Karthik reaches down into the bucket, his hands cupped. He
captures the cold water, and brings it up and unto his head and back with a
quick and smooth arched movement. His sinewy muscles are tense over his bones,
and his skin reflects back the Mumbai morning sun. His feet shift over
the rough bricks as the local train whizzes past.
Arjun buttons up his tan shirt, matching his tan pants. He
swishes some water in his mouth, then spits out the door as he steps out. Not
far away, his rickshaw is waiting. He stops for a while to talk with fellow
drivers, congregated over several cups of chai. Then he walks the rick out to
the street, kicks his chappals off, and with one leg crossed underneath him,
pulls the kickstart, and his livelihood rumbles into existence.
Shruti puts bright red lipstick on. It highlights her dark
mascara, completing the 40 minute process of re-sculpting her face. Her cheeks,
eyes, and lips were a messy canvas when she woke, but she has since created a
masterpiece. Or so she hopes. She still doesn’t think so. She kisses her lips
together as she turns to the side and looks at her body. The blue dress, as
tight as it is, may be overkill, but she can’t risk it. Who knows who she’ll
see at Starbucks?
Bharat is slapped awake. His mother is yelling something at
him, but his ears haven’t quite woken up yet. His headache is splitting, and he
still has a faint taste of foul beer in his breath. He groggily asks his mom to
give him more time to sleep, but her barrage continues. He’s still wearing the
black shirt and jeans he wore to the bar last night, and it’s obvious he drove
home drunk. The mother leaves him to his stale odor.
Lola lights the stovetop. There is a single burner, with a
simple line connected directly to a red and dented propane tank. The room is
dark, even though the sun has risen. The light only reaches this part of the
slum for a few moments at noon, when a skinny crack lets a stream of warmth in.
Her children are sleeping close to her feet, so she’s careful not to drop
anything hot. Her husband is snoring in the corner loudly. She puts a paratha
on the skillet, and watches it rise slightly.
Nirali is sitting with her fish again. Her husband had
caught them the day before, and she had them in a basket, sitting on ice. One
leg is crossed underneath her, the other supporting her chin. She is staring
out at the road, her wrinkled skin gathers sweat in the creases. Her blue saree
and head cover are clean, but the fish odor can never be completely removed. A
motorcycle drives by and covers the fish in a layer of exhaust. Nirali is
un-phased.
Vaibhav looks down the tracks. He is holding a large sack of
potatoes on his head. He doesn’t know how to read the electronic sign
indicating how many minutes until the next train, and upon not seeing the train
coming, he drops the potatoes on the platform and takes a seat. He picks at his
teeth as he looks across the tracks at a girl wearing a t-shirt and jeans. She
is laughing with friends. The train comes, obstructing his view. He heaves the potatoes
up on his leg, and lifts them onto the moving train as he jumps on. Inside, he
sits on the potatoes again, and watches the city go by.
No one knows his name, and no one cares. He is laying on the
road near death. Flies gather around him, and circle his labored breaths. Coming
here was a mistake, he thinks.
Balram fidgets with his iPad. The backseat of his Jaguar is
still warm for his taste, at least in the Armani suit he is wearing. He tells
the driver to turn the AC up, and re-enters the tablet. The fragrance of his
cologne is too strong, but his nostrils are desensitized to it. Crumbling
buildings and bent people are all around him, but he doesn’t like looking at
all that.
The sun has risen over Mumbai. It’s a Sunday, and the city
has begun.
Shruti hails Arjun, who nods when she requests “Starbucks
Juhu?”. Lola realizes that she is missing potatoes, and goes outside to buy
some from Vaibhav, who has just arrived from the station. Karthik walks down to
the market, where he buys a fish from Nirali. He winks. He always thought she
was beautiful in her blue sarees. Bharat stumbles outside, and sees Balram
drive by in his black Jag. That’s all he wants in life: money and power. He
drinks because of it. Balram pulls up to his office, and glances at a dying man
on the sidewalk. He looks away in disgust.
