A ROTTEN APPLE[]
By Vineeth Vijayan[]
Published in StoryStar 2012
He looked inside the basket. He didn't look. He allowed his eyes to drift inwards, overcome by the casual curiosity. The strong smell of his 3 day old underwear wrapped him entwined with the heat and humidity of the sultry Delhi summer. He ignored it. His blisters in foot were turning dark red now having gone through its whole life cycle and now screaming for attention with an over bearing pain sensation being transported upwards. He ignored it. It was 1400. The heat was pounding down on him. All of 45 degrees of hot air being blasted at his face and invoking feverish sensations out of his body as a coping mechanism to ward off the heat. The sensation was as we speak rippling throughout his entire upper torso ironically making him feel cold in blistering heat. He closed his eyes momentarily, sighed and let his 45 years of turgid existence spread throughout his body to forget the pain.
To remind him of the pain his life was temporarily sheltering him from the heat and his fever. He opened his eyes with a new found vigor. He breathed in a new lease of life and looked deterministically into the basket now. He let his hand skirt atop the dirty cloth on top. His initial speck of hope gave way to a new found surge of intelligence telling him he was correct. He felt the shape again inside. He closed his eyes to feel it again. He was feeding on hope for his lunch now. He breathed from his diaphragm to lock in his filled appetite. A luxurious royal meal of rich hope. Ironically something the rich will never know of. He lowered his neck a tad and using it as a free flowing lever, turned his head slowly in anti clockwise direction scanning his surroundings.
The details of shut down thatched makeshift shops and their wooden structures, the dusty ground below complete with a rich dung deposit from a pale looking cow nearby, the dead rat being scoured out by the hyenas of lower animal kingdom, all passed his head but never entered his processing area. The key thing was no one was around. Same on other side where instead of thatched structures, there was nothing. Just a dirty speck of ground with the only highlight being a electric grey pole at a short distance used by dogs as their urinal, living poor for defacing and party wage earners to stick pictures of smiling lady in white saree folding her hands in a respectful Namaste. He noticed that. And spit on the ground giving off a callous chuckle. He wanted to say “I wouldn’t even waste my spit on you bitch” but half a second later his mind finished his study. Yes no one was around and forgot to finish his “bitch thought” which later that day as he reminisced upon with a sharp pain in his stomach and a unresponsive left hand that he wanted to undo her saree and lick her breasts dry while fingering and entering her with his full vigor and force. He wanted to punish her with his sexual pleasure.
He let go off a slight chuckle again, his crooked pan stained red teeth reveling in the discovery, his dried up tongue felt alien with anticipated moisture in his throat, his leg which same time tomorrow will be fought for by 2 ferocious dogs staking their claim at the meat, felt new found energy as he moved forward, he cleaned both his hands dry on his dirty 2 week old vest which had turned a ghoulish brown, a stark contrast to the shining white it was when thrown into the garbage by Mrs. Kundanwala as her husband didn't like to wear it anymore as their daughter puked into it, having been found pregnant with the illicit father being their servant. The sound of automobiles behind zooming past on national highway only was a background music to him, the glare from the sun only a annoyingly charming company and the sick cow only a hideously played joke now for him, sent in by God as a afternoon entertainment to him. His hands felt the shapes again. He felt it again. And then he closed his eyes.
EPILOGUE
Mr. Sethji lowered the window in spite of AC being blown at full impact inside his expensive but uncomfortable TATA SUMO much to the chagrin of his driver and his college going son who Seth was sure mumbled something hideous at him. The feeling of sun glowing down on him with all its glory in the middle of summer with hot loo blasting past his face made him feel alive. He smiled. His teeth were tainted red with pan stained marks. He reached out into the basket on the adjacent seat and felt his hands inside. He noticed the stretch of literal wastelands scoured in front of him for miles. His eyes darted towards a defunct electric pole all stained out black in the bottom and his eyes rested a millisecond at a dilapidated figure of a stick-man with his back to him facing in the middle of the wasteland slightly bent with both hands invisible from behind as if placing his hands into a basket and……
His hands tightened on the apple in the basket and took a healthy mouthful. He allowed the sweet acid to flow through this mouth, intermixing with the sweet pan. He looked dead straight ahead now. Eyed his son in the diagonal seat ahead rumbling something to himself all cross and he threw the half eaten apple at his face.