by Reece Willis
‘I only had three more days there on that visit and once I had cleaned myself up and the wound was dry, my hair pretty much covered it. I also wore a baseball cap around the house, which I’d bought the previous day. My nan probably thought I was just keen to show it off. Unusually, my grandfather left me alone for the rest of my stay on that occasion, which I was thankful for.’
‘Did you ever tell anyone what was happening?'
‘I tried. When I got home I told my Mum I didn’t want to stay there, that granddad was hurting me, but she didn’t pay much attention.’ The years were fast catching up with me and I felt the tautness of tears rising in my throat. ‘To be honest though, things weren’t much better at home. At least in Belgium I had my nan who is an exceptional cook and she’d buy me little presents like comic books and cassette tapes. My father didn’t like me having, well, anything really.’
‘Growing up’s hard at the best of times, but for you it must have been pretty terrible. I never would have imagined any of these things happening to you. It’s no wonder you came to India to escape.’
‘I’ve felt an amazing sense of freedom here. It’s been hard at times; I don’t think I was very well prepared for what India had to throw at me. I cannot believe the wonderful people I have met and the friends I’ve made. It’s incredible. Lately though I have been drifting back to my childhood in my head and I don’t know if it’s because I knew my grandfather was dying or if it’s because I’m going home soon. I really don’t want this adventure to end.’
‘Did you ever manage to stand up to your grandfather?'
'Yes, once. When I was eighteen. He pushed me down a flight of concrete steps. I landed badly on my shins and elbow. He came down after me and whether it was the pain, or pent up frustration, I don’t know, but I shot up and held him against the wall with my arm against his throat. I told him if he ever hurt me again, I would kill him.’
‘What happened after that?
‘Nothing like how he was before. He’d still make snide comments and kick me under the dinner table, but I could cope with that.’ It was never my plan to open up like this, but now it was done, I felt a sense of relief.
When I returned that evening, Connor was asleep on the sofa with Channel V on in the background. I didn’t wake him. Instead, I stared into the television set consumed by the traumatic scenes that plagued my memories. Had I deserved the abuse I’d suffered? Could I have done something to stop it? Why did these men hate me so much? I could understand my step-father to a degree; he didn’t want to take on somebody else’s kid. Even so, it seemed more than that. Looking back, it was as though he thought I had it easy and was unappreciative.
My grandfather was now condemned to the same fate as my father, unable to hurt me anymore, except to haunt me at my lowest ebb. Despite the challenges in India, I could only look back with fondness. I felt proud of what I had achieved here and the person I saw in the mirror. For the first time, I had freedom and space in my head to think clearly. My mind had taken advantage of this by allowing my past to come forward, which although difficult, in hindsight had granted me the opportunity to find a sense of closure. Yet a nagging feeling remained deep within, that the torment was far from over.
48
Rain pockmarked the streets with a million droplets and drooped the palms with its force. I went out early to pick up some headache tablets and stood by the roadside facing a dull grey block of weather stained apartments, watching the traffic and people wade through the floods. Life backwards going forwards.
I planned to spend the day exploring the Kanheri or Elephanta Caves, but when I saw the crowds at the train station, I lost all spirit. Instead I wandered the vibrant flower and vegetable markets of Dadar watching tradesmen and customers weighing up items in their hands, inspecting for any imperfections and cutting a deal. Potatoes, juicy round tomatoes, carrots, peas and other varieties I couldn't identify, haggled and sold. Stall holders at a stand stacked with a pyramid of coconuts were laughing and joking. I strolled over to the flower stalls, where the air was filled with floral scent and the din of voices where vendors fashioned bouquets and garlands. Jasmine petals spilling over the edges of woven baskets; red hibiscus bouquets stacked in rows and ready for workers to heave onto their heads; jute sacks brimming with vivid colours dragged on wooden pallets around the narrow lanes. Beside a stall with bundles of red roses, a boy tied bright orange marigold blossoms. 'Preparing them for temple,' he said.
