The roadside fortune teller, the permanently stationed acrobats on the footpath, the differently abled kids on the wheeled wooden sledge, the perpetually pregnant Rajasthani woman, the monkey clinging to her barren chest; everyone noticed the figure in the overcoat and the hat slipping out of the Raymond’s shop that hot summer afternoon. They also noticed the drop of sweat that trickled down his nose under which an unlit cigarette dangled precariously from his lips and the Zippo that came out his pocket in a flash despite the chaos that surrounded them.
Click!
Zzuck!
Tshhhh!
Clock!
He took a deep drag. Long enough to fill his lungs tight. And then blew out an unimpressive thin blob of smoke.
How come the smoke that comes out of a character’s mouth in films is so full, so white, so thick, so satisfying, he thought.
“CG”, a neuron twitched.
Disgusted, he crushed his cigarette under his newly acquired black leather shoes thinking of getting himself a pipe and a pouch of strong tobacco when an almost inhuman scream pierced his ears.
All his involuntary muscles came into action. His mouth went dry. Food for thought! His tongue reached his lips for a quick lick. A case to crack! His mystery-monger mind exploded in a million directions as his action-hungry heart started knocking on his rib cage, impatiently. A reason to exist! God, he loved this nervous energy.
He could almost hear the strains of the background music he had composed for the film ‘they’ would make on his mysterious exploits once he was done and gone as he turned around (in slow-mo) to see a woman in 'Black & White' standing in front of the Raymond’s store, pointing at him.
She looked familiar.
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