Portrait of ordinary lives

Ismail Sheikh was in his old shoe store. He wore a loose shirt, and corduroy trousers, which had several patches on them. His wry face looked like the face of an old horse. He had purchased the trousers from a second-hand clothes store near Jama Masjid.

As he was about to gather his belongings, Ganga Dhasla, who carried a gas light ahead of wedding processions, stood before him dragging his broken chappal. Unlike the other days, Ismail did not make the comment, 'Throw them away. If you cannot, I will do it for you. Nalayak kahika… (worthless person).'

However, like other days, Ismail noticed the huge scar on Ganga Dhasla's leg. A grimy bandage covered the scar. This happened after the incident during the wedding at a Seth's house on Bungalow Road. Nobody in Prem Gali has forgotten what happened after a band of youngsters got drunk and in their enthusiastic dance, fell upon the group of people carrying the gas lights. One died on the spot. Ganga Dhasla barely got out alive. Ismail bit his tongue every time he saw the leg.

Meanwhile, two of Ismail Sheikh's customer-friends appeared at the door: the mechanic from Andha Mughal, Pappu Gupta, and Angrez Seth from Prem Gali.

Angrez Seth had a huge moustache; his colour was like a ripe fruit. He was around 80. He was a mysterious inhabitant of Delhi's Prem Gali. It was said that like the Bhil dacoits, he escaped from prison by breaking the walls with his bare hands. He used to hang out with some notorious criminals from Farrukhabad. Once, it was said, he was even arrested in a murder case.

As the colour of his skin was like that of a foreigner, there were rumours about his birth. People said when Sir Thomas Metcalfe was the Resident of Delhi, Angrez Seth's grandfather used to look after Metcalfe Sahab's favourite Napoleon House. People even claimed that in the conspiracy to poison Metcalfe, who wanted to destroy the entire clan of Badshah Bahadur Shah, even Angrez Seth's elder brother was also involved. Was Metcalfe really poisoned? This no one knew. Around this time, people said, Angrez Seth's grandmother had an affair with a white soldier.

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Pappu Gupta, Ganga Dhasla, Angrez Seth, all gathered at Ismail Sheikh's shop every day to gossip. Today, however, the conversations did not flow. Another member of the party, Himmat Singh, had just joined the Army. Ganga Dhasla and Pappu too had been trying for the same job, but to no avail. Both were green with envy.

Today, they did not have much work. Still, they both arrived and sat next to Ismail. There was a quarter bottle in Ganga's pocket. He went up to Ismail and whispered something in his ears. They then got up and left the shop. They stood facing the wall of the nearby building, which was littered with posters from the recent elections. Ganga fished the bottle out of his pocket. Each of them took a few large gulps. Then Ismail Sheikh returned and resumed his work. Angrez Seth was looking at the goings-on with his large copper eyes. Suddenly, he stood up and like a beaten dog chased after Ganga, and snatched the bottle from his pocket. Ganga had a small frame. With his loose pajama and dirty bush shirt, he looked just like a skeleton. He could barely stop himself from falling face down. Tucking the bottle in his own pocket, Angrez Seth offered him an indulgent smile. His two golden teeth sparkled among the decaying yellowed ones.

Like other days, today too, no one objected to Angrez Seth. He said, 'Aare yaar, yahan toh mil baat ke khane ki reet hain (my friend, here the rule is to share and enjoy).'

Ismail, Ganga Dhasla, Pappu remained silent. By now, the streetlights were on. The number of vehicles coming from GT Road started to wane. All remained quiet. Ismail was repairing a pair of shoes for Angrez Seth. The streetlight, which was just above his head, was bright. To work on the minute details, he had a special eyeglass. He removed the pair from his pocket and wore it. The streetlight was just above his shop; like an umbrella standing above his head, it illuminated the shop. He also fixed a nail on Ganga's chappal.

Prem Gali was a bizarre place. It opened up to one of Delhi's busiest roads, GT Road. Most inhabitants here were old residents of Delhi. The municipality had marked a few houses. The interiors of some of the old buildings were so dark, it were as if time itself, in a blaze, had turned them into pitch black. The lane was filled with motor mechanics, tailors, vegetable vendors, workers of a bidi-making factory, and labourers who worked in the ironwork factories in Andha Mughal. Some of the workers lived in old, rented miyanis (attics). They were, however, not of the Sahashi tribe. Those people from the Sahashi tribe in Andha Mughal were so criminal-minded that there was a time when they had to visit the police station every day to mark their attendance. All residents of Andha Mughal had to go to the police station to mark their attendance.

