Telephone behind a glass partition

Apric Light

October 11th, 2008 Roshan Posted in Bombay |

You’re sitting at the table, mooching off the neighbour’s Wi-Fi. There’s a glass of Riesling (2007) in your hand. It’s your last glass, but hey, you’ve eaten well, no reason to skimp on the drink. The only thing that bothers you is that you could only afford a bottle of Madera to replace it. A small matter, and your mind drifts to other things, to the evening, for instance.

You’re looking out the large glass windows in the flat, Schubert’s Piano Quintet in A major playing at the back of your mind. Everything is more dramatic with Schubert’s P.Q.; and looking out of windows at flocks of doves flying in concert makes it seem to you like you’re witness to a moment of great import. It doesn’t last. On an impulse you decide to go for a walk, and perhaps photograph everything on the way. Donning your trusty ancient AJAX jersey, you set out. At first all is familiar; it appears you’re in comfortable territory, despite the Shiv Sena board in the corner.

But soon things change, you reach a crossroads and something makes you pick the road less travelled by. The further on you walk, the more unfamiliar things get. You’re an alien here: you barely speak the language, your wallet is fatter than it should be, and you’re the wrong religion. But it seems peaceful, all seems well. Mumbai’s propensity for roads that lead off into nowhere, and buildings that look like they’ve been here a hundred years is only unmatched by Calcutta. But you’re not in Calcutta now. A little way on, you come to a crossroads. Laziness demands that you choose not to cross the road, and you obey, but only for so long.

A few seconds later, you suddenly feel a tug inside you: something’s calling out to you. Barely formed thoughts echo in your mind. It’s not entirely by choice that you turn and choose to cross the road, laziness forgotten. As you walk further on, the words in your head seem to take shape, and pictures flash across your sight, familiar pictures but you can’t quite tell what. You walk past a bunch of boys trying to get at a kite that’s entangled with an overhead cable. The stick they’re using is 2 metres short; the sight nearly makes you laugh and you think of waiting and taking a shot. But that now familiar tug draws you onward, forcing you to ignore the kids. They have a different idea though, and want to be photographed. You oblige. But you can’t wait.

A voice speaks to you, right inside you, so it isn’t heard but felt. It asks you to look for an old man carrying grain past a stagnant canal, it warns you of a hole in your path. It fades away softly as you walk on. A strange script covers a building that you pass by, a sign perhaps. There are more jewellers here than there should be, every other shop sells gold. You pull out your camera, but suddenly everything goes dark, there are no lights, it’s hard to see. Holding your wallet tight you stalk past suspicious looking men, ignoring vendors’ calling out to “Bhai-saab!”. Suddenly the lights come back on, but you don’t know this place at all, you don’t even remember how you got here. You can barely see the road for the people on it. Panic fills your throat.

Images pulse through your head - a Riven-like wooden building, with a staircase in front; a stalled van, half-converted into a shop by a snake-oil salesman; paved streets that lead to dust. The impulse to run is stronger than ever now, something is reaching across time to pull you onward, dragging you when you won’t budge. Your eyes are closed, but behind them memories whiz past: a time when you were a child, feeding the crows half your lunch; another time when you ate puffed brown rice at a cousin’s home; rain falling down all around you as you stood looking at a duck on a lake; a road slick with water, an uphill trudge to a friend’s house where you see the biggest aquarium you’ve seen till then; palm trees, huge lagoons, tales of Christian priests; fried beef, mutton curry and fish for lunch. All of this overwhelms you, you open your eyes and read the signboard in front of you: “SUNNY“. You stand on the doorstep for a long time, your mind a haze, a single question unanswered, “Am I worthy?”