1:30 PM, lunch break: all the other children were out on the playground, their uniforms blurring into a mass of tartan gray and freshly-washed white. From her vantage point, the security guard looked immersed in his dal-rice. Any moment now he would lick his fingers clean, tighten his double-decker tiffin shut and leave to wash his hands. That sliver of a minute was her opportunity. The black-iron gate was left ajar, with a heavy chain pulling it back. She was just about short enough to keep the chain from rankling over her as she cautiously stepped outside.
With every passing minute, she stood taller and tried to look like she wasn’t a lost child—even with her neatly ironed uniform and oil-slicked braids. Her palms turned red against where she gripped her backpack. She had everything she needed: a little bit of laundry-change that she scraped off the dining table the other night, some water, her half-eaten lunch, a comic book and a tiny slip with her address scribbled on it.
The school gave way to an intersection almost always bottle-necked with traffic. A group of office-goers were crossing with their hands held up to ward off the cars. She crossed alongside an old couple, gratefully shadowing their slow footsteps. The stench of raw meat reached her before she could see the butcher’s store, where the birds were squawking violently in their tiny cages.
She had reached her destination–this was her favorite park. There was no queue to buy a ticket, so she handed a 20 Rupee note to the bored woman at the counter. She entered through the revolving door, which she could never seem to get enough of. The sprawling lawns were yellowing, and the park was mostly empty. She walked towards her usual swing-set and now felt glad that she didn’t have to spend two more hours in that damp, suffocating classroom.
She hated school. Joining mid-year meant that the girls in class already had someone they called a best-friend. She didn’t get all the fuss about best-friends anyway. The superheroes in her comic books didn’t need anyone. She fished her favorite comic out of her backpack now, and opened its thinning pages to the one she had earmarked. Trailing her finger across the words, she wondered if the Justice League ever got bored of all the fighting.
Then, she heard dry leaves crushing underneath incoming footsteps. No one else was at the park for an afternoon stroll. Maybe she was just imagining it? But then the footsteps behind her became louder. She turned to see nothing. She remembered her mother always going on and on, warning her, telling her to stay away from strangers. But what if they didn’t stay away? She wanted to go back home. Maybe she should have never done this. She began walking back to the exit. Her heart was racing.
Even on the crowded street outside, she could tell someone was following her. She nervously straightened her stiff skirt and took an abrupt turn into what ended up being an isolated alley. Her forehead breaking into sweat, she reassured herself that she would not be followed here. The looming footsteps sounded closer, even more confident. She walked as fast as she could. Just as the footsteps caught up with her, she ran into a corner ration shop. Without turning back, she looked down to see a large shadow walking by as if nothing had happened.
A slightly balding man was snoring inside, with his hands resting on his bulging belly. He was flanked by two shelves, lined with statues of deities, and steadily burning agarbathis. For a second, all she wanted was to submerge her hands into one of the sacks of rice. The questioning gaze of an employee, a young man with an absurdly long-nailed pinky, reminded her of how she was still out of breath. She then pretended to nonchalantly browse the store. Picking up a packet of pop-rocks, she gestured towards the young man. He lazily pointed his chin towards the dozing shop-owner.
She cleared her throat three times before the owner woke up with a start—at first scanning for his customer at eye level and finally looking down to find the little girl, his face still muddled with both sleep and confusion. “Where is your mother, beta?” to which she shook her head. The owner raised an eyebrow: “Your father?” to which she shook her head again and held up a 10 rupee note for her purchase. The owner sank back into his chair, and the young man shrugged with a “don’t ask me” air.
“Are you lost?” and again she shook her head, with a trace of hesitation. “Do you have a number that we can call?” he asked, animatedly miming the action with the landline. She began reciting her mother’s number. The owner fumbled to start dialing. They both awkwardly stared into the distance. No-one picked up after over five rings. Finally resorting to the paper-slip, she asked in a feeble voice if they could help her. The dumb-founded owner looked at his employee but he had earphones plugged in, playing a game on his smartphone. The owner sighed, asking for the slip.
“Oh, this is right around the corner” he said to no-one in particular. The girl felt hopeful, but the last hour had made her wary. They left the store.
As she turned, she saw that the signboard read “Tibrewal & Sons”.
“The paint on your sign is peeling off.” she said, following him.
“My wife tells me, but I say everyone knows where we are so there is no need to fix it”
“I didn’t know where this shop was”
He glanced at the address: “That’s because you live in another locality. Different locality, different ration shop”.
The girl looked away, unconvinced and losing interest.
“So what kind of school lets their students run away?” he asked, laughing.
She looked down defensively: “They didn’t notice”.
“That’s strange. I pay a big school fee to keep my boys away from trouble. But what can I say? We bunked our share of school back in the day.”
“What did you do?” she asked, looking up at him for the first time.
Glad to have an audience, he continued: “We would simply walk out and then go to the cinema.”
“Did you like school?” she asked as they turned towards a line of shops she recognized.
“Sometimes. I wasn’t the best at English, so I made jokes that kept me standing outside the classroom for the most part. Guess you could call me an out-standing student?”
The girl rolled her eyes, then broke into a half-smile.
Soon, she excitedly pointed towards her housing complex.
A giant off-white gate stood facing them, lined with manicured flower-beds. A security guard recognised the girl, and peered suspiciously at the store owner. “All okay, little madam?” he asked and the girl nodded vigorously, grateful to be back. Just as she realised this was goodbye, the owner fished a packet of pop-rocks from his pocket and said “You keep that on our tab and visit any time with your mother”. He patted her lightly on the head, and walked away. He then ordered two samosas at the roadside vendor’s. While waiting, he figured he ought to get the sign repainted after all.
Devika Goswami is a student of Economics and Media Studies at Ashoka University. She can usually be found searching for another addition to her already overflowing to-be-read list.
