A few years ago Bent and I were sitting on the footpath somewhere on MG Road in the late evening when he went into an phase of unusually energetic movement. He jumped up and started waving at a lithe boy shimmering past in faintly luminous trousers. P came over and was introduced. I had heard about P of course, who had not? P’s checkered history defied easy categorising. Was he self-destructive? Was he sad? Was he just blithely unaware of how boring people really are? P whispered and laughed to Bent and I watched fascinated.
He reached over and kissed Bent and I was aware of yellow butterflies streaming past my eyes. Then P left.
A while later…or was it right then…I don’t remember when but Bent told me that P had been fired from the call centre that he was working in. P told Bent that he thought it was because he had been taking a little more time than the company liked, to explain things to a customer who was mentally challenged. P added that his parents thought it was because he had gone to work one evening in a saree. I was awed.
Of course, P found other call centres to work in and I have not heard too many things about him in the recent past. Bent worries about him and giggles thinking about him and is still subject to his subtle charm even when he has not seen P in years.
Last week P, who is as elusive as the Eid moon and as pretty, called Bent and asked whether he knew a place where he could buy a nice fancy skirt. P indicated that Ethnic Day was coming up at the current call centre and he wanted to dress up.
Somewhere in this city is a lithe boy conquering it one call centre at a time.
