Crackpot

It was around 7:30 pm on a summer's eve. The local market was bustling with activity. Rickshaws with women and children, men on their two wheelers honking unnecessarily  and on cycles meandering through the crowd.

Carts with vendors yelling to outdo each other as they tried to woo customers to buy their vegetables, melons and mangoes.

Amongst all of this commotion, bending his knees to rest on a bench by a roadside eatery was Tikoo, the central character of our story.

"Aarrghh" he shrieked jumping instantly in air grabbing his bottom.

The wooden bench that he just sat upon had scorched his behind.

"You should have asked before sitting, I had kept this cooker upon that a while ago" said the cook laughing and pointing to the bench and then at the large cooker on his platform that was still steaming hot.

"Who asks before sitting on a bench of a roadside eatery?" Shouted Tikoo still miffed.

"Well! That's what you get when you don't ask" said the cook still laughing as his hairy belly hanging from under his muddy vest pulsated in tandem with his giggling.

Tikoo was a problem child with a God gift of being at the wrong place at just the right time causing chaos wherever he happened to be.

The intensity of rubbing his butt getting leaner, he slowly walked upto the electronic shop where across the show window on tv, a cricket match between India and England was going on.

"That's a huge 6!" exclaimed the commentator as camera traced the ball hit by Srinath go beyond the boundary line.

"Yay!" shouted the audience outside the store raising both hands in utter excitement, so did Tikoo and in doing so, he landed a punch under the chin of Khuddan, the tall puncture shop owner standing just behind him.

As Khuddan grabbed his chin in agony, Tickoo initiated his escape.

"Stop you moron!" He shouted trying to remove his slipper and aim it with all his might at the fleeing boy.

Tikoo judged the projectile, ducked, lost his balance and ended up banging head first into a vegetable vendor's back who was already leaning forward to place a pumpkin into the bag of a female customer. She had been at his cart for some 5 minutes now, finally closing the deal at 2 rupees cheaper after a humongous bargain.

The vegetable seller swept off his feet, fell upon his stomach on the cart squashing a heap of tomatoes and losing his grip on the huge pumpkin which was briefly airborne before landing upon the right cheek of his customer like a professional boxer's punch.

"Bloody hell" she screamed but before she could come to terms with what had just happened the in-flight slipper from Khuddan, landed upon her left cheek like a knockout punch of the tournament.

The fat lady, in her mid fifties, known for her temper and dreaded by local vendors for her hidious bargaining skills and crude vocabulary lay out cold on the street. She had barely caught a glimpse of the culprit before she passed out..

There was a joyous roar amongst the numerous vegetable vendors as if another six had been hit by Srinath, but it was a cheer which no one ofcourse saw or heard since it transpired within them. Their faces though showed a perfectly empty expression of worry as their interiors erupted in celebration.

Knowing the kind of speech that will ooze once this lady got up, Tikoo and more than him, Khuddan were nowhere to be seen.

Having made it to about 500 meters from the spot in no time, Tikoo slowed down huffing and puffing, he stood looking around, all seemed well. Though he did not see the face of his victim, he could find no angry lady charging at him now.

Tickoo became relaxed, this sprint had made his mouth go dry, "Kulfiwalah" he heard someone shout followed by rythemic ringing of bells that every ice lolly seller in the town made.

"Yumm! Just the thing I need" said Tikoo softly.

"Give me 1" he demanded from the vendor.

"10 rupees" vendor informed.

"Yeah, ok, give me" he replied.

"Here you are" both said in succession as the Kulfi and the payment got exchanged.

Licking his kulfi from all around, he started his journey back home.

No sooner had he entered, he had his right ear in his father's grip, "You fool! I have been sitting here hungry, waiting for you to bring chapatis from the eatery, where are they?"

"Aah" Tickoo yelled in pain,"I can explain"

Before he could, someone entered through the main door.

"Oh! You are back from the market, see what your son has done" informed Tickoo's father angrily, "But you don"t look too well"

"I know" said the lady putting down her bag that had a large pumpkin in it, with cheeks that had started to swell, she turned around, closed the main door and.....●

Xenophobia

It was September of 1947, British rule had come to an end, a deep division within Indian territory and its communities lay bare getting uglier by the day due to the partition of subcontinent into two indipendent countries.

