Boom

The marketplace was crowded. It smelt of fish and rugs, and paint, and carpets, and sweat. The sweat was everywhere. In the pits of the men hawking their fares, less evident on the women walking around, hips swaying under their modest shalwaars, but it was omnipresent, like the god these people claimed to worship. The sounds, were repellant. Harsh, loud, repugnant. Everyone shouting, trying to outdo their neighbors, trying to attract the most attention, until it all became a cacophony of guttural sounds beyond language. The curse of humanity was strong in these throngs of market goers.

Over there, a lady arguing with a man over the price of shawls. Her husband was at that very moment, having an affair with his secretary, unknown to the wife. By the man selling cookware, was a young woman in a shawl, she was shy and unsure. She had just been married to her betrothed, but he was abusive. It was too late to back out now. Next to the fishmonger was a boy, barely a man, who had been sent by his baji to get some good fish for the guests she was having over later that night. In the corner, by the kindly, jolly man with the white beard, a father was holding his daughter on his shoulders she was tousling his hair. The old man with the wrinkled face was selling wooden toys. The man with his daughter was looking for a toy for her. She didnt know that though. He gently brought her down,placed her on the ground, as if she were a china doll, and asked her what she wanted to get her little brother, who would be born soon, three days to be precise. She squealed in delight, clapped her hands, exclaimed “baby bhai!” and put her serious hat on. What should she get her brother? There were so many things to choose from. “Get him what you would want for yourself,” the man with the wares, whispered with a smile. She squeezed her father’s hand, thought of what she would want, and it was still hard. There were so many pretty trucks and rickshaws, and elephants. So many things to choose from.

The sun shone hard and bright. A man stepped out of a car already sweating. He had a dark mark on his head, his hair was black, his kameez was pressed and white.

“What about this one?” her father asked, picking up a wooden flower, painted white. “No, silly.” she laughed at him, “a boy wouldnt like that. Besides, it’s funny looking.” she clasped her hand over her mouth and looked at the uncle selling them, “Sorry uncle.” after a few minutes of silence, the man broke out into a contagious laughter. He bellowed and guffawed. Everyone around them smiled.

The man with the mark on his forehead walked, stumbling, shaky steps, towards the butcher’s shop, the one with the AC, the one with the glass windows. His palms were moist.

Her father let her pick her own choice, his head and heart were doing two contradictory things. His head was counting out how much work he would have to do to afford this toy. He could sell his slippers, he thought as he looked down at the well worn, almost torn sandals he was wearing. His heart was smiling, rising, flying at the sight of his daughter so happy. And imagine when she found out that toy was to be hers.

He bumped into a man, who grumbled and growled. “Hey, ulloo kay pathay, watch where you’re- sorry.” the man murmured sincere apologies as he saw the sign of the fervently religious on the man’s forehead and walked away, anger diffused.

“This one.” She pointed shyly at a beautifully carved elephant. “How much”, the father asked. “For her,” the old man replied, “free.”

The man was almost at the butcher’s shop. His chest was heavy with the burden he was carrying. No worries, not much longer now. His heart was racing. He was murmuring prayers under his breath.

Her smile lit up the area around her. Everyone caught in its glare was stunned, their hearts happy and full of joy. She twirled around.

The blinding light came first, the sound second. The fire consumed everything.