I Am Me

by Ram Sundaram

  “You should be a clown,” Shreya said, thoughtfully. “I think you’d be good at making people laugh. I would pay to come see you.”

  “You would?” he laughed, picking her up again and spinning her in the air.

  She squealed happily and then when he set her down, she reached into her little handbag. “That reminds me. I have to give you something.”

  “Oh? What’s that?”

  Shreya took two coins out of her purse and placed them in his hand.

  Kishan looked down at the coins. “Fifty pence … What’s this for?”

  She shrugged. “It’s a thank you for bringing me here.”

  He gave the coins back. “I wanted you here. You don’t need to pay me.”

  “I know that but,” she said, dropping the coins into his shirt pocket, “It’s always polite to show gratitude for a nice gesture.”

  “But Shreya…” he began, but thought better of finishing the sentence. He wanted to tell her that he couldn’t possibly accept that money, because she and her mother needed it. But how could he tell her that without hurting her feelings? Taking people around the circus was his privilege, something that he enjoyed doing, and he certainly didn’t need monetary incentive for it; especially since Shreya meant the world to him. He tried to find the right words to say it.

  “If you don’t take it, I’ll be very upset,” Shreya said, putting on an adorable pout.

  Kishan smiled at her. He pulled the coins out again and looked at them. “Where’d you get these?” he asked. “I’ve never seen 25p coins before.”

  “They’re supposed to be comm… commem… commemor…”

  “Commemorative,” he helped her, and she looked thankful. “I knew that, I’d just never seen one before. That makes these coins ever more special, Shreya, thank you.”

  She beamed at him. “Good. Now you can continue taking me around.”

  He smiled, took her hand, and led her through the circus.

  Kishan had been surprised when Shreya had agreed to have ice cream with him. He had never been to the ice cream shop before, but it was not the thought of ice cream that excited him, but the prospect of spending time with Shreya. He had spent a restless two days since asking her out, wondering how he could make the day perfect. He had clung to the fifty paise that Arun Nayar had paid him as though his life depended on the two coins.

  On the morning of their date, Kishan decided to groom and dress himself impressively, a task that was perhaps easier in conception than in execution. He had just the one shirt and the one pair of old, patchy shorts, but he washed them both in the river that morning. He scrubbed the shorts with the little bar of soap his mother used for the dishes, but he scrubbed so hard that he made holes in the fabric. He took a bath right after, using the same dish soap, and then greased his hair back with some old stove oil. He had found a tattered old leather belt in the garbage pit two weeks ago, and it was his prized possession, so he now secured it around his waist—not atop the shorts though, but atop the shirt instead. He understandably attracted some amused looks as he left the slums and wandered into the posh side of town to meet Shreya.

  He waited outside Shreya’s school for her. She came out with a gaggle of girls around her, all of whom sniggered openly when they saw Kishan walk up to her side. Shreya glared at them, afraid they would hurt his feelings. Kishan however seemed oblivious to any of this and merely stood expectantly beside Shreya, grinning happily at her. Shreya and Kishan left the other girls and set off into town. She didn’t seem to have noticed any change in his appearance, or if she did, she didn’t comment on it. They walked largely in silence, interspersed with Shreya telling him about her classes and about anything to do with school that Kishan wouldn’t know.

  Kishan had always been fascinated with her school, by the fact that all the children wore clean, crisp, matching uniforms, and read books that held many messages and meanings that he hadn’t a hope of deciphering. He stared longingly at their colourful lunch boxes, and did his best to eavesdrop on the classes through the open window; but he was always chased away by the school watchman. Shreya was therefore Kishan’s only eyes and ears into that school.

  At the moment though, Kishan wasn’t concerned with school. He was walking into an ice cream shop for the first time in his life, and more importantly, he was walking in with Shreya at his side. His eyes widened with unabashed delight when he saw the glass counter filled with several trays of various flavours of ice cream. He looked quite literally like a kid in a candy store, stunned into a trance by the abundance of colourful, delicious food.

