topics: |  fiction | india

The story opens as an old man is asked to collect his sister's baby from the
hospital in Calcutta where his sister has just died. The last time he saw her
was 15 years earlier.  In what could have been a powerful plot, the story
unfolds a tale of incest, and the storytelling is also sharp, but somehow the
narrative makes it seem as if Jha is trying to hard - really can't put my
finger on it, but the whole story just doesn't seem fluid enough.

Raj Kamal Jha is an IIT Kgp graduate.  Azad Hall, mid-80s.  You never know
where IIT grads wind up.

EXCERPTS

I could begin with my name, but forget it, why waste time, it doesnít matter
in this city of twelve million names. I could begin with the way I look, but
what do I say, I am not a young man anymore, I wear glasses, my stomach
droops over the belt of my trousers.

Thereís something wrong with my trousers. The waist, where the loops for the
belt are, folds over every time, so if you look at me carefully while I am
walking by, on the street or at the bus stop, you will see a flash of white,
the cloth they use as lining riding above my belt, peeping out.

There was a time when I would have got embarrassed, sucked in my stomach,
breathed deep, held that breath. Or even shouted at the tailor, refused to
pay the balance, bought a firmer belt, tightened it by piercing the leather
with a few extra holes. But now, why bother?

All that matters is you, my little child, and all I want at this moment is
some silence so that you can sleep undisturbed and I can get over with these
stories.

--
This is a story about a man crossing a streeet... look at him walk to
the bus stop every morning and you can make out that he knows his
city, so casually he crosses the street.
  Others stop, look left, look right, take one step forward, one step
back, hold on to their children's hands, tell them, 'Don't hurry, wait
for the bus to go.'
  He walks straight ahead.
  In one sweep of his eyes, without even raising his head, he takes
the entire road, its entire traffic from one end to the other. A split
second and he's done his arithmetic: the distance he needs to
traverse, his speed, by how much does a bus slow down when it
approaches a stop, so that he is sure he will make it before the bus
does.
  Every time, he gets it right.

  Question: Where does this confidence come from?
  Answer: Part instinct, part habit, ... There's another answer:
loneliness.
  The city likes lonely people, the city likes this man.

  There is no one to walk by his side, to wait for him at a street
crossing, so the city moves in to help, it slows down the traffic,
parts the crowds. There's no one to talk to him, so the city speaks
through its banners, its hoardings. At night, he has nothing to do, so
the streets tell him their stories, street lights trap insects in
their plexiglass covers, lull him to sleep.