A surge streamed through my parched throat like raw electricity. Full bass. I run, holding firm the bandages in my hands.

None of us are all the way here anymore. Neither I nor him. And then there is the complication that, Sheela, is in love with him. My only friend. What a nightmare! And now he is dying I am sure. Where will she find such trouble again?

His mother once mentioned, “…Bhanu came out with a few fuses undone; but he has a very kind soul.”

What despair!

When I entered home, she was electric with excitement. Breathless. Panting. Glued into the projections of modern entertainment.

“Didi!”

“Shut the fuck up!” She screamed. “You left me! You asshole!”

She is angry.
Those cheated by myths,
Seethe in ignorance.
She is very angry.
Full with a puss of vile rage bandaged only with self control.

“Didi…he is dying!”

“Good. Let him die. He has not come to see me in weeks.” She turns, angrier. “He SHOULD die! And if he doesn’t, then I will make sure that he does!”

I sat next to her and handed her the bandages. “No, Didi. You need to go see him. He is really dying.”

—

I want to blame the man responsible for this. The bandage loving man who lived in the suburbs. Drove a sedan and dreamt of changing the world. A conventional human for the most part except that he devised a fascinatingly devious and yet, marketable idea — Solar panels as a sustainable energy solution.

On the surface it sounds amazing right? Long life, sustainable. Sun’s energy forever, et cetera, et cetera. Magnificent when you think of it.

But since my friend might be dead because of this complicated little lie; let me iron it out for you. Those things barely last fifteen to twenty years. They require massive amounts of water for their upkeep — which is diverted from other villages forcing people to move to the city — increasing the need for solar panels.

Round and round,
merry go round.
One makes money,
Another gasps, no sound.

Its a monumental fuck up of a proportion that can not be understood by you and I. For sure not I.

But on can only see the humour in this. This nearsighted-mediocre-solution-to-a-badly-bandaged-problem is that, these panels, after they are setup, and scrubbed, and repaired — are, very conveniently — discarded. And praise be to the mighty wisdom of these heralds of knowledge who roar the songs of development; none of these gentlemen thought of what would happen when these panels break — Excuse me? What?

Uhmm…It breaks and is sent to the Badlapur waste mountain. Few sights could match this heap of garbage, as it towers over us all.

But who am i do judge.

There used to be villages surrounding these parts. Villages, were villagers sowed and harvested guavas and wheat. The sweetest guavas. But with the growth of waste, came diseases. So the locals moved out leaving everything to the migrants who replaced the once fertile land with a mesh of shanties sandwiched between the solar farms on the one side and the mountain on the other. Separated only by a once watery river.

That ‘once watery river’, though now a trickle, shone with the washed photo voltaic cells. It was a cruel sight but the local panchayat made a bridge over the trickle for tourism. They call it ‘Shiny sunset river point bridge’.

Creative.

It’s’ a sensation. They even hold yoga classes in the morning as the sun splits into a million streaks of light on the surface of this toxic river. The Panchayat here has built a bridge over it.

I want to scream!

But hey, there is more. On this side of the river, where we live; live the people who work for the people who live on the other side of the river and can afford five hundred rupees to walk on a bridge over running waste while — Geographically, socially, economically and honestly speaking — Fuck you.

Oh shut up! Yes, I am a child. But. Anger incurs profanity.

The funny thing about the perseverance of life is that it moves just like that putrid river. It carries with it whatever experiences get dumped into it. And it moves. Even when standing still. And like the rivers meanderings; I too, move, to finally reach a point.

Which is that…

The sun scorches everything with equal disdain — Concrete, asbestos, steel, skin and flesh — Leaving only the poetry of life untouched.

With her poetic indifference; sits my sister, glued to the television watching her favourite cricket team struggle with their rivals. Nervous. Sweat streaming over her eyelashes, blurring her vision somewhat. Periodically her shoulders and upper arm move to clear her eyes in a robotic manoeuvre.

I mumble, “I am getting a very bad feeling.” My school bag hits the floor as my fingers reach the clay pot.

“AAH!” She voices her irritation, “I swear if they lose today, you are doing the dishes for the whole year!”

“Everything is not about your silly girls team!”

The clay lid rubs against my fingers with its damp coolness, its surface worn, its edges cracked; the insides ground against the metal ladle as I trembled in exhaustion and fear.

Water. Poured. Gulp. Gulp.

Drops slipped from the sides and evaporated immediately. Sheela’s eyes glance at me to check for marks on the floor.

“Have you heard from Bhanu?” 

Before I could reply, the electricity went out.

“Asshole! You did this!” She glared angrily, “You jinxed the bijlee. Now they are going to lose because of you!”

She gets up to hit me. But doesn’t.

Instead she steps out to the cloth wrapped tap next to our shanty. Furiously burning in the shade. Crouches next to the nala and turns the half broken tap instinctively. The metal singes the tips of her fingers. There was no water. So instead she dips her hand into the old paint bucket and pours cautiously over the pots while scrubbing soap; flies avoided her hands; her fingers feeling the shame of the scarred aluminium — shapeless, dented.

