What’s in my pocket?

It’s raining heavily, and I have no idea what’s in my pocket. My cargo pants feel heavy; the brown has become dark chocolate and the white t shirt a transparent vest. I got a weird text in the morning, an unknown “Whatsapp message” telling me to stay out of the rain and to stay away from “her”. I didn’t bother. How would any person react to a threat message at 6 in the morning? This came to my mind when I was waiting out the rain. A little crowd at Sampath’s sweet shop, all wet, some of them trying to dry themselves another kid dying over his wet dead cell phone. I wanted to check what was there in my pockets which were making my cargo a bit heavy. An uncle interrupted me by asking me how long the rain would last; I just gave him a blank expression. He got my attitude, it’s still raining and it’s not showing any signs of letting out. The usual Indian crowd starts conversing to pass time and I wasn’t one of them, I became an outcaste in this new formed society. An annoying thought kept creeping up my nerves as I had to meet my friend who came back to town after a long while.  

I’m sitting by the store and it’s still raining, bored of thinking I go ahead to dig into my pockets to find out what’s in it? An aunty interrupted me by asking me, “Tame 500 mate badalo ache?” (Do you have change for 500?), I replied: “Hum mara khissa mam hoya che te janava, nathi,hum pheraphara hoya che sanka!” (I don’t know what’s there in my pockets, doubt I have any change!); she found me to be a dead end so she shifted her focus to the next person. Yet again, another person interrupted me before checking my damn pockets.

I get up and just think of having a smoke. See my lace open and covered with mud, I bend down and squeeze the muddy water out of the lace. Tie my shoelace. Get up.

A tight object or instrument of brute force comes and hits me and one of my eyes goes black with the reflex action, I bend down. My eyes could not visualize what had just happened in a second. The same instrument of brute force picks me up by the collar and gives me another whack and I fall back hitting the shutter. I get a clear image of which my molester is a molester. I retaliate ignoring of how big the man is, yet he uses my own force against me by hurling me on the rain fed road. I see my other molesters, surrounding me to give me their share of grudge against me. One kicks me in my ribs and I see hell, another tries but my adrenaline fueled body now stops it and tries pulling him down. Unsuccessfully the leg hits my jaw. My mouth is bleeding and the rain is washing it away and yet I am getting beaten up for a reason I know nothing of. I try reasoning with the man in front of me but he doesn’t stop slapping me, adding more pain.

People are just watching the scene where the helpless hero is getting beaten up by the goons in the rain; some are even eating samosas while I was on the floor. I give up on the fact that someone would come to my rescue. I give up completely, my white t shirt is now a black grainy wet torn one. My pant pockets are still heavy giving me a slight disadvantage in agility. I’m broken on the wet road and while these people are discussing something and I’m not able to see them because of the rain, I just think why not see if I can call someone or use something which might be there in my pockets.  Just then the big man came up to me and picked me up and was holding me mid air by my collar. I see his face clearly now. Beard, dark eyes, bushy eyebrows, round face, grumpy look with a grin, while I on the other hand have a very clean face; cut lips, bleeding nose, swollen eye, hair down.  I suddenly get the balls to kick this guy in the nuts, some football skills finally coming to good use apart from missing the goals! I land on the road and finally step back, the others rush hearing his agony but he stops them by showing some sort of a hand signal. I shout out my question, “Tame sum joito aslila nathi?” (What do you fucking want?) “Hum ke  kharaba temaja hova chatam koi rana nondhayo nahim karava mate pana laghumati nathi” (I’m not even a minority to get beaten up even though that is bad as well ). He laughed at me and said with a satisfied tone, “Ame pachalathi temani sathe ladava karase, hum tamane  janavava kamika che” (We will fight with them later, i have something to tell you).

“Te sum che?” (What is it?)

“Mari bhatriji dura raho! Te tame pasanda  kari parantu tame tena hrdaya phati! Te sambhoga  karya dvara tame anandadaykya para dhyanakarsaka ane pachi ayojana karavavam avyum hatum! “(Stay away from my niece, she liked you but you broke her heart! She was crying and then planned on pleasing you by having sex!)


“Hum karana ke teni sathe tuti temane mane be samaya hato!” (I broke up with her because she was two timing me!)

“Je sathe?(With who?)”, he asked with a perplexed tone.

“Amuka Rajakarani putra , Hiten parikh (Some politician’s son, Hiten parikh )”

“Tame tena santusta nathi to?”(You couldn’t satisfy her?) Asked one of the goons who was laughing his ass off.

I gave a blank expression and the big uncle looked towards his goon. “Apa sata”( Shut up) he screamed!

“Tamari sathe sambhoga karya vise sum?” (What about having sex with you?)

“Mari sathe te na nathi” (Not with me she didn’t)

“Chokara o jave de! (Boys let’s go!)”, he announced and off they went walking towards their jeep.

Nothing is going in my head except to check for my phone in my pocket, alas! Interrupted as the uncle stops by his jeep and says to me, “Sari vata tame teni sathe tuti!” (Good thing you broke up with her!)

I still have nothing to say to him and he goes.

The rain stops and I just sit by the shop again in agony and with people staring at me, I give them the “fuck off” look; I am finally going to check my pockets!

My left pocket has my phone with the screen cracked. My right pocket has some cash, 20/- and some bubble gum. My right knee pocket has a broken cigarette and a wet one. My left knee pocket has some coins.  I take out the cigarette and light it by the hanging lighter and smoke my lungs out. I just sit there waiting for a kick; I’m off again, to screw that bitch’s happiness.

As I put my head up I see this beautiful girl in front me having a concerned look and a bottle in her right hand.

“Ke tamara hathamam esida botala?” (Is that an acid bottle in your hand?)

She gave me a confused smile and told me, “ Koi murkha manasa!” (No you idiot!)

“Hum mara gharamam na ladai joyum” (I saw the fight from my house)

“Have te cigarette phenkavum ane mane tamara cahera batavo” (Now throw that cigarette and show me your face)

I do as she says without any hesitation, and here I am getting treated for my injuries by this beautiful girl who didn’t alarm anyone during the fight but waited it out and came to my aid by the Sampath’s sweet shop.




(The End)




Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s