After a strawberry milkshake and a questionable vegetable burger at the American diner I met Connor. He was keen to show me the cathedral he'd attended since he was young. St. Thomas' Cathedral was an important monument for Christians in Mumbai. Pointing to the tall white clock tower, he relayed a story of when he and his cousin tried to make their way to the top only to be caught by a priest. Reflected colours of the stained glass speckled the varnished oak benches and avenue leading to the altar. We sat for a while in silence and I glanced at my friend, his eyes closed, at one with his surroundings.
I spent the last night in the spare room of the Reveredo home, now considered one of the family. Connor came with me to Mumbai Central and embraced me on the platform, 'It's been awesome, dude.' He handed me a ticket, 'I booked you a sleeper so at least you can get some proper rest this time.'
'Thanks for everything. We'll keep in touch yeah?' I said as I boarded.
'Of course. Write to me when you get back and let me know you're safe.'
I stood, watching him wave until he was nothing more than the size of a pin. The sprawling metropolis melted away into the tropical green countryside and I settled in for at least twenty-two hours back to the capital. This was the beginning of my journey home.
Dark faces of track side slum dwellers stared up at the train as it glided into New Delhi Railway Station at a quarter to seven. It was good to be back in the city I’d learned to love the most. Standing outside of the railway station, I gazed at the early morning accumulating traffic. The continuous buzzing of an auto pulled me from my reverie. A voice called out from under the yellow roof, 'I am the great Rahul, rider of the rickshaw...'
'Guardian of the morning traveller?' I interrupted, completing his pitch with a chuckle.
The driver leant forward revealing from the shadows a neatly trimmed moustache and swept back hair, 'You know me, sir?'
'How could I not?' I replied. 'You are the great Rahul, the best rickshaw wallah in Delhi, maybe all of India.'
He squinted for a moment, then smiled, 'Yes, yes, I remember you now, we shared chai one early morning several months ago.'
'We did. Sam,' I said, extending my hand.
'Mr Sam, you are still in India? How are you? Long time, no?'
'A long time indeed. So, how would you like to be my rickshaw wallah for the next couple of days?'
'It would be an honour, my friend. Come, the great Rahul will take you wherever you wish and keep you safe along the way.'
'First I need to check into my hotel. We'll discuss rates on route, and remember, I'm not new to India.'
'Haha, of course, sir. I will give you only the very best rate.'
We stopped at a tobacconist, where I saw two young boys. Given how similar they looked to each other, I guessed they were brothers, maybe a couple of years apart in age. The younger of the two approached me, 'Please sir, can you spare any rupees?'
There was something about the pair that lent a feeling of loss; the timid advance perhaps, rather than the hard sell of the confident street kid. The older boy pulled on his brother’s elbow and muttered something with authority.
'Of course.' I held out some loose change.
'No sir, we cannot take your money, but thank you,' the elder said stepping ahead of his sibling.
'But why Sanjeev? Sir is not minding and I am so hungry.'
'I have told you I will find more work tomorrow,' Sanjeev replied.
'Look it's not a problem. Are you in trouble?' I took my wallet out.
'No sir, just hung
ry. Our parents died in motor accident and we were sent to live with uncle. He was very bad man, drank too much and beat us. We are running away from home,' the younger said, stepping forward to take the money.
Sanjeev batted his sibling's hand away, 'Please sir, excuse my brother's rudeness. We will not trouble you any further.'
'How have you been surviving?'
'We went hungry for first few days and have been picking through rubbish for waste paper to sell as recyclable material ever since,' Sanjeev said. 'But recently it has been so difficult to earn anything due to the rains.'
Their clothes may have once been respectable, but were now worn and dirty. They sounded educated and spoke good English, which led me to believe they may once have attended a good school. I handed over three hundred rupees, 'Here, I'm sorry I can't help more.'
'Thank you, sir,' Sanjeev said. 'That is most kind of you. I assure you it will be spent on food and shelter.'
'Take care of each other, okay,' I said, and caught up with Rahul. He fired up the engine and I glanced back and saw the pair smiling, unable to believe their luck.
