A Sew Through Time [Banbudh And Budbak]

45: Sockball

Grabbing the blue medicine packet from the dirty counter, Aditi plopped her cigarette between her teeth and pressed out a white pill into her hand. She went towards the door to check it the second time, tugging the chain hanging from the hook. After eyeing the hat stand, she grabbed the plastic cup from the kitchen, tapped the ash into it and gave Harish the medicine.

He stared at the pill briefly. The couch reeked a soggy smell, the streets pacified. Misaligned plastic stools demarcated the place, with unfaithful jars left outside their shelves. The counter was dirty with crumbled tissues, cigarette ash and a knife. He realized it resembled a bar of some sort.

He clenched the pill to notice those tears blur his vision again. It stung like acid being poured into the corners. But why was he feeling this? Now that such thought crossed him, he felt an off sensation of burning inside his scalp, the sharp ache behind his neck that he felt whenever he turned his head, though not sure whether it was broken or not. The appalling sensation of his skin peeling off his bones did not leave him, shredding off his consciousness bit by bit. No record of any event which had turned himself here occurred to his mind.

The pill shook in his hands, a part melting into the dry, rough creases. His wrists shivered if he kept himself too still, and if he grabbed his pulse to shake it away, his other hand would obey the misconduct caused by the first one.

The flowing water stopped abruptly. Aditi returned hastily with the glass and placed it on one of the stools. Thanking her softly, he put the pill on his tongue. It was a strong dose, the ones he would take for headache. It moved down slowly, taking its time to reach the stomach once his throat bobbed up and down.

She sat near the countertop to observe him. He looked like a man of high regard, wearing a coat during the blazing month of September. Someone might had tried to hurt him. Or maybe it was him; not all blood on a poor man's face has to be his own.

"What's the time?"

She turned to check the clock on top of the fridge. But it had stopped working. Of course it had. For how many days? Three? Five? Maybe a week, maybe half a month. Grabbing her phone, she switched it on and said it was past one.

There was no doubt. Other than a few people slamming their doors shut, the street were somber and silent. No stray dog barked in their usual hours, nobody came whistling to throw torches over bins and shoo vagabonds away. The light in the bar fell over the roadside. He hoped it did not arouse suspicion from the neighborhood. Grabbing the armrest tightly, he shifted his weight over his knees, then to his feet to stand up again. Every attempt was crucial.

Aditi finished her cigarette and got up to to go to the door, thinking he was heading out when she heard a stool fall and a glass cup shatter next to the couch. Turning around, she screamed,

"YOU IDIOT!"

Harish tried to stand up, hearing her brush the broken pieces under the couch with her bare hands, "I'll, I'll clean it..."

She shook him off, "Do you know how expensive these are?! I bought these from Big Bazaar on Dussehra sale!"

"I didn't, agh..." He grabbed the armrest and pulled up himself up haphazardly, "-mean to intrude in such an hour. Do you have a phone I can use?"

"You use a, why?" She rose up instantly, "Why you need a phone?!"

"I need to call my family" 

"There's a landline near the stairs" she wiped her sweaty face, hearing him skid near the rug, "Kya kar rahe hai aap?!"

Standing up again, Harish pressed his nails into the textured wall and limped towards the phone.

Aditi stayed back. Now she felt he was either some runaway criminal with all those bruises and scratches, or someone trying to hide the night in her house. But why would she bother to get into such toubles? Hadn't he been walking and talking so normally to her, she would had thrown him out into one of those dustbins across the streets.