A lot of other things were also written on the latrine door. He read them all. During this time, he had forgotten the innumerable insects in the commode. The foul smell had already lost its strength. The reminiscence of Miss Jamila had silenced the chaos inside him a little. When he exited the toilet, he saw a man standing there. He had a tiny container in one hand which was filled with water and a beedi in the other. He looked at Asrar and said in a condescending tone, ‘Kya be, so gaya tha kya [Were you sleeping]? I knocked at least thrice!’

Asrar lowered his gaze and apologized, ‘Sorry!’

‘Sorry ka bachcha, aa jate hain saale [What use is your sorry? God knows where these people with their sorrys come from].’ The man entered the latrine groaning and mumbling to himself.

2

Will I Find a Way to Return if I Wish?

(Mujhe Bhi Rah Na Milegi Jo Lautna Chahun)

Jamat Ki Kholi was on the ground floor of a very old and dilapidated three-storey building. All the residents living there had followed the pagadi renting system for the last five decades. The owner of the building belonged to a business family and was a pious man. The building was decaying but the residents didn’t want to get it reconstructed.

When Asrar came out of the building, the summer sun of May dazzled his eyes. There were two more boys with Asrar who had come to Mumbai for the first time. The moment they exited the kholi, it seemed as if they had turned into statues. They gaped at the tall buildings, the windows, curtains on the windows, the roads, the people on the roads and the clothes that the passers-by were wearing. Along the road and on the footpath, till their eyes could see, there were hawkers and vendors lined up. The one in front of them was selling children’s clothes, rosaries, zamzam (holy water), various books of prayers, toothpaste, caps and copies of the Quran. A black dog slept comfortably under the stall. Asrar looked at the dog. Half of its body was submerged in the dirty water collected near the footpath. Its eyes were closed and a big, fat, lazy fly sat on its nose. The nose was like a tunnel for the petty fly. Mumbai itself seems like a tunnel to newcomers.