Typical Sanjeev

            It smells like cigarette butts, cheap booze, and forbidden chemicals. It sounds like dragging feet, loose change, and radio static. And underneath all that, tucked away under layers of backpacks, tattered clothes, plastic bags, matchboxes, and dull colors is a faint suggestion of a human being. Such is the transient life. Transients are rock-solid members of a new group of unknowns every other day.

These boys spoke Hindi with a thick Bihari accent, harder to understand, especially for a nonnative like me. That was not good news. Not because of the accent, but because of the tainted reputation of the people who migrated from that part of India to the metropolis. I was sixteen. They were around twenty. I was an Iranian immigrant, rendered homeless by circumstance, with no family, and no real friends. They were immigrants from another state, shunned by their families, and wanted by the law.

         “It’s got to be a small guy. We don’t want to pull over a car and then have to put up with a struggle. We need someone who would be afraid and cooperate. We take his car, his money, and we let him loose.” 

         I heard those words clearly but I was indifferent. The painkillers, as well as what seemed to be an eternity of cold street-food, loneliness, and surely a lack of sleep had made me numb.

         “Hey, Videshi! (Foreigner),” one of the guys called out. “Have you ever seen any action? Stole a car? Robbed a house?”

I didn’t respond.

         “I think you need some water, yaar! You look dehydrated.” I nodded in agreement. “This dirt patch will be over soon, right?”

“Yeah,” I replied, “there is going to be sidewalks soon. There are a bunch of shops there.”

The street began its descent down the hill. I perspired heavily but the beating sun dried the drops almost instantaneously. Through the cracks dirt was seeping between my toes and chafing my feet. I had to lift one leg a little higher than the other to avoid tripping over the loosely held sole of my shoe. But as a drifter I made sure the rubber stayed intact as long as I could, or else the earth would fry my feet. Everyone knew that! None of us had any money. I was afraid they seldom let that stop them. I really hoped to run into a few old acquaintances.

“Videshi, you have so many fancy rings and chains. They are really nice.” He was looking at me just like a vulture looks for weakness.



“Yeah, I have a lot. That’s because I haven’t let anyone take them. And don’t intend to change that.”



He laughed, “Of course.”

The shops got into view and we were there shortly. The boys were already looking around for mischief. I knew the area better than anyone, so they followed me to a shaded part next to the sidewalk where a crowed usually gathered. I saw a few familiar faces but they didn’t recognize me. We were in front of an internet café, one that I knew too well. I regretted drifting there; I had brought trouble with me.

“Ozhan,” Said a familiar voice from atop the stairs of the café, “what…has happened to you?” It was the owner of the café, tall, muscular, square shoulders, jean jacket and pants, tight T-shirt, and polished boots. Sanjeev had a commanding physique and a commanding personality. I knew that. After all, I used to work for the man. He looked disturbed, maybe even angry.

         “Nothing Sanjeev, I just want some water and-”

         “Let’s talk inside.” I gestured for the guys to wait outside as he nabbed me by the arm, dragged me into the shop, and shoved me into the storage area.

         “What happened to you? Do you know those guys? They look like trouble.”

“They are fine. Now, all I need is some water and food and we will be on our way. No trouble.” He scanned me over with disgust, then held me by the collar and pushed me up against the wall.

“Let me go Sanjeev, I warn you.” But his grip only got tighter, lifting me slightly off the ground. I decided to remain compliant. He then proceeded to snatch the rings off my fingers. It must have hurt at the time but I had too many chemicals in my system to feel anything. Then he violently ripped the chains from my neck. I was terrified.

“You stay right here. Get it?” I nodded dreadfully. I saw him leave the shop and approach the boys outside. There was some back and forth, then he handed them all my jewelry and shoed them away. I suddenly felt very tired, slowly drifted to the floor, and fell asleep.

I woke up too comfortably, to the smell of incense and garlic. At first I thought I was in the hospital. But then I looked around the room: tile floors, white walls dotted with family pictures, and a statue of Ganesh in the corner holding lit incense. It had been years since I found myself on a bed and a mattress. I sat upright on the bed as a woman appeared into the room, with a tray in her hands. I think I startled her, but she didn’t want to show it.

“I made you breakfast. Should I set it on the bed?”

“Oh, yeah…sure…thanks.” I was still dazed. “Where am I?”

“I am Sanjeev’s wife. He brought you home last night. You were not well. He is at work right now. But has instructed me to make sure you don’t leave.”

I was half way through the food. “Food like this…” I swallowed, “I am not going anywhere.”

She smiled. I smiled.

         For a week I was not allowed to leave. I would see Sanjeev at nights. He didn’t think much of pleasantries, so we rarely made any exchange. I ate good food, slept comfortably, showered, stayed clean from painkillers, and showered some more. And on the eighth day I was allowed to leave. He never smiled, never gave me a chance to thank him, and not once did he shake my hand, just good bye; typical Sanjeev.