Chapter 1
It was just another day. Sunlight on his bed was where it should be at 8 in the morning. The usual sounds, a cacophony of morning news shows, devotional songs and cooker whistles. The usual people, mothers running behind their children and getting them ready for school, the retired school teacher hidden behind The Hindu in the portico of the house opposite his, men and women returning home from their morning walk or a game of badminton. The same Bru filter coffee with sugar just a bit less than what would make it sweet. His companions: well pressed formals and his brief case. Dosa and sambar for breakfast as it was on 5 days every week. His Honda Activa from home to work as on all but one day a week. Same faceless strangers on the way and the traffic signal. It was just another day.
Senthil Kumar was a good man. He worked as an accountant in a good company, earned well, took care of his family and was a model citizen where ever he went. People liked him and respected him. He had his principles and had lived by them thru his none too flashy but content life. He paid his taxes and voted regularly though he refrained from all sorts of politics even in his neighbourhood. He was the kind of person who would be revered when present and forgotten the moment he left.
For Senthil, it was just another day as he eased his Activa into the parking lot and stopped at his usual parking spot. This was one daily activity that always gave him the jitters. In spite of complaining time and again, his company had not built a parking area for employees. They had to use the public parking lot two blocks away. Like any public place in this part of the city, one could see local vetti pasanga (as all ‘decent’ people called the young men who did nothing all day) hanging around with their gangs. Senthil hated these wastrels religiously. According to him, the World would be a much better – and cleaner – place if people like them didn’t exist. Every time he saw them, he felt his personal little World threatened just by their existence. This opinion of his wasn’t helped by the fact that he had to walk past them twice a day to get to his vehicle. He would hold his breath and onto his brief case, look straight ahead and walk past them as if they didn’t exist.
* * *
The engine coughed, jerked twice and then gave in, dead. Senthil was not a man given to swearing, he simply called on God’s name whenever he faced a situation that would make others swear their guts out. This was one such situation. It was 6:45 PM, the Sun had gone down and the last rays of light were vanishing by the minute and it was time for him to go home to his wife and kids. And just as he reached the entrance of the parking lot, the engine coughed, jerked twice and then gave in, dead. Right in front of the vetti pasanga gang. Senthil froze. For a few seconds, he couldn’t get his hands off the handle bar. It was the kind of situation he had prayed to avoid and now he was right in the middle of one. He could sense half a dozen pairs of eyes on him and felt a cold shiver in the small of his back. He felt like a goat trapped in a den of wolves.
He tried the auto-start button a couple times, nothing. Wondering why Shiva would put this obscene obstacle in His devotee’s way, Senthil got off his Activa and tried the kicker. Nothing. He could sense the walls of the parking lot closing in around him. The middle-aged man that he was, Senthil knew he would never be able to push his scooter up the ramp and on to the street. All he could do was stand there, hoping for a divine intervention to get his scooter started.
Senthil felt rather than see the young man behind him. He braced himself for a knife slitting through his kidney. Or a kick to his knee that would make him fall down and make his Activa go hurtling down the ramp. The eventual mugging, kicking and bloodshed played out as a horror movie in Senthil’s eyes. Dear God! Please let it not be the case! I can’t pay the hospital bills if they hurt me and take my money. I can’t stay away from work for more than a week without getting fired. Please Shiva! Save me! Don’t throw me on a hospital bed! I have to take my son to tuitions every morning! I can’t get hurt now at any cost! Senthil was not a man given to violence, so letting go of his vehicle, turning around and sinking his left fist into the rough neck’s face never occurred to him. He braced himself and waited for the worst to strike...
