him that.
We trooped out of the classroom in a big crowd despite Mr Mukherjee’s best attempts for us to file out in pairs. He followed at the back of the group, trying to keep us in some kind of order by waving his arms and loudly reciting the rules of etiquette when outside the classroom.
We arrived in a flurry of noise, kicking up dust, our voices joining and merging with the constant chatter of the market. I noticed Mr Pondicherry sitting on his barrel in the shade smoking his pipe. Checking to see where Mr Mukherjee was, I strolled over to say hello. He looked up and smiled.
‘Ah, Bilal. How are you, child?’
Throwing my hands in the air, I shook my head in amazement.
‘How do you do that, Mr Pondicherry?’ I asked and sniffed my shirt. ‘Is it the way I smell?’
Mr Pondicherry threw back his head and let out a long and wheezy laugh.
‘I can’t reveal all my secrets, can I? Are you all here to play cricket again?’
‘It’s our reward for being good or something like that.’ I kicked a large stone against the wall and shuffled around.
‘Stop bothering that damn stone, Bilal.’
I looked up at him and frowned. Mr Pondicherry turned his sightless gaze on me as I continued to nudge the stone at my feet with my toe. It felt odd looking at Mr Pondicherry because I knew he was blind. His world was dark yet I never felt he wasn’t able to see. If anything, he saw more than everybody else. Looking down at the jagged stone on the ground, I glumly thought that some things weren’t really worth seeing.
‘I can sense your unease, Bilal.’
How can he always sense how I’m feeling?
‘Bilal, you have something you need to get off your chest. It’s not good to hold on to such burdens, son. Visit old Pondicherry later and I’ll see if I can lighten your heart with a story.’
‘I’ll come soon and I’ll keep an eye out.’
Now it was Mr Pondicherry’s turn to frown.
‘And pray tell me what you’ll be keeping an eye out for?’
I bent down and picked up the stone and squeezed it in my hand. The sharp edges bit into my flesh.
‘Trouble, what else?’
Chapter 16
It was the hottest time of day and the maidan off the market square was mostly deserted. Only madmen and a few soothsayers sat talking to themselves in the bright glare of the sun. When I’d asked Bapuji what the difference was between a madman and a soothsayer, he’d replied rather cryptically that ‘many argue there’s no difference.’ I shook my head at this and wondered at my bapuji’s ability to always be mysterious and never give me a straight answer about anything.
All around the dusty maidan the market continued to thrum with activity. A cricket match was often a welcome respite for the traders from the rigours of selling and shifting goods to and fro but I noticed something right away. The air felt charged with a sort of electricity I’d never sensed before. I stood still and scanned the stalls around me. I had to blink as the number of stalls, colours and smells hit me in a rush. Shading my eyes to adjust to the sunlight, I focused on a few stalls that were immediately familiar. Anand stood at his fruit stall looking over his wares. I blinked to make sure it wasn’t a hallucination. Anand never stands . He constantly moaned about his aching knees and had had a stool made especially to support his considerable bulk. A few stalls down, Sandhu sat deep in the shade watching over his spices and seeds. I could just make out his red turban, which in the deep recess of his doorway looked blood red. Next to his foot rested a long and gnarled stick. Sandhu never sits . He was always moving around making people laugh as they passed his stall, and I’d never seen him with a stick. My stomach convulsed in a series of jabbing pains that made me grind my teeth. Glancing towards our rabble, I could see Mr Mukherjee still struggling to organise two teams.
Saleem strolled over. ‘We’ll be lucky to get a game in before sunset at
We trooped out of the classroom in a big crowd despite Mr Mukherjee’s best attempts for us to file out in pairs. He followed at the back of the group, trying to keep us in some kind of order by waving his arms and loudly reciting the rules of etiquette when outside the classroom.
We arrived in a flurry of noise, kicking up dust, our voices joining and merging with the constant chatter of the market. I noticed Mr Pondicherry sitting on his barrel in the shade smoking his pipe. Checking to see where Mr Mukherjee was, I strolled over to say hello. He looked up and smiled.
‘Ah, Bilal. How are you, child?’
Throwing my hands in the air, I shook my head in amazement.
‘How do you do that, Mr Pondicherry?’ I asked and sniffed my shirt. ‘Is it the way I smell?’
Mr Pondicherry threw back his head and let out a long and wheezy laugh.
‘I can’t reveal all my secrets, can I? Are you all here to play cricket again?’
‘It’s our reward for being good or something like that.’ I kicked a large stone against the wall and shuffled around.
‘Stop bothering that damn stone, Bilal.’
I looked up at him and frowned. Mr Pondicherry turned his sightless gaze on me as I continued to nudge the stone at my feet with my toe. It felt odd looking at Mr Pondicherry because I knew he was blind. His world was dark yet I never felt he wasn’t able to see. If anything, he saw more than everybody else. Looking down at the jagged stone on the ground, I glumly thought that some things weren’t really worth seeing.
‘I can sense your unease, Bilal.’
How can he always sense how I’m feeling?
‘Bilal, you have something you need to get off your chest. It’s not good to hold on to such burdens, son. Visit old Pondicherry later and I’ll see if I can lighten your heart with a story.’
‘I’ll come soon and I’ll keep an eye out.’
Now it was Mr Pondicherry’s turn to frown.
‘And pray tell me what you’ll be keeping an eye out for?’
I bent down and picked up the stone and squeezed it in my hand. The sharp edges bit into my flesh.
‘Trouble, what else?’
Chapter 16
It was the hottest time of day and the maidan off the market square was mostly deserted. Only madmen and a few soothsayers sat talking to themselves in the bright glare of the sun. When I’d asked Bapuji what the difference was between a madman and a soothsayer, he’d replied rather cryptically that ‘many argue there’s no difference.’ I shook my head at this and wondered at my bapuji’s ability to always be mysterious and never give me a straight answer about anything.
All around the dusty maidan the market continued to thrum with activity. A cricket match was often a welcome respite for the traders from the rigours of selling and shifting goods to and fro but I noticed something right away. The air felt charged with a sort of electricity I’d never sensed before. I stood still and scanned the stalls around me. I had to blink as the number of stalls, colours and smells hit me in a rush. Shading my eyes to adjust to the sunlight, I focused on a few stalls that were immediately familiar. Anand stood at his fruit stall looking over his wares. I blinked to make sure it wasn’t a hallucination. Anand never stands . He constantly moaned about his aching knees and had had a stool made especially to support his considerable bulk. A few stalls down, Sandhu sat deep in the shade watching over his spices and seeds. I could just make out his red turban, which in the deep recess of his doorway looked blood red. Next to his foot rested a long and gnarled stick. Sandhu never sits . He was always moving around making people laugh as they passed his stall, and I’d never seen him with a stick. My stomach convulsed in a series of jabbing pains that made me grind my teeth. Glancing towards our rabble, I could see Mr Mukherjee still struggling to organise two teams.
Saleem strolled over. ‘We’ll be lucky to get a game in before sunset at
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