(Note: This story is relatively fictitious. Any resemblance with any person, dead or alive is purely intentional!!!)
T.P. (short for Trilok Puri) is a part of Delhi which houses a large proportion of the poor that are seemingly invisible in other parts of Delhi. If you live in East Delhi, it is most likely that your maid, watchman, school peon, etc…, hails from the area. It is an area most avoid, but living less than a kilometer away, I find hard to turn my head away. The fascinating colors, the unbearable aromas, the never-ending struggle for existence there, even the crooks and ruffians that inhabit every lane, get a little too much for my curiosity, so much so that I’ve even gone to write an entire dissertation on the place…
I have many friends, coming in all different shapes, colors and sizes. They usually contact me when they are lagging behind in home work or have tests coming up. I’m hardly the guy you call up, if you are behind bars with a FIR about to be lodged against you. But that’s what Ankit did…
Living just two blocks away from me, we go back as long as I can remember. After a childhood full of pranks, trouble and more pranks, we parted ways as I went got myself a seat on a drafting table in an architecture college, while he got one in a call center. It has been ages since we had talked, and seeing his number on the phone at nine in the evening, I was sure something big, for better or worse, had come up.
I had known this bindaas, tapori friend of mine would land up in jail one day. But, when the thulla on the phone told me that he was being booked for a case of eve-teasing and sexual harassment, I was shocked. I knew, the little pervert kept an eye on kaamwali bayees and dhobins, but this was too much, even for him.
In absence of any significant experience and a relatively clean reputation with the cops, I picked up another friend Raj on the way, for back up. With a powerful political background and a reputation of wriggling out of difficult situations (there is much more to this guy, but that’s a whole different story), he was the man for the job. Entering the chowki, with uneasiness, the careless swagger in Raj’s walk looked as if he was pretty much at home.
Abandoning me in the main hall, Raj went inside to meet the thaanedar while, I meekly asked for the directions to the lock-up. There he was, Ankit crouched in one cornered; the pool near his feet didn’t look like blood. Without beating around any bushes, I asked him what happened. In his own words, “I was standing on the bus stop waiting for the 364 when a girl right next to me on the bench started screaming for help. The next thing I know I was surrounded and attacked by a mob armed with chappals and lathis, of which two grabbed me by the collar and dragged me here”. I knew better than to believe him and gave him little reassurance.
Meanwhile, Raj enters the hall, all merry and brotherly with the thanedaar and two other men. Raj takes me to a corner and tells me that the issue is all settled and only a 1000 rupees is due. I didn’t get what he meant. So to the amusement to all present (except Ankit of course!) he lucidly explained to me how all this was one big scam and how the girl, the two men were all in it. You should have seen poor Ankit’s eyes. The little prankster had, had it good. My skepticism quickly transformed into guilt and sympathy, as I gave him my most benevolent gaze.
With little recourse, I settled the money, while Raj helped the Ankit to his feet. While, Raj and Ankit got into the car, I looked around at the empty street, lonely street lights, parked rickshaws and took a moment to soak in the madness we had experienced in an evening in Trilok Puri…
T.P. (short for Trilok Puri) is a part of Delhi which houses a large proportion of the poor that are seemingly invisible in other parts of Delhi. If you live in East Delhi, it is most likely that your maid, watchman, school peon, etc…, hails from the area. It is an area most avoid, but living less than a kilometer away, I find hard to turn my head away. The fascinating colors, the unbearable aromas, the never-ending struggle for existence there, even the crooks and ruffians that inhabit every lane, get a little too much for my curiosity, so much so that I’ve even gone to write an entire dissertation on the place…
I have many friends, coming in all different shapes, colors and sizes. They usually contact me when they are lagging behind in home work or have tests coming up. I’m hardly the guy you call up, if you are behind bars with a FIR about to be lodged against you. But that’s what Ankit did…
Living just two blocks away from me, we go back as long as I can remember. After a childhood full of pranks, trouble and more pranks, we parted ways as I went got myself a seat on a drafting table in an architecture college, while he got one in a call center. It has been ages since we had talked, and seeing his number on the phone at nine in the evening, I was sure something big, for better or worse, had come up.
I had known this bindaas, tapori friend of mine would land up in jail one day. But, when the thulla on the phone told me that he was being booked for a case of eve-teasing and sexual harassment, I was shocked. I knew, the little pervert kept an eye on kaamwali bayees and dhobins, but this was too much, even for him.
In absence of any significant experience and a relatively clean reputation with the cops, I picked up another friend Raj on the way, for back up. With a powerful political background and a reputation of wriggling out of difficult situations (there is much more to this guy, but that’s a whole different story), he was the man for the job. Entering the chowki, with uneasiness, the careless swagger in Raj’s walk looked as if he was pretty much at home.
Abandoning me in the main hall, Raj went inside to meet the thaanedar while, I meekly asked for the directions to the lock-up. There he was, Ankit crouched in one cornered; the pool near his feet didn’t look like blood. Without beating around any bushes, I asked him what happened. In his own words, “I was standing on the bus stop waiting for the 364 when a girl right next to me on the bench started screaming for help. The next thing I know I was surrounded and attacked by a mob armed with chappals and lathis, of which two grabbed me by the collar and dragged me here”. I knew better than to believe him and gave him little reassurance.
Meanwhile, Raj enters the hall, all merry and brotherly with the thanedaar and two other men. Raj takes me to a corner and tells me that the issue is all settled and only a 1000 rupees is due. I didn’t get what he meant. So to the amusement to all present (except Ankit of course!) he lucidly explained to me how all this was one big scam and how the girl, the two men were all in it. You should have seen poor Ankit’s eyes. The little prankster had, had it good. My skepticism quickly transformed into guilt and sympathy, as I gave him my most benevolent gaze.
With little recourse, I settled the money, while Raj helped the Ankit to his feet. While, Raj and Ankit got into the car, I looked around at the empty street, lonely street lights, parked rickshaws and took a moment to soak in the madness we had experienced in an evening in Trilok Puri…
1 comment:
i don't understand where are we going.... good work keep writing. good luck for your architectural work also...
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