Sahil Finds a Friend

By Payal Dhar on Tuesday, November 2, 2010 - 00:30

CRASH!

Ms. Meany nearly jumped out of her skin. Her blood pressure skyrocketed. Those children!

They liked to play cricket in the courtyard, on which her flat happened to face out. And with annoying regularity, they sent their ball sailing into Ms. Meany’s balcony.

Furious, she strode outside. And then she saw it. Her prized chilli plant was quite flattened. The earthen flowerpot was smashed too, and a sodden, rat-like ball, lolled next to it.

“That is IT!” cried Ms. Meany, furious. A gaggle of kids was fast disappearing down the alley. She waved her fist at them. She loved her plants—she had even given them names. The chilli plant had been a favourite; it had been given to her by someone very special.

“Sorry, Aunty,” said a mournful voice. Ms. Meany jumped. It was Sahil, the short plump one—the biggest delinquent of the lot.

“You will be,” said Ms. Meany.

Of course, Meany wasn’t really her name, but it was a good indication of the kind of person she seemed to be. Which was why she had been nicknamed ‘Meany’ by the neighbourhood kids—a fact she was clearly aware of.

Inside, she found a tray and carefully brushed the remains of her plant on to it. She picked up her keys and cellphone, put on her shoes, and, armed with the tray, let herself out of the house.

“I’ll get each and every one of you,” she muttered. “I know where you live!”

She took the lift up to the fourth floor, where Sahil lived, and was there just in time to see him racing down the corridor. He skidded to a halt in front of 5E, and gave an audible gasp of dismay. He turned and looked at her for a second before darting inside.

Then things happened so fast, that Ms. Meany had no time to think. There was a cry from Sahil and a man’s shout from inside the flat. Then a  crash. Ms. Meany rushed in to find a swarthy man in a blue uniform standing in the middle of the room looking angry. Sahil was sprawled in the corner, sobbing.

“Who the hell are you?” demanded Ms. Meany.

“Courier, madam,” said the strange man, as Ms. Meany  noticed a battered bag slung across his chest, saying “RedEx Couriers”. He grinned nastily. A knife suddenly appeared in his hand.

Sahil screamed, but Ms. Meany, quick as lightening, flung the tray at him. The man stumbled, trying to protect his face, and Ms. Meany’s leg shot out in a powerful kick to his arm.

The knife clattered to the floor. Ms. Meany picked up a small side table and smashed it into him, sending him stumbling across the room, tripping on the edge of a rug and hitting his head with a loud crack on the dining table leg.

And there he lay, groaning.

Ms. Meany glanced at Sahil: “Stop snivelling!” she barked at him. She stood over the shady courier guy threateningly, with the table in one hand, while she speed-dialled the police on her cellphone with the other.

When the cops had come and gone, FIRs filed and questions answered, Ms. Meany found herself a reluctant hero. Sahil’s mother and father were so immensely grateful to her for thwarting a robbery and possible harm to their son that no one even questioned the mysterious remains of a chilli plant in the middle of the drawing room.

At long last, Ms. Meany finally extricated herself from excited neighbours and as she was walking back home, she found a small companion by her side.

“I’m sorry,” said Sahil in a small voice. “I keep telling them we should have the wicket on the other side so the ball won’t go into your balcony.”

“I’ve seen you lot purposely hitting the ball up into my balcony,” said Ms. Meany disbelievingly.

Sahil shook his head vehemently. “Nonono! It’s not that. The bit of wall under your balcony, if you hit it, it’s six runs.”

“Oh,” said Ms. Meany. “I see.” And she did.“Well, that’s completely different then if it’s just an accident.”

“It always is,” said Sahil mournfully. “The others do all the stuff and then I’m left to take the blame. Maybe I’m just stupid too—I sometimes stay behind because I think you should try and explain things. Sometimes stuff just happens—like your plant.”

“You’re not stupid,” Ms. Meany said. “In fact, you seem to have more brains than the rest of that lot put together. Next time anyone calls you stupid, tell them to speak to me!”

“Oh,” said Sahil, surprised. He blinked at her, shuffled his feet and then looked away. “And thank you... for today. I mean, the fighting stuff was great—but for not telling on me.”

“Telling on you? Oh, you mean you never remembered to check if your front door was locked, did you?”

Sahil looked sheepish.

Ms. Meany looked down at him. “Want to come inside for some leftover chocolate cake? It’s good, even if I say so myself.”

Payal Dhar is an author and freelance writer who flits between Bangalore and Delhi. You can find out more about her at Writeside.net.