They walked to Kala Ghoda. The walk left them tired and speechless. The city seemed impregnable to them. There was a sea of beauty, money and power which they could just watch from a faraway shore.

On a lot of persuasion from Asrar, Mohammad Ali told them about the smooth-skinned boys encountered earlier. ‘Ye log dhanda karte hain, lekin bohat sare fukat mein bhi dete hain [They do that business and get money out of it, but a lot of times they do it for free].’

Then Qasim asked an idiotic question, ‘Fukat mein kya dete hain [What do they do for free]?’

Mohammad Ali smiled and started observing the statue installed in front of the Jehangir Art Gallery.

Saleem Ghare was also curious about the answer that Mohammad Ali would give to the question.

Seeing the faces of Mohammad Ali and Saleem, Aslam addressed Qasim and said, ‘They give what the hoor can’t give in heaven!’

They laughed for long. So did Qasim. They laughed to their heart’s content.

They reached their room at around 10.30 p.m.

Asrar, Mohammad Ali and Aslam went out after having dinner. It was eleven. The shops in the building had shut down. When they had come out in the morning, there were few street vendors but now there were many—with stalls of sherbet, samosas, bhajiya, kebab, chicken tikka, cosmetics, caps, etc. These stalls had few customers but more beggars, people clad in dismal clothes, looking old and haggard, and children.

An old man covered in dirt was sitting at a closed stall. It looked as if he had cut himself off from the present world and was living in a parallel universe. He stared blankly and kept whispering. Suddenly, this oblivious man stood up and raised his hands towards the heavens and screamed, ‘Haq Allah [God is the absolute truth].’

The vendors made fun of him and got back to their work.

A Pathan buying chicken tikka from a vendor turned and abused the old man, ‘Gandu ka bachcha, charas sir mein gus gai kya [Bastard, have the drugs done in your brain]?’

The vendor smiled at what the Pathan had said.

‘This is his routine. When the effect will die down in the morning, he will say that he talked to the djinns the entire night,’ the vendor said, placing chicken pieces on the fire. ‘He must have made the djinns addicted too!’ the Pathan said wittily. After shouting ‘Haq Allah’, the unknown man sat again on the footpath. Mohammad Ali said that the area had a huge population of those who bought and sold drugs. He advised the newcomers to beware of such people. That was when a twelve-year-old boy came and stood in front of the khichda stall. He held out one hand and pleaded, ‘I am hungry since morning.’

‘Bhag bhenchod [Get lost],’ the vendor shouted.

Asrar asked Mohammad Ali, ‘Why did the vendor abuse the boy?’