An Unlikely Evening

A Short Story

A man sat at the wheel of his car, waiting at a red light.  There were enough cars ahead of him to be sure that he was going to wait here a while.  The streets had broken into the chaos of twilight already.  There were people walking around vehicles to cross the street, and arguments between tipsy motorcyclists; an ambient hostility was in the air. The light turned green, and everybody moved a few steps forward…and stopped again.  

The man let out a long sigh that was met with the sad silence of an empty car.  Apart from the sigh, the man looked indifferent.  His right sleeve was rolled up to reveal an old watch and his shirt was lazily tucked in.  He had an empty look on his face.  The sensory overload of the street completely bounced off of him, minute after minute.  He looked out the window with his fingers tapping on the wheel to an incoherent rhythm.  On the divider stood a homeless man, waiting for the next red light.  Every time there was a red light, he would step onto the road and tap on the windows of cars, hoping for some cash to cover his meal for the day.

Why is he waiting? The man in the car thought to himself.  It’s not like the cars are moving now.

Then, the man abruptly stepped off of the divider and limped to the car closest to him.  There were some universal homeless sign language gestures that people in cars were used to.  The most common one was a tap on the window and five fingers together pointing to the mouth.  This meant that the guy was hungry and wanted money for food.  Sometimes this wouldn’t cut it.  This gesture would be followed by showing four fingers and shaking the head.  This meant that the person hadn’t eaten for four days.  It was always four.  The language became more complex when it was a woman with a child but let’s not go there.  However, it was a one directional language because the person in the car would most often look straight ahead like there was nothing going on.  Very rarely would some fragile souls roll down their windows and offer a few coins.  

While the man in the car was lost in thought, the homeless man had made it to his car.  He briefly looked at him and turned away.  Shit, he thought.  This was another rule.  You couldn’t make eye contact and turn away.  That was just rude.  He slowly looked out the window again and the homeless man was still there.  He looked like he was in his sixties.  But he could very well have been in his forties.  He didn’t follow the drill.  He just stood there, looking into the car.  There was a look of utter hopelessness in his eyes.  The man in the car couldn’t look away.  He looked into his eyes long enough to see himself in them. 

The light turned green and impatient honks could be heard.  As the homeless old man was about to walk back to his station on the divider, the man in the car honked at him.  He opened the door next to the passenger seat and motioned to it.  The homeless man looked around to make sure that he was the one being spoken to, but the bombardment of honks and yells didn’t give him much room for any thinking.  He swiftly walked around the car and got in.  

There was no conversation in the car for quite some time.  Both of them avoided looking even in the direction of the other person.  The silence was finally broken by the man behind the wheel following a ritualistic throat clearing:

“So, I was thinking we could do Dosas for dinner.  What do you say?”

“Uhm. Uh, yeah sure, sir.” The homeless man giggled and shifted around nervously.  You could tell - from the way he was sitting - that he had never been in a car before.

“Actually, no…there’s a great pizza place around here.  Have you had pizzas before?” the man asked, turning to face the homeless man for the first time.

“Oh, no no, I haven’t, sir!” It was as if this was the most ridiculous question that could’ve been asked.

“Well, then that’s where we’re going! What’s your name by the way?”

“Uh, Kishore, sir.” Of course, he didn’t dare to ask the man what his name was.

Nothing else was said for the remainder of the car ride and the radio had been turned on to make up for it.  They reached the pizza place and got out.  The man handed his key to a valet, who looked curiously at this new homeless companion.  As the two of them made their way into the restaurant and to a table, they had to briskly walk past a few more unsure looks by the employees that almost said, “Is this allowed?” Kishore avoided looking at them completely and just blindly followed the man like a child would follow a parent in the supermarket.

They finally sat down and there was a look of excitement in the man’s eyes that helped Kishore relax a bit.  He wasn’t sure if he should sit with his back resting against his seat.  His instincts told him to sit a little uncomfortably as if to signal uncertainty to everyone else in the restaurant.  But the man could tell; he reassured him, motioning for him to sit back and relax.

“So, since you haven’t had pizza before, I’ll order for you.” He raised his hand to call the waiter.  A young man came over to the table and quite noticeably placed himself at a distance from Kishore. “What can I get you, sir?”

