book
Publisher: Akashic Books
Published: 2017-02-07T16:00:00+00:00

Inside or Out?

Nandini was away and I had roamed the streets trying to distance myself from thoughts of Kumaran and the time we spent together. Sometimes the crowded streets of Mumbai can get your mind full of things you do not want to remember. Linking Road, Bandra, is full of honking cars, its sidewalks are crowded with hawkers and teenage shoppers, mostly girls wearing three-quarter leggings and large hoop earrings. Their feet peek out of brightly colored sandals with toenails that are aflame. I catch myself staring sometimes. I walk again. A fellow lies on the sidewalk, legs spread wide, his head lolling to one side; his clothing is threadbare and his hair needs a wash. I look for needle marks as I step over him. I find plenty of them in a tattoo parlor with a line out the door. I join the queue of youngsters just to see what happens, then give my place away to a boy with torn jeans and studs. He shrugs.

I keep moving till it darkens. The streetlights come on and the sodium vapor takes hold. The streets are yellow when I leave. I walk briskly to my door, happy the day has gone by. The chawl is eerily quiet; there is no footwear in front of our door. I enter and reach for the switch; the phosphorescent tube flickers on. There is a Post-it on the fridge that says, Eat, one on the sink that says, Wash, and another on the liquor cabinet that says, No. I fix a drink and down it in one gulp. I fix another in a hurry and head for my den.

And then I pause. It hits me. The question comes like it has before and I cannot move . . . Am I inside or out? I place the drink on the floor and feel the door. My hand finds the doorknob. I turn it slowly, enter cautiously, and shut it behind me. It is pitch dark. My ears buzz. I reach inside my pocket and fish out my lighter. I place my left hand against my face and flick the cap open. A flame leaps and gray smoke spirals.

I turn slowly to face the table and lower my hand. I blink. It’s true, I am there as I had feared, seated at the table. I have been there all day. I walk slowly and drag some dust to this man who lacks courage, who sits alone in the dark the day after, frozen.

The man raises his eyes, slowly removing his gaze from the blank sheet of paper in front of him. Helpless are his eyes and the hand that writes. He places a palm on my shoulder as he rises and he walks into me.

The bell rings and we freeze. We hear: keys on the key ring, shoes sliding across the floor, Post-its getting torn up. Breathing.

“Karan?”

One of us should speak.

“Karan, are you going to sit there all day?”

Things have changed. Nandini has changed. And I have not.

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