“No, I have not seen Bhanu. But I feel like something is wrong with him. You missing him?”

SMACK!! A wooden brush flies through the curtain and hits my back. Tempered words spring from her, “Hand that back!” As if nothing has happened. “We should go and check on him.” I was about to hand her the brush but she changed her mind, “You do the dishes.”

To her, Bhanu was a star — Five years in the 9th grade — He was the beacon of cool!

Just then a low rumble vibrated through the slums. “I wonder who won!” I mumble again as she looked toward the stadium; thousands of solar panels reflecting the sun’s wrath in her eyes.

“Someone!” She replies. Seething.

And then a — BAANNNGGGG!!!

My body took cover spontaneously. The asbestos above cracked a little; shook and releases a breath of dust. ‘Damn those drones!’

Sheela and I climb the sides hurriedly. A shiny drone lay dead on our roof. She was faster then me. Always.

“Let’s hide it.”

‘You should get back down’. A very ominous and threatening sound checks us right then. We are caught. 

“It’s ours!” Sheela protests grabbing the drone to her chest. I just stand there dumbstruck.

‘You should put it back down.’ The police spider cautions us menacingly.

“It’s ours!” She looked straight.

Before we realise what happened, the spider took the drone from her hands, leaving her wrists bleeding.

I jump to her, “Are you all right?”

“Shoo!” She takes out the brush from her back pocket, “Give it to me!” She says to the spider in a level voice. She is possessed. The electricity in her brain misfiring in the heat.

“Fuck off!” I sneered from between my oversized teeth and held Sheela by the shoulders. “NO!” And she just laughed. I feel she was proud of me.

The rage of ignorance simmers,
Anger burns people; within. 
But laughter,
Primitive laughter, save us.

She says to me, “Brand new panel haan! Would have been useful!” She sighs and continues, “Let’s go check on Bhanu today.”  

Whatever it meant to her tiny thirteen year old heart, she was definitely quaking beneath her ribs in love as she walked back in. A mosquito followed her. Even this tiny shanty looked meaningful, and hearty to her eyes when she thought of him. The clothes racked along with the utensils in the kitchen — the lack of a kitchen; it was all beautiful to her. It was home. It was a single room; but home. To these four people who called themselves family. A home with a single mattress on the floor. A broken floor.

Amma appeared through the curtain, “I am going back to work. Make dal and Sabji for dinner!” And just as abruptly, disappeared; throwing a thick bunch of newspaper wrapped rotis at us.

“Amma. There is no…” Sheela could not finish, “there in no water today.”

I bail before I am asked to get water from somewhere.

“Bastard!!” She definitely must have said.

Hopping from shade to shade I made my way in the maddening heat. There were no trees left in Badlapur but every other structure was two storied so there was shade here and there to jump into. The ground was melting my already thin slippers. I could smell it.

Whatever has happened to Bhanu though. He will definitely make up some random excuse as always. For a dumb person he is really smart with his excuses.

“Namaste Chacha ji,” I greet an old uncle. Everybody knows everybody. Though, no one wants to know anyone. “Oye! Kabootar. Where are you going?” He replies. Kabootar means pigeon just so you know. He called me a pigeon. So no reason to stop and chat with him.

I should buy bandages for Didi. Great idea.

Opposite the medical store was a mela ground, used for festival gatherings and weekly bazaars, but right now it was empty. ‘Not a grass on it’ kind of empty. Just a patch of dirt.

But behold, what do I see!

Bhanu, that ass, running round and round like a mad child, all but naked except for his shorts. His small limbs flailing against the hot air. His breathlessness is palpable.

“Oyeeee! Are bees chasing you?” I scream running toward him.

Bhanu’s face lights up. His eyes get smaller as his cheeks and brow clamp together.

“Yaar where the fuck have you been?” I enquire, “Didi asked about you a million times. She is in love with you. You should talk to her. You should come visit us. You can be Shah Rukh Khan and she can be Simran! And then you can both run away. Is that what you are practicing? Running?” I smile at myself.

Bhanu blushes. I know his dim witted heart can not understand love in any other way but that Shah Rukh Khan was certain it was real, and Salman Khan obviously fought for it. Bollywood love. It was other things. A lot of things. But if it was love or not was questionable.

“Have you left school or what?”

Suddenly Bhanu stiffened. He doesn’t intend on saying anything but words pour out of his mouth.

“Ma said that Bhaiya also wasted many years studying at the cost of her back and papa’s knees. For what? To work as a rickshaw puller? Doesn’t even make enough money to buy a set of batteries. So Ma and Pa said that I could stay at home and save the money. And soon Rajeev uncle will get me a job.”

There was frustration in his words. And anger; festering. “But I miss everyone.” He sad sadly.