“We’ll have two plates of those cheesy breadsticks that you guys make with the special dip, and a large red extravaganza.  Also, bring us a bottle of Great White with some ice.” The man saw - out of the corner of his eye - Kishore sit up with a sharp thrill at hearing that last bit.

As the waiter left with their order, the two of them leaned in; there seemed no longer to be any excuse for quietness. 

“Family?” asked the man.

“Oh, uh..none to speak of in this city, sir.”

“Ah..where are you from originally, then?”

“We moved here from this village about fifty kilometers away from the city, sir.  Me, my sister and my parents.  My sister moved away from us after she got married and my parents died shortly after that…the city wasn’t for them.”

“Sorry to hear that.  What brought them here to the city, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Oh well, no money in the village you see, sir.  No hope for anything there.” Kishore saw an unsettling look of disapproval in the man’s eyes, upon hearing this.

"Oh, Kishore…you thought there was hope here in the city. And yet, here you are now, sitting with me," said the man, letting out a big, hearty laugh.  Kishore didn’t quite know how to respond. He opened his mouth, not knowing what he was going to say, but was interrupted by their waiter.

“Here it is, sir: two plates of cheesy breadsticks with a special dip, one large red extravaganza…a bottle of Great White and..ice.  Let me know how you like the food and if you need anything else.” The man nodded and waved him away.

To Kishore’s great relief, the man had forgotten that it was Kishore’s turn to say something.  He poured them both a glass of the fancy whiskey he had ordered and took a sip from his own glass.

“ Mm..never disappoints.  Go on, take a sip! Also, help yourself with the food, don’t be shy.”

***

As the evening slipped into night’s embrace, the two of them had loosened up quite a bit. Kishore seemed to have an endless supply of stories from the street and was an amazing storyteller. They were halfway through a bottle, and the remaining food had begun to grow cold.

“...and this auto driver looks right into my eyes and tells me, if I make any money today, I will come back here tomorrow and give you half my savings! Then, he stepped on the gas, and I never saw him again!” Both of them burst out laughing.

“But be honest now, did you expect to see him the next day? A little bit maybe?” asked the man.

“No no, of course not.  But I’ll tell you what, if he had in fact, come to the same place the next day, he would’ve seen me there!”

The waiter quietly came to the table to take their plates away.  As he was leaving, the man asked for the bill.  A look of sobriety came over Kishore’s face as he realized that this dinner was coming to an end.  The man noticed this.  He felt the same way, but he knew that for Kishore, it was very different.  He was probably never going to experience anything remotely like this, ever again.

“You know, Kishore, this city screwed the both of us over in a very similar way.” said the man, leaning back into his chair. Kishore looked at him, curious to hear what was coming. 

“I was born here and grew up here…this is the only home I have ever known.  I still live in my ancestral home.  My parents died and all my friends left the country.  I wanted to stay and do something for my city…turn it into a better place.” He paused and looked out into the street with a look of shame. “But a city isn’t a person, you know…it doesn’t feel the need to turn into something better.  It just goes where it goes and there’s nothing you can do about it.”  Kishore shifted in his seat a bit and the man looked at him. “And now, here I am, sitting with you.” As the man said this, there was a short look of contempt in his eyes.  But it was quickly washed away by the shame that seemed to be overwhelming him.

As the two of them stood up, they realized that they were a lot drunker than they thought.  They stumbled out of the restaurant and waited for the Valet to bring the car back. There was a cold breeze blowing in their faces.  

The man looked at Kishore who had a slight shiver from the cold.  He was looking around, trying to figure out his plans for the night.  An almost characteristic look of helplessness was back on his face.  The man took out his wallet and handed Kishore a 2000 rupee note.

“Sorry, I didn’t have any change.” As the man said this, he saw that Kishore was smiling with delight.  He just couldn’t seem to hide it.  The man’s heart sank in a feeling of deep betrayal. 

The car arrived in front of them.  Kishore thanked the man, waved him goodbye and walked away.  The man got back into his car, feeling dizzy.  He shut the door and sat inside…greeted by the cold and familiar silence that filled his car.  

******