  With his attention fixated on the ice cream, Kishan didn’t notice the amount of interest he and Shreya were garnering amongst the people around them. Everyone appeared to be watching them. Shreya noted the surprised faces, the visible nudges, the obtrusive stares and the irritating smirks. She felt herself turn red as they stood by the window, where passers-by now shot them piercing looks. Kishan had remained quite oblivious to all this attention, and had been acting rather like his pants were on fire, for he had bustled all around her, trying to ensure she was comfortable, and yet had never appeared to have moved an inch. He had kept by her side loyally, opening the door for her, forging a path through the crowd for her by nudging people out of the way; and now when they reached their table, he briskly pulled out a chair for her.

  When she’d been seated and was comfortable, he prepared to squat down on the floor right beneath her feet, but she caught him in time.

  “Don’t be so silly,” she said, half amused, half embarrassed, and forced him to sit on a chair. “We’re equals, Kishan. I don’t like you sitting on the floor even when you visit me at home, but you certainly won’t do that out in public. We are friends, you understand me? Friends are always equals, no matter what.”

  Kishan nodded and rather hesitantly sat on the chair. He smiled happily though, and then pushed the complimentary tray of biscuits towards her.

  Shreya smiled back and shook her head. “No, thank you. They’re stale.”

  Kishan’s face fell dramatically as he withdrew his hand. He seemed to be conflicted about something and it took Shreya a moment to realise what the issue was. “You can still have some if you want,” she said, hazarding a guess that he was hungry.

  He grinned and began attacking the mouldy biscuits with both hands. The waiter that materialised at the table shortly after, cast Kishan a look of deep disgust, before turning a leering gaze upon Shreya. Because of her fair skin, and her “plump” appearance—plump only in comparison to the half-starved population that inhabited the town—Shreya was often ogled at by both men and women alike. To them she was something akin to a rare, exotic fruit, or to put an even finer point upon it, an exotic flower, grown unblemished amid a barren desert.

  But despite how often she’d endured their curious, probing stares, Shreya still felt a chill whenever she noticed the greedy look in their eyes as they scrutinised her.

  “Good evening, Miss,” the waiter said to her. “You would like some soda?”

  “Er… no, some ice cream I think.” She looked across at Kishan, whose face remained expressionless. “What flavour would you like?” she asked him.

  Kishan shrugged.

  The waiter, Shreya noticed, did not even spare Kishan a glance. He stared at her unwaveringly, his eyes threatening to pierce right through her clothing. She instinctively brought her arms in front of her chest, before ordering two vanilla ice creams. The waiter nodded with a kind of a bow, during which he glanced at her fair legs, before disappearing into the back.

  “He gives me the creeps,” Shreya told Kishan, shivering slightly.

  Kishan nodded, his eyes widening with understanding.

  “I hate such men,” Shreya said. She then closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “But let’s not let him ruin our afternoon. Tell me about you, Kishan. Have
you read the books I gave you? I know they’re difficult, but your reading is coming along so well.”

  Kishan had a guilty expression on his face as he squirmed uneasily in his seat.

  “What’s the matter?” Shreya asked.

  Kishan half-shrugged and muttered something inaudible.

  But Shreya seemed to have guessed what he was struggling to tell her. “Your father sold the books, didn’t he?” she asked, shrewdly.

  Kishan looked down at his hands.

  “It’s all right,” she smiled kindly at him. “It’s not your fault. I’ll get you more books. Only, this time I’ll keep them at my house so they’ll be safe. You can come read them whenever you like. That way I’ll be able to teach you in person.”

  Kishan seemed to brighten considerably at this suggestion.

  There was a sudden intrusion at their table. Three boys, who had a moment ago been talking to the waiter while casting overt glances in Shreya’s direction, now approached their table. Shreya thought they looked like ruffians, with their shabby hair, their intentionally dishevelled clothing, and the slow, taunting manner with which they moved. But more than their appearance, it was the perverted, almost sinister looks in their eyes that troubled her.

