Another Short Story

The miracles of technology have brought the world to every man's pocket. Well, for the most part. So he thought, as he tapped his way across, feeling the world with his stick. Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap. And he heard a loud honk and screeching brakes as he accidentally stepped into the way of someone's speeding car. He thought nothing of it. A few more taps, and he could feel the pavement. With an almighty sigh, he heaved himself on to the pavement and reached his destination: The corner tea shop. On its wall hung a boon of the aforementioned technology, a pay telephone, by means of which he could talk to his only living relative, his son, a few hundred miles away in Dharmapuri. He lived on a measly pension, and had allocated 10 Rupees for this 10 minute call, all in shiny new 1 Rupee coins. He sought the help of someone whose presence he could feel nearby. Feel and smell. A strong smell of raw liquor. Nevertheless, a savior, he thought, as he handed the 10 coins to him, and gave him a wrinkled slip of paper, with his son's phone number, instructing him to dial the number on the slip. And dialed his savior did, but instead of handing him the receiver:

"Hello, Shanti? I'm feeling lonely tonight. Could you possibly be of any assistance? You know the place. Be there soon. I'll be waiting for you."

And before he could realize something was amiss, the smell of liquor had gone, and with it, his savior, and with his savior, the phone money.