Free The Song of Kahunsha by Anosh Irani Page B

morning.”
    “So?”
    “So no traffic jam. In the orphanage we could hear the sound of cars only in the afternoon.”
    “What sort of place was this orphanage? What rubbish did they teach you there?”
    “I learned how to read and write.”
    “You can read and write?”
    “Yes.”
    “And are you proud of that?”
    “Very proud.”
    “That’s of no use at all, you fool! When you go to the taxis to beg, they are not going to ask you, ’Excuse me, can you spell your name, please?’”
    “What do I do?”
    “You must act like you are really suffering.”
    “But we are suffering.”
    “Hero, this is Bombay. No one cares about the truth. The people want emotion. Tears! Can you cry real tears?”
    “On demand?”
    “Yaar, I’m just playing with you.”
    Sumdi places his hand on Chamdi’s shoulder, and Chamdi stops walking. In front of them, an old man opens the shutters to a small watch repair shop.
    “Now listen,” says Sumdi. “There should be no shame in begging. We are smart boys. If life had been good to us, we would not be begging. No one will give us work, so we have to do this. No shame in begging.”
    Chamdi notices that Sumdi’s tone has suddenly changed. His voice is softer, but firmer.
    “The tears will come anyway, trust me,” Sumdi continues. “I think of my father and that cargoing over him, and Amma screaming and running towards him … and I had to hold my sister because I was more afraid than she was. Neither of us went near the body. I think of Amma now, how she sits in the darkness every night and pulls out her hair, and even though I think about this every day, the tears still come.”
    Then he spits onto his palm, greases his hair with it, even though he hardly has any hair. In the sunlight, the scar on his face seems even darker, as though the skin has been removed inch by inch.
    “Even with this face, I can still look chickna,” says Sumdi. “Understand? You know how many movie offers I get when I go begging? But I always refuse. Who wants fame? Look around you—I can pull my pants down and let it all go like a waterfall anytime I want, and no one will stop me. How many movie stars can do that?”
    Chamdi still stares at the scar. He knows it must make Sumdi uneasy. The edges of the ear are jagged, like torn paper.
    “I must look handsome for the aunties,” continues Sumdi. “Fat aunties have lots of money.”
    With that, Sumdi steps off the sidewalk and onto the main road. Chamdi watches his new friend trail a black-and-yellow taxi as it slowsdown for the red light. The taxi has no passenger. Chamdi notices that the buildings on this street are much taller than the ones near their kholi. TV antennas line the terraces of these buildings.
    “Bhaiya, please give something,” says Sumdi to the taxiwala.
    “Don’t eat my brains early in the morning,” says the taxiwala.
    “But if I have no food then naturally I will eat your brains, no?”
    “Your tongue is sharp. Be careful or you will cut yourself.”
    “That’s the problem. My tongue is so sharp that food is afraid to enter my mouth. Look how skinny I am.”
    “You don’t look skinny to me.”
    “Look at what polio did to my leg.”
    “What other sickness do you have?”
    “I’m in
love
. Biggest illness …”
    “Hah!” says the taxiwala. He reaches into the pocket of his khaki shirt and takes out a one-rupee coin. He gives it to Sumdi.
    “For one rupee what will I get?”
    “You can get lost,” says the driver. “I don’t want to see your face again.”
    “Is next week okay?” asks Sumdi.
    The taxiwala smiles. As the light turns green, Sumdi steps on the sidewalk again.
    “That was very good,” says Chamdi.
    “Stop congratulating me and make some money.”
    “But I wanted to watch you first.”
    “You wanted to watch
me?
Me, who cannot read or write?”
    “I want to learn properly how to beg.”
    “Then you are my student from this moment.”
    “Done.”
    “Show me some respect, you idiot.