The urge to see Mumbai in the daylight was dancing in his chest. This was the reason he woke up a couple of times during the night. Right in the centre of the room was a faint zero-watt bulb that was dimly lighting up the place. Asrar’s eyeballs looked at the bulb and its yellow light reflected in his eyes, as if the bulb was looking for its own reflection in his eyes. The films had carved images of Mumbai in his heart. He was soon going to face the reality that Mumbai was. His brain was going through a chemical or hormonal reaction that prevented sleep from overpowering him. He was awake even in his sleep. His eyes were fixed on the ceiling. He noticed that the building was quite old. Two big planks of wood were carrying the weight of the small planks. Near the window was a small mori. On top of a slab was a steel water tank. An earthen pot was kept right next to it with a steel glass on top. He stared at the pot for some time in the yellow light, then got distracted and looked away. There was a hanger on the door on which properly folded trousers were hung. For a moment his imagination made him believe that the clothes on the hanger were actually people and it was their souls that slept on the beds. This triggered a smile on his face. He said to himself, ‘So many rubbish thoughts cross my mind!’

His mind involuntarily started thinking about those who were sleeping in that room. There were fourteen of them. Their beds were right next to each other with very little space in between. Some were snoring in their sleep. He stared at them and thought—are they alive? What if one of them has died and no one gets to know about it till dawn? Uncontrollable thoughts took birth in his mind. But he had a lot of control over his tongue.

His eyes were fixed on the clock. In fact, in the faint light, he could feel the presence of the clock on the wall. The hands of the clock were not visible at all. He was sure that it did have hands. However, it didn’t matter if he could not see them at that moment.