Along the quiet Main Bazaar that would soon be teeming, we came to an alleyway. I asked Rahul to order some chai from the restaurant across the road. I turned right and right again into the reception area where I found Harish with his head buried in some paperwork. I asked how he'd been.
'Mr Sam,' he laughed. 'Ha, it is so good to see you again. Maybe I thought you leave India by now, but here you are in Delhi once again. I am being much good and how are you?' He came from behind the counter and gave me a hug. 'You are staying?'
'Do you have any rooms?'
'Of course, always room for you. Please come.' He showed me to a room beside the entrance on the ground floor. 'Are you wanting a good cup of chai and some breakfast maybe?'
'Thanks, but I've got someone waiting for me outside, but we'll catch up later yeah?'
'Of course, why not?'
When I reappeared after showering and a change of clothes, it was Nitin who greeted me at reception. He slapped me on the back and grinning he said, 'Neerygun debarawah.'
'Beragoo libbydah,' I laughed and waved goodbye, but I'm not sure if he saw me. He was still giggling as I left.
I met up with Rahul again and drank the now lukewarm chai he'd pre-ordered. I wanted to cram in as much as I could before I left and Delhi had a lot to see. The busier I kept myself the less time I had to think. There was no point agonising over the prospect of going back to England or what had happened in the past. It wouldn’t change anything, only spoil the remaining time I had left.
India Gate was first on my itinerary. Inspired by the Arc de Triomphe in Paris, the monument could be seen from all directions. Rahul accompanied me around the arch as we stared up some of the names inscribed upon the bricks of over 80,ooo soldiers of the Indian and British army that lost their lives during World War One and the Third Anglo-Afghan War.
‘We close to Janpath Market if you are wishing to visit,’ Rahul informed me. ‘Much jewellery, clothing and paintings.’
I laughed, ‘Really, we’re near Janpath?’
‘Yes, what is being so funny?’
‘Ah nothing, just a friend and I got into a spot of bother here once.’
Declining his offer, we squeezed back into the heaving traffic and moved on to an important Sikh house of worship, the Gurudwara Bangla Sahib. The temple was a brilliant white and topped by a central golden dome and known for its association with the Sikh Guru, Har Krishan.
I removed my scarf from my bag, fashioned a turban to cover my head and left my shoes in the shoe-minding room as I came out onto a warm marble floor with the magnificent temple reflecting in a pool of shimmering water surrounded on all sides by archways. On the premises was a kitchen where food was prepared for anyone wishing to eat, regardless of race or religion.
I thought of Jumeet and Adesh in Drass and mentioned their restaurant to Rahul outside. He knew the area well and took me there. But when we arrived, I found it closed. By now, my rumbling stomach was getting the better of me and the stifling heat was leaving me parched. I'd kept enough aside to have a couple of decent meals and asked to be taken to Pizza Hut in Connaught Place instead.
I came out with the take-away box in my hands, but it was instantly snatched away by a young street girl. She looked so raggedy and thin. I had to pity her to go to such lengths. Slightly bemused, I went back inside and ordered another, quick to make a dash to Rahul this time. Tearing away the segments, I offered half to Rahul, but he politely declined. I insisted, telling him I only ordered this size so I could share with him. 'It's no fun eating on my own, Rahul.'
Meekly he reached over and took a slice, 'I am not eating this before, it is tasting very good, very good indeed,' he said, smacking his lips. 'Thank you, Mr Sam, what a treat.'
He drove me to a popular rest stop for rickshaw wallahs and introduced me to his fellow drivers as his good friend. It was nice to sit amongst them drinking chai and listen to them talking about the roads, Indian politics and of course, cricket. Once we finished, he accompanied me to the Bahai House of Worship.
Made of white marble and composed of twenty-seven free standing clad petals clustered to form the shape of a lotus flower, it was surrounded by nine reflecting pools, their open form suggesting the green leaves of the flower. It reminded me of the Sydney Opera House.
'As Bahai House open to all religion, my family and I are coming here from time to time. It is making very nice day out,' Rahul said, smiling.
