Glaring Alley

My query was met with an unexplainable glare, for a moment it sent a chill down my spine; eventually the response followed by a smile eased my nerves and I proceeded forward. The road led to a very narrow alley on its right, whose flag bearer was a small shop, ‘pan shop in general parlance, though it sold lot more than pan’, that had a proud owner, his pride was unquestionable given the way he twitched upwards his moustache reminding me one of the short stories from school days about one Maratha who lost everything he possessed only to ensure that a non-Maratha’s moustache never resembled that of a true blue Maratha, who meticulously worked on the beetel leaves without looking at them. His eyes were pre-occupied in sending those glares, not as chilling as the previous one I received, but one which surely measured me up in and out. It definitely made me conscious and put me into two minds as to whether I wanted to proceed into that alley, which suddenly reminded me one of those villainous scenes from a movie I had seen only the other day. The alley in that scene on screen was the chosen location for a senseless and cold blooded murder that was a culmination of a long chase that had preceded that scene. I recollected my senses and quickly calmed myself and even told to myself as to how stupid it was to recollect that murder scene only due to the similarity of the physical appearance of the alley. After all as an analogy, I was not chased down by any underworld don with ghoda in hand.

I took measured steps forward; however the scene from the movie kept replaying itself over and over again, and that motionless face of the deceased was getting replaced with my face. I needed a break. I wanted to run away from that alley, but somehow my legs would not listen to my brain and for some weird reason would not turn around. It was unexplainable and scary; sweat started trickling down leaving me with cold feet. It felt like eternity, until a horn shook me up and brought me back to my senses.

I was standing in the middle of the alley, obstructing the movement of an Enfield. The man on the beastly bike, the Indian equivalent of a Harley in terms of the niche set of owners in an otherwise mass market product category, wore dark brown Ray Ban coolers, a spotless white shirt and a matching dhoti, proudly showcased the numerous chains around his neck made out of that evergreen gold metal, slowly moved forward, stopped by me and for a momentary second removed his shades and gave me a glare – best described as dirty and outright cold. I almost wanted to push him off the bike, and pick up a stone and hurl at him, least of all slap him hard. By the time I contemplated and arrived at what I wanted to do, he had sped off the scene. Probably he was in a hurry, or he read my mind – I will never know, even now I wonder what would have happened had he chosen to hang around even for some 10 seconds more in that alley in front of me.

I wanted to quickly forget that last glare; I shook off all thoughts and moved forward. I didn’t want to lift my head up, only worried at how many more glares I would have had to witness that day. However blood splashing in front of me on the road stopped me in my tracks. I can even now remember very vividly the exact manner and pattern with which the droplets of blood fell on the road before turning into a pool of blood. I am sure my heart stopped beating for those 2 seconds. Though no one might believe me, I am so convinced that I did survive a heartless condition for those 2 long seconds.

The slit throat oozed blood out at a rapid pace and before I could come back to my senses, there lay a lifeless body in front of me. I witnessed the same expression on the lifeless body that I had seen on screen. I did not want to be on that alley anymore. I wanted someone to somehow airlift me away; I shivered at the thought of taking one more step in the alley. Somehow I mustered up courage to look up, and I saw this man with the knife completely tensed with the whole outcome. He looked me in the eye more in an apologetic manner, did he understand the turmoil I was going through – I didn’t care. He had committed a sin, in front of my eyes. However I soon heard someone hurl abuses at the man and say, ‘Beh******, ek kaam theek se karna nahin aata hain kya. Yeh sab karne ke liye ek alag se jagah diya hain, aur tu yehaan khullam khulla sadak pe maar diya usko. Ab kya dekh raha hain. Fatafat utha usko aur ander jaake saaf karo. Niklo yahan se.’ The person hurling abuses looked at me and didn’t care much, that was the first person who hadn’t glared at me that day, however it failed to impress me any bit. I had had enough of that alley. I didn’t want to continue any further. I turned back, for the first time on that alley, and took my first step when I heard someone shout ‘Sharma’.