I heard his words, but I knew he was lying. Bhanu’s face had sunk in. His skin had burnt. Not sun burnt. Just sagging as if melting from the inside. As if his bones were melting. “And why the fuck are you running in this heat?” I put my arm around him.

And — mother-fucking-fuck — BUZZZZZ!!! Shockkkk!

I find myself on the ground. Electrified. My skin tingling where it touched Bhanu. My jaw hurting.  

“What the FUCK!” I roar in pain. “Oh! This hurts. What is going on?!”

“Don’t touch me!” Bhanu screams, possessed.  

“What the fuck, Bhanu? Why is there electricity in you?”

There was also a mystery to him suddenly. As if the heat was not affecting him, rather feeding into him a strange energy. Scattered and emanating. As he stared as me, he seemed aloof, scary, and even, happy. There is a madness about him. More then usual. Burning hot through him.

“Let’s go home! You are burning!”

I tried to pull him but got shocked again. Straight to the ground. My palms burning. My thoughts scrambled. Confused.

“How is Sheela?” Bhanu was smiling, attempting to change the conversation. He was lying. May be out of fear of getting a thrashing from his father. Or worse, that his mother would get it on his behalf.

“Bhanu! Why you are acting crazy! What is going on?”

Bhanu did not want to tell me because he felt that if he did, I would go and tell the whole world — But also, I was his only friend — So fuck him!

“Why don’t you go home, Sunil. I will come see you and Sheela later.” 

“You fucking tell me, why you are running in this heat, you moron? And why are you so charged?”

“Bhai, I cant tell you.”

“Why?”

“Because…”

“Because?”

“…Because you will tell everyone. And Ma and I will get a beating.”

Oh! So it was true!

“What are you talking about? I promise on Salman Khan’s life; I will not tell anyone. I promise. Please tell me. When have I tattled on you?” 

“Ummm…Let me think…Always!”

“NEVER!”

“You told your pa and he told my pa that I said ‘I love you’ to Radha maam!”

“Arre! That was funny. But this is not!”

Bhanu stood there; unable to decide; I could see his confusion on that melting face. Wanting to open up. He was helpless. Even afraid, a rare sight in him. Bhanu was not afraid of anything.

He just kept staring. Behind his eyes, streams of lightening were pondering the different outcomes of what was to come if he shared what he so badly wanted to.

“I have been having electric dreams.” He finally said.

“What are you an android sheep?”

“Shut up! And…Promise you will not tell anyone.”

“Yes. Okay. Promise on Salman Khan yaar!”

“So,” Bhanu was still a little apprehensive, “it is a long story. The day before I stopped coming to school, my skin started tingling. A lot. Like a tense irritation. It itched and I could feel a mass of things under my skin. Papa told me that he would take me to the doctor but that evening I was changing the light bulb…and as soon as I held it in my hand. It came on.”

“What a?” I said. Still not understanding what was going on.

“I mean the bulb just turned on!”

“What do you mean?” Still not understanding.

“Oh fuck off! Let me finish…So I panicked,” he waits for me to react with some empathy. But I was familiar with his antics, so I didn’t know what was true and what was not.”

“Amma started crying. But Papa came home and they decided that we should not tell anyone.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Let me finish you fuck!…Then, over the next few days I got used to the fever. And though my heart was beating faster, I was feeling okay. I was able to eat. Then bhaiya had this amazing idea that I could help with the electricity bill, and also help him with his rickshaw by charging it. 

And so I am running here. The sun charges my energy so in the evening I can make the TV and bulbs work while didi cooks. I am helpful at home now. A very ominous and threatening sound checked us. Because I like being helpful, unlike you.”

“What are you fucking talking about?” I repeat in horror.

“Today bhaiya is getting a new battery for his rickshaw. I will help charge it for him and he will be able to have an electric rickshaw from tomorrow. Look at this divine plan, Sunil,” Bhanu pointed to himself, “I was born for a reason!”

I just kept staring at this divine plan in absolute disbelief, “Annddd…Mithun Chakraborty studied karate in Japan!!” I blurted, “Arre tell na! Why are you making things up yaar!?”

He was once again unsure, “Yaar, I should not be talking to you. This is a bad idea.”

“Okay, then Mr. Bijlee. Show me.”

Bhanu, shuffled on his feet. “Okay, let’s go home. But please. You can’t tell anyone.”

At home, to exaggerate the effect of what he was going to show me, he posed next to the television like an apsara. “Now hand me that bulb.”

I freak the fuck out. Legitimately.

“Now, hand me the plug.” Bhanu posed with a hand on his hip, his chin looking upward, standing in an S-curve. I gave him the plug for the television, and it turned on.

Now it was time to go ape shit. I am not sure how fast I ran, but run I did. Screaming, “Stay away from me you freak!”

And even as I dashed, I could tell behind me that his fears were kicking in. Nothing was going to keep me from babbling. It was panic time. His body starts heating, which made him dizzy. And thought he meant to rest. Instead went to sleep.

Even as I dashed, I couldn’t help but wonder — Bhanu is a lightbulb!

The END.