The place was filled with rickshaw-pullers, construction labourers, vendors who sold vegetables on wheeled carts, launderers, tailors and sellers of rubber chappals. As dusk fell, people who worked in various parts of the city were returning to Prem Gali. Some pulled khatiyas (string cots) from their homes to places under the streetlights. Soon, they will gather to play cards there. Others, meanwhile, started setting up their coal stoves and flour-mixing pans right on the street.

Suddenly, Ganga Dhasla and Pappu screamed. 'Look, that's Bibi Vimala Chaudhury! Bibi Vimala Chaudhury.' Vimala.

Those surrounding Ismail now gawked at the lamppost in front of them.

Yes, yes. It was Vimala Chaudhury, in a khadi sari, carrying a khadi bag. Her short hair was above her shoulders. Lipstick on her lips. Kajal around her eyes. Kolhapuri chappals on her feet. Making a chatap, chatap sound, Vimala was coming towards the lamppost where the group gathered. Behind her was her autistic brother, who walked with a limp. Saliva ran from both ends of his mouth. He could not match strides with Vimala. Passing by Ismail's shop, Vimala walked towards Roshanara Road.

Ismail, Angrez Seth, Ganga Dhasla, Pappu, everybody gaped at her and her autistic brother with open mouths. Nobody made a sound. Only when she disappeared in the circle ahead did Angrez Seth open his mouth: 'She did not get married. The marriage was fixed. But when the bridegroom asked for dowry, she gave him a good slap.'

Ismail said, 'Her mother lives with her. I have heard that her brothers help with cash. They both got married and fled. There is nobody to look after the speech-impaired brother.' Ismail Sheikh added, 'She is metric pass. Works in the party paper Awaaz. Works very hard.'

All of them corroborated, 'Yes, yes. She works in Awaaz. She is metric pass.'

'Age?'

Pappu screamed. 'More than 30. When I was working at the kerosene depot in "Pili Building" (yellow building), she would come to fetch kerosene, wearing a sari.'

Angrez Seth said, 'Now, how will she get married? Giving her the responsibility of her mother and the gunga brother, others have washed their hands.'

All of them screamed together, 'Yes, yes, all have washed their hands.'

Angrez Seth's face lit up with a bewildering smile. He said, 'Bahadur ladki (brave girl).'

The others screamed together, 'Bahadur ladki! Why?' 'She has earned praise by helping Himmat Singh get into the Army. Ganga and Pappu, pushing both of you, Himmat went to the fauj. You will die with your broken chappals.'

Ganga and Pappu hung their heads. Their financial condition was not good.

The chappal fixed, Ismail Sheikh returned it to Ganga. He said, 'Didn't Himmat's father, Daya mochi (cobbler), ask him to gather some shoes and sit in a corner. There was no hope of him getting into the Army.'

Ganga said, 'We have seen the father and son fight and break each other's heads.'

Angrez Seth said, 'Now Daya Singh cannot fight anymore. Cancer.'

'Cancer.'

All of them kept quiet for a while.

Angrez Seth, however, did not stop taunting Ganga and Pappu, 'Listen, Ganga and Pappu, didn't you go to Lal Quila (Red Fort) to get into the fauj?'

Ganga said, 'We did, we did.'

'Listen, this time, you go and fall on Bibi Vimala's feet. Otherwise, you will end your lives eating leftovers, like the dogs in the Roshanara Garden.'

After entering the fauj, with the BKF, Himmat Singh too was in Jaffna for a while. After that, he was back in Delhi on a short leave.

… For the people of Prem Gali, for a few days, this was the only subject of gossip.

'…The local girl performed a magic trick. Himmat Singh got lucky. If he had not met her, he would have spent his whole life amidst torn shoes. Now, he wears brand-new footwear.'

(Excerpted with permission from Indira Goswami's Five Novellas about Women; published by Niyogi Books)