‘What song?’ I asked in Malayalam, sitting up on the bench.

‘The one that just got over,’ Soordas said, walking into my life and sitting on a plastic chair with the white stick still in his hand. ‘Eeshwarane thedithedi ponore . . . that song.’

‘Yesudas, I reckon, or Jayachandran.’

‘It’s from the film Kavyamela,’ he said. ‘The singer’s name is Uthaman. He’s from Ernakulam. Only sang five or six songs for films. He had some problems with his sight.’

‘Kavyamela?’

‘Prem Nazir acts as a blind person in it. The villain is Adoor Bhasi who steals his poems and publishes them as his own. The music is by Dakshinamoorthy.’

‘Have you seen this film?’ I asked a foolish question.

‘I’ve listened to the audio track. In Kollam. My father’s house is in Kollam.’

‘I’ve met Dakshinamoorthy,’ I lied. ‘When I went to the Vaikom temple. He’s got a flyaway beard.’

It was dark outside the shop.

‘Could you switch off this light?’ Soordas asked.

‘Ah, so you can see a little, can’t you?’ I looked suspiciously at his half-closed right eye.

‘No, I’ve been blind since birth,’ he said. ‘It’s just that when there is light, people like you have a certain arrogance in your voice.’

I switched off the light.

‘See, now we are equal,’ he said.

‘No, now you have the upper hand,’ I said, stumbling against the bench in the dark and hurting my leg.

As soon as they got back from the holidays, the youngsters hurried into the shop.

‘My hands are trembling,’ one of them said as they arranged themselves around the table. ‘Can’t wait to play a game!’

‘My heart is trembling,’ said another. ‘Last night, I fell asleep in the train and dreamt that someone was sitting behind me and eyeing my cards.’

‘The song Swapnangale, swapnangale ningal . . . is from Kavyamela,’ Soordas chipped in. He had been sitting unobtrusively on a bench inside the shop.

One of the youngsters turned to look at him. ‘These guys have started coming here too?’

There were three blind students in their college, all of them older than the others. A room on the ground floor of the college hostel was set aside for them. The time of the day was irrelevant to them, and because of it radio music could be heard from their room at all hours, even at the hour of night when ghosts and spirits were asleep.

‘Can you guys dream?’ asked another young man. He was referring to the song Soordas had mentioned that described dreams as maidens from heaven.

Soordas ignored him.

‘Of course they can,’ I said. ‘Just that they don’t see their dreams, they hear them instead.’

‘Those who are partially sighted can see dreams vaguely.’

‘Vasuvannan, you won’t believe me but I have seen a dream once,’ Soordas said. ‘Once when I was travelling in a bus from Hyderabad, I couldn’t sleep for two days. When I went to bed afterwards, I saw a dream just like those with sight do. A busy road and a horse-drawn carriage . . .’