The Stranger - Chapter 1

22 July, 2013

NEW DELHI

It is pouring heavily from the sky and streets are still hustling. The unwanted noise of horns and klaxons is resonating in the environment while my stereo in the car is playing trance music. I am returning back to my flat after this tiresome party of Prashast. I wish Ahana was there with me in the party but she told me that she had a meeting with her client at Raddison.

The flashlight of my iPhone is blinking and the screen is awakened by Ahana’s call.

“Hey! How was your meeting?” I ask

“It was good and It got over before the expected time so I went for some shopping.” she replies

“great”

“Can you pick me up from Shambhavi’s place?” she asks

“I thought you have reached our flat.” I say

“I went for a shopping with Shambhavi and then she asked me to join her at dinner. So -” she says with her innocent voice.

“You said we would go for a dinner tonight.” I frown while she convinces me why she couldn’t say no to Shambhavi. She is Ahana’s best of friends and has been so since four years. Albeit Shambhavi is two years younger than Ahana but still there is a great knot of understanding between both the girls.

“I will be there in a jiffy.”

“Thank you” She disconnects the call and I accelerate the car. I roll the volume button and increase the volume of stereo system. I am in love with trance music. Perhaps the whole world is.

I park my car besides the busy roads of Connaught Palace and enter the Oxford Bookstore. A man comes up to me and asks how he can help me.

“I want romantic fiction.” I say and the man wearing a regular white shirt and grey trouser looks through the corner of his eyes and points towards the stack of the books. I pick THE FAULT IN OUR STARS and head towards the cash counter.

“399/- Rupees sir” the girl sitting at the cash counter hand overs TFIOS kept in a paper bag. I pay the amount and run back to the car.

The falling diamond shaped drops are nurturing my not-so-new black Skoda Laura. Wipers are wiping the unwanted water while drops are mosaicked on the glass in no time. I hasten the speed of my car by pressing the first pedal from the right and drive on the asphalt roads of Delhi.

I screech the break and car lurches to a halt. The darkness of night and headlights of vehicles are irking in my eyes. A person hardly 5’10’’ is lying over with his stomach touching the layer of the road. Right profile of his face is only visible as the left one is kissing the asphalted aggregates.

There are people, people walking on the pavements, traveling in cars, gossiping over the wine shop, shopping clothes but there is no one – no one who can assist this person who is lying half dead on the way. No one has seen him, the blood bleeding from his nostrils and head. Or maybe they have but they ignored it.

The problem of this country is not corruption but selfishness is. Corruption is just a side effect of selfishness where people pay bribes for their own advantage or to save their time. No one cares about who is dying and who is alive and then there are people especially women who always want to know each and every thing about others, being it the car they have got in the dowry or a girl dating some boy.

I hold him up and he is bleeding heavily. His forehead is scarlet and half of his left cheek is masked with blood. I take him to my car, open his black jacket off and place it under his head. I run back to the driver seat and drive horrifically fast. 

I have been honking in front of Shambhavi’s flat for last few minutes. Ahana egresses Shambhavi’s flat and takes her front passenger seat. She bid Shambhavi a good bye and gives me an intense look with her reddened nose.

“You are so rude. Couldn’t you just say a bye to Shambhavi” She says, angry while I try to put the car in first gear.

“We are going to hospital.” I raise my eyebrow.

“Why?

Wait, what’s that on your hand? Is that blood?” She asks and I point her to look at the back seat where the half dead man was lying.

“Who is he now? What on earth is happening here?” she frowns and I tell her how I found this half dead man lying on the busy road where no one came up to assist or help him.

“Are you mad? What if this guy is a terrorist or a murderer?” She shouts

“He is an engineer” I pass her the identity card which I found few minutes back while I was removing his jacket.

“But sixty percent of engineers are also terrorist” she exasperates

“Oh!
Shut up!” I shout

Ahana reads each and every information about him from identity card. “ARMAN SHARMA” she whispers and turns over to me and asks if I have tried to call on his father’s number pointing at the ten digit mobile phone number written on the card and I shake my head no. She starts dialling his father’s number but it says that the number is out of reach.

Five minutes later we find ourselves in front of City hospital. Ahana runs inside the hospital and comes up with a stretcher. Two compounders take him inside while we follow them. Receptionist hands overs a form to me but Ahana snatches it.  “I will fill this form, you go inside.” Ahana is worried about him too. Dialling his father’s number repeatedly and filling the hospital formalities is a sign which she can never hide.