People had become barbarians, cutting throats and filling up trains, tracks and pavements with dead bodies as if they had some target to achieve, Muslims, Sikhs and Hindus alike.

Like thousands of frantic migrants on either side trying to flee to safety, Maqbool had boarded Punjab Mail from Delhi to Lahore, knowing well that this route had been marked "wholly insecure" by West Punjab administrstion.

"Will we make it alive?" Asked his wife trembling, her eyes beaming little hope and much fear.

"Perhaps" he mumbled nervously. 

She held her little daughter in her arms, "Listen, nothing should happen to my Zarina I am telling you".

Maqbool knew that safety and wellbeing of the family were his responsibility, that's what the clergy had explicitly asked during their Nikaah. Maqbool had then most willingly accepted this responsibility and thus his marriage was solemnised.

"Nothing will happen, I am here, we must have faith in God" he consoled her, praying deep within for divine protection.

The train packed to the roof and over, started to crawl, gaining momentum as did 3800 pacing hearts on board. Every minute of this journey appeared like a lifetime.

"If we pass through Punjab then we are saved" said a fellow traveller.

"Heard that this very train from Lahore to Delhi was attacked by a mob of 200 armed rioters between Jallo and Wagah last week"

"Story is no different on the other side my brother, did you not hear what happened on the Frontier mail yesterday?"

Maqbool kept overhearing this conversation for a while, then quietly glanced at his wife who too was engrossed in the same act.

All blood seemed to have drained away from her face, her eyes had become lifeless like pebbles and the ends of her lips began to droop.

When fear within is hungry, it sips on energy for starter, eats away logic for main course and consumes confidence for dessert. It burped within her releasing enough pressure that caused cold tears to overflow and roll down her cheeks.

"Shutup!" said Maqbool, "Just shutup, don't you see there are women and children around?" he chided glacing across the compartment with people stuffed together in humidity and smell of sweat.

Before the conversing passengers could react, an uproar from outside turned many pale.

"We have been attacked! A mob is coming" screamed someone from behind as commotion erupted within the coach, howling mothers held their screaming children wishing they could vanish into air and escape from the horror.

"Calm down, don't panic its not an attack, some people travelling in between bogies fell under the train it is told" said someone descending from the roof through the door and into the compartment.

Every millimeter of Maqbool's body seemed to have developed its independent heart beating fast and each one being completely out of his control.

Things having calmed down after a while, conversation in the neighborhood resumed.

"We sold off all our Gold and jewellery to a scrap dealer, got little money we could carry" said someone, "All our wealth, land and approach could not arrange an aeroplane ticket but only this compartment and its dirty floor where we sit"

"There lies my wife on the floor, flies dancing all over her dirt smeared dress, back home she had six maids at her beck & call, not an iota of dust ever sat upon her clothes" said the other

A sudden cry followed by wailing emerged from the far corner of the compartment, an asthematic grandmother had suffocated and passed away, a crowd within the crowded compartment gathered around the dead lady.

"She died praying for us all" announced a weeping relative.

Amongst so many stories of dispair, sorrow and fear, Maqbool and his wife found unexpected consolation, afterall everyone seemed to be sailing in the same boat metaphorically.

Relaxation started to settle in, Maqbool's family felt slumber drizzle upon them as fear too with its belly full now seemed to have fallen asleep.

Three fourth of an hour passed, Maqbool and his wife sleeping with their heads shaking to either side as the train scurried on the track.

A measured spike in noise within the coach began falling upon his eardrums and eventually woke him up, the train had started to slow down and then came to a gradual halt.

Beads of perspiration started to appear on foreheads, not a single sound emanated from any part of this dimly lit coach, there was an eerie 'sweat drop' silence all around until there was some heavy banging on the windows, "Open up quickly" said a couple of loud voices.

Time, minds, people and life froze as certain & painful death loomed just outside the coach doors.

Husbands and wives grasped hands, mothers kissed their children, pressing them hard against themselves. Elders put their hands on the heads of their children and grand children to bless them one last time knowing well that it was all futile.

As voices from outside grew louder, youth within the coach gathered courage, wriggling nearer to the windows, they peeped out.