  Two of the boys sat on either side of Shreya, pressing up tightly against her. The third sat beside Kishan and put an arm around his shoulder. “Look at this, guys,” the third boy said to the others. “The pretty Brahmin girl is having an ice cream with the slum rat.”

  The others laughed and Shreya glared at them.

  “Sister, you can do better than this prick,” said the boy to her right, as he ran a finger through her hair. She slapped his hand away, and the three boys started to laugh.

  “He’s just a kid,” the one on her left said, as he dipped the little plastic spoon into her ice cream and raised a mouthful to her lips. Shreya slapped his hand away too, and the spoon fell on the counter, while the ice cream splattered on Kishan’s hand. The boys laughed, and the one by Kishan’s side lifted his arm up and said, “Good idea, make him white before you do him.”

  Shreya tried to get up but the boys beside her pushed her back down. “Where are you going, sweetheart?” the one on her right said, as he ran his hands over her blouse and slowly slipped them down to her skirt. Shreya struggled out of his grip, slapped him across the face, and then ran out of the store. No one sitting at the other tables reacted or even looked in her direction. Kishan got up and made to follow her, but one of the boys caught him by the shirt collar and yanked him back. “Oy hero, who’s going to pay for this?” he asked.

  Kishan fumbled in his pocket and pulled out the two coins Arun Nayar had given him. The boy looked at the money and laughed. “This won’t even cover a spoonful,” he said, shaking Kishan roughly. “It’s two rupees each. Cough up the money.”

  Kishan shrugged, looking helpless and defeated.

  “I don’t think he’s got any money,” one of the boys said with mock sympathy. He then suddenly pulled Kishan’s shorts down and slapped the ice cream against his crotch. Wincing with pain, Kishan hurried of the store, pulling his shorts up as he ran, while the laughter from inside the store echoed after him. The memory chased him the rest of his life.

  Kishan led Shreya towards the admission tent, where there were a lot of vendors selling plastic toys, jewellery, hula-hoops, animal figurines, and candles.

  “Pick out anything you want,” he said to her. “Anything at all and it’s yours.”

  Shreya’s eyes widened as she considered the abundance of treasures before her. The only toy she’d ever owned was a headless doll—it hadn’t been headless when her mother had brought it home, but during that first night the doll had spent in their house, a rat had chewed off the head. Shreya had nevertheless played with the doll for months after, and still looked upon in with fondness as it sat idly in her room. To her it was an invaluable treasure, despite its deformities.

  Kishan watched her run around the little stalls, examining the different items on sale. Shreya was very mature for her age, and he often felt like he was conversing with a young woman when he spoke to her, and not a ten-year old girl. But at rare times like this, Shreya showed the true innocence of her age, and it pleased him to learn that despite the harshness of her everyday reality, some of her naïve, endearing, child-like qualities still remained. Children must remain children after all, for as long as life will allow them.

  Every time she found something of interest, Shreya ran to Kishan and led him by the hand to come look at it. He always agreed with her opinions, trying to match her interest and excitement, and when she proceeded to explain at length to him why she liked a certain item, he listened with rapt attention. There had been a time, quite long ago, when Kishan himself had been a child as impressionable and as easily pleased as Shreya; but the adults around him had slowly squashed the excitement out of him through their pragmatic, near-cynical approach to life. He saw in Shreya now the same naïve enthusiasm he himself had once been full of, and he was determined to help her hold onto that youthful quality for as long as she could.

  He insisted on buying her every item she showed him, but she politely refused each time, claiming not to have really liked it. It was a façade, he knew, but he hoped that when she came across something that really, overwhelming appealed to her, that he would be able to recognise it and buy it for her. This hope came true a mere moment later. He saw it in her body language first, for the bounce in her step vanished when she laid eyes upon it. Her body went limp and still, as she stared at it with open fascination.

  It was a large cage, covered with an old, ragged sheet.

  Kishan knelt beside her.

  “What’s inside?” she asked him.

  He shook his head. “I don’t know, sweetie.”

