Star Boy

Day 2

Ow! – YIKES!”

I slammed my palm to my forehead. 

We were playing ice and water, the infamous game that’s definitely unwise to play when you’re having a grandmother around yelling every now and then to stop running about screaming like ‘headless chickens’.

“Dania, are you okay?”

I asked my twelve year old cousin who stood up way too gracefully for someone who just fell face flat on the floor.

“ICE!” she exclaimed slapping my wrist.

“Gotcha! Now it’s your turn to be the catcher go, go.”

“Hey, that’s not fair. I was checking if you broke your leg or something.” I glared.

“EVERYONE RUN!” she screamed like I had suddenly turned in to a outgrown another head, deliberately ignoring what I had said.

“HAYA DATHA IS THE NEW CATCHER!”

Just then my grandmother appeared at the hallway her face wearing a look of disappointment.

She removed her glasses and walked to Dania. Oh-oh.

“Don’t you understand when I ask you to stop shouting like that?

Now you are a big girl, how many times to tell you that?

Always shouting for all the houses in the road to hear. What will the neighbors think?” Mumma scolded in Tamil.

Letting out a sigh of frustration she turned back to the room holding her Dhua book and muttering something along the lines of how my uncle never listens to her when she says this area isn’t appropriate to bring up kids.

“Why did you scream like that man? Now we can’t even play.” Senali, looked annoyed as she walked to us.

“We can’t play?” My little sister pouted.

”We can play. Let’s play in the rooftop."

I told them and received a chorus of ‘Yays’ in return.

“That’s even better!” One of the twins exclaimed.

“And Dania, why can’t you listen to Mumma. You should respect her words. They always say something for our own good.” I advised.

“Yeah yeah okay.” She nodded. “But sometimes I can’t help turning in to Satan Ki Batchi you know.” She smirked and I poked her head in return.

Dania was what I imagined a young Laila aunty to be. It wasn’t just the prominent eyes or the dark bouncy curls that gave away. It was also her character that was so lively and enthusiastic, she was always hopping around either pranking someone, or crying loudly begging her mother for money to buy the fifteenth Diwul ice of the day.


Using the key that Laila aunty had given me to unlock the door, I let the kids rush out to the open giggling animatedly.

Removing my rubber slippers, I joined them, letting my bare feet touch the warm and abrasive concrete. 

“Haya Akkiiii, what shall we play?” Senali came running to me, her plaits that were tied with a red ribbon for school, flying in the air.

“Anything is okay.” I smiled at her. She lived down the street and was my cousin’s school-van friend until Dania switched to an all-girls school.                                                                                                                     
The kids resorted to arguing which game to play, and the golden hour’s glow lit up their faces elevating the cheer.

A light breeze perpetually hung in the air, enough to keep the kites that adorned the sky from flailing.

The thought of flying a kite made me smile. Snippets of memories from the last time I had been here flashed in my mind.
It was just four years back when mother and both my aunts were talking in hushed whispers about some woman who apparently had extra marital affairs. I had strained my ears trying to hear the interesting bits, as I held the kite high so my brother could let it sky rocket.

I sighed.

It felt like just yesterday.

I walked over to the concrete railing to get a complete view of the lane.

So many houses stood so close, they looked kids in a school van, all cramped and fighting for space.
Some were two storied, with balconies- that reminded you of Falooda- screaming a bright salmon pink ornamented with a neat line of vibrant clothes getting the last bit of the day’s dose of sunlight. And some barely had a roof, bejeweled with hand washed trousers and skirts getting sunbaked on the edge of it.
Big or small, they all had an equal part in giving life and color to the charismatic street, I realized. There was a mosque two houses down and a kovil in the far end.

I heard a loud chorus of cheers erupt from below. When I looked down, I saw of group of three little boys screaming with delight, giving high-fives to each other.

“Maru catch!” one of them fist bumped a lad who had a tennis ball in his hand.

“Ayyo, you gave that easily da.” A boy from another group of three boys, slapped the back of- of the same boy who had come almost thrice from yesterday, running errands for my aunt or taking a dish of curry home.

What was his name- Shakeel? Shaamil?

“Shakoor!"

Someone called responding to my thoughts.

There was a lady clumsily wearing a shawl on her head, standing outside the house right opposite the mosque and waving her hand at Shakoor gesturing him to come.

He ran to her with the twins’ brother tagging along with him, after telling the boys he’ll be back.

The lady handed him a bag and told something I couldn’t obviously make out. He nodded and as I watched him come skipping down the street, with his left hand clad around his friend’s shoulder, his name was called out again. This time it was his father, who was standing shirtless, with a pale sarong tied scruffily to a stomach that bulged out.

Despite the fact that I was standing on a rooftop, on the fourth floor, and Shakoor’s house which was right opposite my aunt’s looked like -a weed plant trying to sprout though an inconsequential crack on the earth, sandwiched between slightly bigger houses- my instinct was still quick to warn me about an action of modesty, and I intuitively adjusted my shawl which was slightly undone by a gust of breeze, showing a few strands of my hair.                                                                                                                                                
A few exchange of words, a nod, and a note is what it took the boy to continue skipping down the street,
with the shopping bag dangling on his arm, his friend chasing him behind, and their laughter mingling with the wind’s whispers.

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