A squad of Gurkha soldiers stood on the tracks, deployed by administration to ensure safe passage of the refugee train.

Doors of all coaches gradually opened up bringing in much needed fresh air and hope. Eyes and minds could not believe what they were witnessing, it was as if a certain death sentence had been revoked.

Soldiers boarded each of the coaches and some ascended to the rooftop as the train started to move again on its fateful journey that fortunately culminated at Lahore the next day.

Old grandmother's final prayers it seemed had been answered.

A greater battle for survival though had just begun for the 3800 passengers of Punjab Mail who looked all around this unfamiliar station knowing not where to go. ●●●

Twice as much

"O generous man, give the poor and hungry some money, may your business flourish"

The shopkeeper had barely set up his sweet shop for the day when even before the first customer, this begger stood looking with great hope into his eyes.

"You guys turn up right in the morning, don't you realize I have just opened my shop?" He said getting irritated.

"A rupee or two that's all, God will give you twice as much you give me" replied the begger sticking strictly to his pitch.

Shopkeeper laughed at the wit of the begger "Very clever of you to say that, here you go, said the shopkeeper taking out a 5 rupee note from the cash box and handed it over to the begger, "Its a little worn but will be acceptable to anyone. Let me see if I get back the double of this"

The shopkeeper had been trying to put this 5 rupee note in circulation since yesterday without success, none of his customers accepted it due to its bad state.

Begger too, though visibly unhappy still looked closely at the money for a while. 'Taped in the middle and very soiled, may work though' he thought after assessing its condition.

 "Be happy, flourish and grow" he said raising his hands as if to bless but in doing so, lost grip and the note slipped away from his fingers onto the road, flew and diasppeared into the drain.

"You know why you beg for a living?" asked the shopkeeper in a humiliating tone, "That's because you can't handle money"

The begger giggled trying to cover up the faux pa

"Now move on, I have nothing more to give you this morning" chided the shopkeeper.

As begger turned around, he bumped into the sweeper who was busy cleaning the drain.

"Drunk are you?" He retaliated as the beggar moved on.

Sweeper soon found the 5 rupee note, air dried and kept it in his pocket.

'One pouch of tobacco is arranged' he thought.

"Rajnandini" he said placing the new-found note at the pan shop after a while.

"Hmm" the owner who was busy setting up his shop moved his head slightly without looking at his customer or the money as if to allow him to take one pouch of tobacco laden betelnut from the string hanging over the counter.

Sweeper looked at the shop owner to see if he had noticed the condition of the 5 rupee note, since nothing untoward happened, he tore open the pouch and emptied it stright into his mouth and walked away.

"A pack of cigarettes, usual one" said a regular customer halting his motorcycle right in front.

Pan shop owner placed the pack on counter, customer handed over a hundred rupee note, "Return me 20 rupees, not all coins please, difficult to keep"

As he was was about to receive balance amount "PRESS WALEY" shreiked someone like hell in his ears.

"What the....are you crazy, my ears are all whistles" he said staring at the man passing  by with his cloth ironing service cart and in the event involuntarily took and kept two ten rupee notes in his pocket.

He puckered his face to ward off the effect of the sonic boom that just hit him, lit up his cigarette, kick started the bike, turned around and halted in front of the sweet shop, "Chhotu, pack 2 samosas" he demanded signalling the young assistant.

"Here", said chhotu handing over the packet,

"You've put the sauce too right?" asked the motorcyclist, " Yes, 20 rupees" said chhotu in response.

Having given the same notes he received from the pan shop, customer sped away.

"Half a kilo Jalebi and 200 gms curd" said another customer to the shop owner who weighed both items, packed them & handed over the stuff in a polybag.

"Give me back 20" said customer placing money on the counter.

"Here" replied the shopkeeper giving 2 ten rupee notes.

"Well this won't work, change this one please" demanded customer after scrutinizing the notes to which the shopkeeper complied.

"The young guy on the motocycle gave this perhaps" said chhotu pre-empting the situation

"Keep your eyes open when dealing with customers or I will deduct money from your salary" cautioned the shopkeeper looking at the soiled and taped 10 rupee note.

The beggar by now had reached far end of the market, was standing in front of the grocery store raising his palms and pleading, "A rupee or two that's all, God will give you twice as much you give me" ●●●