I'd always wondered what it'd be like to drive a rickshaw. I tested him, asking if he'd let me have a go as we were leaving. I was surprised when he agreed. He looked around to check for any authorities and found a quiet area. Sitting in the passenger seat, he leant over and gave me instructions on how to drive. I managed to steer the little vehicle in figures of eight while Rahul shouted from the back, 'The great Mr Sam, rider of the rickshaw, guardian of the afternoon rickshaw wallah.'
It had gone eight by the time I returned to the hotel from my evening meal in the Main Bazaar. There was nobody at the desk, but I heard laughing from the room the other side of the entrance where Sean had stayed. I wanted to get a cup of tea and noticed Ashoka sat on the bed with a middle-aged Indian man with a white open neck shirt and black trousers. They were both drinking from glasses filled with what appeared to be Gin judging by the half empty bottle on the bureau.
'Hi Ashoka, any chance of some chai please?' I was ignored.
'Please come in, come in,' the gentleman said, much to Ashoka's chagrin.
'Thanks, but I was only after some tea really.'
'I insist,' the man said. I entered and a disgruntled Ashoka left.
Abhishek was a keen environmentalist. As he drank, he spoke with passion about his concerns, 'I have much fear for future generations. The global consumption of oil, coal and gas is at an all-time high. If we continue living the way we do, the consequences to our lives and the environment will be catastrophic.'
After a while he became a little less easy to understand, slurring more Hindi than English. Just after ten there was a knock at the door. By then Abhishek was quite drunk. It was Ashoka. He told me in an aggressive manner to keep my voice down. I didn't think we'd been talking that loudly, but I said I would. Abhishek was outraged, 'You are having the green eyes of envy, Ashoka. You are jealous that my friend here has taken your place in the conversation. Now please, leave us in peace.'
'The moon is high. You will now leave and go to your room,' Ashoka barked at me.
Abhishek wasn't having any of it, 'You are the one who is to leave my room at once, I tell you,' and pointed Ashoka to the hallway.
Ashoka flew behind the reception desk and picked up the phone.
'Maybe it's for the best,' I said. 'Thank you for a nice evening Abhishek, it's been very interesting talking to you.' With that I bid him goodnight and went to my room.
I was unlocking the door when Ashoka crept up behind me and whisper
ed in my ear, 'Foreign scum should not mix with good Indian people. Now I will have you arrested for causing trouble and commotion.'
'What trouble and commotion?'
He turned away. I went into my room and sat worrying for the worse, assuming he’d call the police. Twenty minutes passed when I heard voices from reception. I opened my door a fraction to see two uniformed policemen. To my relief, neither were the one I feared the most. I was not called upon or questioned. Instead, Abhishek gave a thorough account of what had happened and said that he felt threatened and harassed by Ashoka. Despite Ashoka's objections, he was told to stop wasting police time or it would be he who was arrested. I closed the door and a few minutes later Abhishek knocked. I apologised for any trouble.
'You should not be the one who is sorry. It is Ashoka that should be sorry and he will be.'
49
I awoke late morning and began packing, trying to put last night and the thought of where I would be tomorrow behind me. With no sign of Ashoka at the helm, I walked out into the midday heat and made my way to Arakashan Road. Under the bridge, past the drawn faces of the addicts and the sleeping homeless, I turned left and into the restaurant adjacent to the hotel where Aiden and I regularly ate. I ordered boiled eggs, toast and a coffee, and read the Times of India. The Befriend Strangers banner had long gone, replaced by a framed photograph of the exterior of the hotel. Paying the waiter, I stepped outside and lit a cigarette. Two westerners in their early twenties came over and asked for help.
'We were getting in a bit of a state,' one of the guys said. 'So far this morning, we've had a taxi driver try to rob us of everything, James here nearly got killed trying to cross the road and we've been accosted by a disabled man.'
'First time in India, huh?' I laughed.
'Yeah, just landed this morning. Can you help with a decent hotel?' the other asked.
I offered the solution of the hotel behind me, 'This is a good place to start. It's clean and the staff are good. You're from the UK, right?'