  He gestured to the man running the stall, which had a selection of odd antiques and artefacts, too plastic and ugly to be worth much of anything.

  The man, an older, surly looking fellow, lumbered over to them with a frown that looked like it had been residing on his face almost as long as his eyes or his nose had.

  “Morning, Manny,” Kishan said, warmly.

  Manny nodded curtly.

  “What’s in the cage?”

  “Can’t tell ya.”

  “Why not?”

  “Haven’t you seen the signs?” Manny said, gruffly. “It’s 5p to look at it.”

  Kishan laughed. “You’re kidding me!” He leaned in towards Manny and said in a low voice, “I know it’s some kind of bird, Manny. So what’s the mystery?”

  “That’s for you to find out, isn’t it?” Manny replied, slyly. “5p.”

  Kishan looked at Shreya, who was staring at the cage quite earnestly. He had never seen such a solemn, intense expression on her young face before. “You want to see what’s under this sheet?” he asked her. She nodded without turning to him.

  “Here,” Kishan said, handing Manny a coin. “Now show us.”

  Manny pocketed the coin and then lazily pulled the sheet off the cage. Inside was a beautiful short-toed snake eagle. Kishan regarded it with modest interest, but Shreya stepped closer to the cage with utter fascination etched onto her features. The eagle’s large eyes regarded her with equal curiosity, scrutinizing her every move as though she were a potential threat.

  “She’s beautiful,” Shreya said, her voice echoing the awe displayed on her face.

  “Yes, she is,” Kishan agreed, studying Shreya with more interest than the eagle.

  “She’s unhappy, though,” Shreya announced.

  “Oh? Why do you say that?”

  “You can see it in her eyes,” she said, simply.

  Manny grunted loudly and then muttered something that sounded like “… it always looks like that, it’s a bloody eagle…”

  Kishan knelt beside Shreya a
nd put an arm around her. “Where do you see her sadness, Shreya?” he asked, curiously.

  She simply nodded to the eagle, which now turned its piercing gaze onto Kishan. “Just look at her,” Shreya said. “She wants to fly… to hunt, find her mate and have children.”

  “I think she just wants to be fed,” Manny said, with a cackle.

  “Manny, be quiet,” Kishan said.

  “Or maybe she just wants to be left alone so she can try and make me some money,” Manny said, irritably. “If I don’t put the sheet back on, no one’s going to pay me to take a peek. So I think you two have had enough of a look—”

  “Give us a moment,” Kishan urged him, as Manny approached the cage.

  Shreya seemed unaffected by all this, and merely stared at the eagle. She put her finger into the cage, and both Kishan and Manny prepared to warn her, but the eagle had already ducked its head and nipped her finger affectionately. Shreya stroked its head and beak with her finger, talking in a soft, assuring voice to it the entire time. The eagle made a soft, whistling noise, which was musical and lovely to hear. Shreya laughed happily.

  “I think she’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen,” she said. She turned to Kishan for the first time since they’d approached the cage. “I think we should set her free.”

  “You think wrong,” Manny said at once, bringing the sheet out to cover the cage.

  “Manny, hear her out,” Kishan said.

  “The bird’s not going anywhere,” Manny said, “Not till it makes me some money.”

  “When did you get it?” Kishan asked.

  “Two towns ago,” Manny replied. “Caught it when I was out fishing. They’re pretty rare, you know. Never seen one in this country before. I was lucky to catch this one.”

  Shreya looked imploringly at Kishan. “Please… we need to set her free.”

  Kishan watched the eagle, as it brushed its head against Shreya’s finger. Was it just the power of her suggestion or could he actually see sadness in its eyes? He imagined it soaring gracefully over mountains and valleys, scouring the earth for its natural enemy, the serpent. He could almost see it swooping down sharply, its talons deftly gripping the snake’s body within its short toes, as it took flight again and climbed to a high vantage point where it could devour it. Such a beautiful, graceful creature… Shreya was right, Kishan thought… it deserved to be free.