The crocodile boy

The crocodile boy was sitting on the floor while I seated on a chair was busy bantering with my college colleagues. He didn’t say anything to any of us but there were expectations in his eyes. He wore ragged shorts and a t-shirt. He only wanted to learn and had expressed his desire to me to be his mentor. So, with a genuine heartfelt acceptance I gave him money to buy himself some decent clothes and a notebook and pen and pencils. He was back in no time looking immaculate in his new clothes and shining green crocodile eyes. The ten year old crocodile boy looked like any other ordinary boy, and just a little brighter. Soon he was learning words as I taught him alphabets. He would elocute when I would teach him to read. He was fast and soon became apple of my eye. I taught him to swim and in two lengths he became as fast as me. I tried teaching him to leap out of the water like a frog but it didn’t work out. His head would hit the swimming pool's wall and he would fall back into the water while I landed triumphantly on the floor. A teenager was noticing this and intervened. In some masterful euphemistic coyote teaching style he taught the crocodile boy how to leap out of the water. I looked at the teenager with thankful eyes and he nodded back. He looked at me with appreciative eyes which were distinct and similar eyes just like the crocodile boy's. He walked hurriedly to the swimming pool hall door putting on his white shirt back. Surprisingly his black trousers and red hair were dry. Soon I realized he was also a crocodile boy who never had any mentor to educate him things of intellect. Silently, I was praising myself of my prized opportunity of mentoring a pupil who was a mutant wanting to mix well with the humans.

I had another surprise when an old female friend checked with me finding that we work in the same college now. I was glad to see her again after a long time. To my surprise she requested me for a lift on my bullet to drop her home. By then I had already sent the crocodile boy to wait for me at the parking.

We walked to the parking and I cribbed about waste of parking space and broken fences. She seemed to agree to my points. There were more than thousand two wheelers parked in about ten to fifteen long rows. I tried locating my bike for I could not recall where I had parked it last. It was about fifteen minutes of searching that my female friend said she will go home by herself and after another half an hour of frantic search I couldn’t find my bike. Perhaps it has been stolen. Crocodile boy wasn’t in sight either.

Never mind, just an aberration

Leaving the Ahmedabad Cantonment gate looking for an autorickshaw. Can't find one. So, looks to walk half a mile until Rajasthan hospital where surely there will be one. On an off road sees an exotic hand rickshaw, and the rickshaw puller, most likely a foreigner, waving excitedly, so waves back. The banyan tree in front of hospital shades a large area, is full of Indian people. The street shops and larries are selling chai, nasta, masala, cigarettes. Noisy, vapory, smoky- the smell, the sound, and the air tells. The Japanese monk has come chasing and asks for Three hundred rupees. An exotic sum ten times higher for a distance not yet travelled so is denied. He has a choice, either to argue or have tea.

Walking further sees the place has changed a lot, a lot. No more railroad intersection, an overbridge instead. No more boundary walls, wired fences instead. Where there were buildings are now roads and planned plotted lands. The erstwhile graveyard is now a party plot. Noisy, dusty, smoky- the smell, the sound, and the air tells. It's been a few miles of walking and it is time for whiskey.

Waking up in a double bed, most likely Connaught Place. Birds are chirping outside the window. The light is bright yet soft. The smell, the sound, and the air tells. Can hear utensils rumbling and bustling. Can see people wearing baniyaans and jeneyu hustling between the opposite doors, using the room as a thoroughfare. Preparations are on for a mass meal. The crown of tropical trees visible from the window sill tells there must be stairs to go down. But the design of stair room is bad. The stairs are there but the first stair drop is at least 3 feet. The missing steps are high enough to make one tumble and fall in the stair well. The stair room is not perfectly rectangular either. Faulty construction. People in baniyaans and jeneyu come for assistance bringing two step ladders, both made of beautiful latest lightweight alloy.

Walking in the street an old acquaintance is seen, so saying, "Hey, long time!"

"Hey, that was hell of a night"

Surprised, "what do you mean? What happened? Can't recall"

"The cops didn’t take it well"

Mused, "What had happened? Did I do something? Really, I cannot recall"

"Never mind, will tell you next time"