How they got their names

He never had a name. Neither an address, nor a shadow. The silent ghost who walked the lane disturbed none. In the mornings, he would walk the length of the busy lane lined with shady trees, or sit beside one of them, watching the activity about.

He was invisible to many, but for those among them who had time on their hands - and perhaps a watchful eye - like myself, he was a strange and curious sight: an exotic yellow staff, ill-fitting tattered clothes that could have belonged to many, long grey locks and a beard that refused to grow beyond a long spiny stubble.

And yet, he was a regular at the wayside tea shop I frequented. He seemed to have money (a friend had seen a wad of notes in his possession), and bought biscuits too. Perhaps he adored a life of no belonging. This, I repeated to Hamsa one day over a cup of tea, while philosophising about how he expected nothing from the world around him. That he connected to none, and none to him, seemed other-worldly, fantastical, I rambled.

He, on the other hand, stared into the world around him, and not into space, from a perch.

****

It was perhaps a couple of weeks old. We found it scampering about, close to the small shops that lined the road. The evening crowd of executives walked about with their smoke and chai, while Pup tried avoiding their sharp comments and blunt limbs. Callous cars scared him, and so did the voices in the air.   

Reminded of mine own at home, the darling of my parents and visiting friends alike, and brimming with pity at the little one that had no guardian, I ventured to feed him the cheap biscuits that would go well with our daily chai. He bounced away, refused my entreaty of friendship, my extension of love, but did eventually come around.

And then as I placed the biscuits on a newspaper that had screamed days ago, and broke them down for Pup to nibble, a dirty calloused hand moved swiftly across and placed another couple of the cheap bakes. It was indeed him. After a couple of bites, Pup darted across to him, and hid behind his ankle-length olive trousers. That’s where we left them.