environmentalists and Ram Sene among them, but I don't have the time. So..They get pushed back and...ItsShortStoryTime!!
He took a teshtu-sight. Seeing if her father was looking at himlookingather. His life stretched out endlessly in front of him, and all he could see was himself getting gradually older and older and his potti kadai growing older with him. So everyday, he had only this encounter to look forward to: once morning and once evening. Decades ago, there used to be a tender-coconut seller on the platform, where his kadai was now, but his father, after having had an argument with the yelanikadaikaarar over who would quench the collectively monstrous thirst of the students and parents of the girls college, picked up the aruval hanging by the wall and hacked its owner to death, the master, who had looked after it like his child and it, which had in turn fed its master.
He'd come to possess the pottikadai when he was 13. Same time his father ran, ran for his life, after he'd seen the police come and make enquiries about the body, through the safety of his smelly blanket, when the effect of his ganja was just wearing out. It was his pride and joy, his livelihood, his everything. And it gave him the opportunity to look at her everyday. As she walked past, with her father, in the morning, fresh and smelling of rose gardens, and evening, after college, when the road was dusty and she'd walk past with her father, still smelling of rose gardens. The moment she appeared in his field of vision, everything became pleasant. The dust in the road settled down, the trees became greener and fresher, the noisy vehicles at the intersection stopped honking, and the horrid Chennai weather immediately became cool. Everyday, as she walked past, graceful in her burkha and veil, and just her eyebrows, eyes and cheekbones were visible. Stepping lightly, and in line with her father And when she drew level with his shop, she'd fall slightly behind her father. And she'd look at him and he'd look at her. Her eyes were perfect almonds, and they'd sparkle at him, like diamonds he'd seen only in the movies, and the pale,smooth, spotless skin on her cheekbones would redden, and the cheekbones themselves would slightly rise. And when they became as red as they could become, she'd look down and her steps would falter slightly. And continue walking on, drawing level with her father once again.
He knew this was as far as it would get, unconsciously fingering the silver cross that was hanging from his neck. He still thought himself lucky, though. He was happy to have been someone that she'd remember, for life. At least till she got married to some idiot with sweaty armpits and a lot of money, and she got all her memories beaten out of... He shuddered at the thought; he would hope and pray for her that she got someone she liked. He still could dream though. And dream he did, of living with her, of spending his life, happily ever after, in her arms, and always breathing air that smelt of rose gardens and...
"Thambi, eena pa? Nalla yedam po, kadai vechika.. Usara than keere.. seri, phasta manikchandu rendu pagittu kudu. Savari waiting."
