Russian Circus at 4:30

Pranit Jankoli
Aug 26, 2017 · 4 min read

The game continued, even as he fell. Akku groaned as his face smashed against the newly laid concrete. A long bruise formed on his cheek, but when he looked up, an apology was ready at his lips. An old withered face glared down at him as he bleed silently “Look where you’re going you dirty rascal!” Akku slowly clambered to his feet, head bowed in embarrassment, as well as his instincts to hide his face kicking in. Being unable to pin the blame on him would only work in his favor. Past punishments had taught him that much at least.

While he scurried away, he looked over his shoulder and the intensity of the glare had not diminished by the slightest. Two cataract impaired brown eyes, crowned by bright white hair stared right back at him. A bony, claw like hand curled over an old walking stick.

Days passed. Akku avoided the alley where had the encounter. But as luck would have it, his Sunday routine had included a new street since last week. The shop gave him breakfast and lunch for picking up the laundry from the neighborhood, plus any chai that the owner forgot to drink. In his eyes, deals could not get better. That was only till the D’Souza’s got a new dog. A snarling, feral little beast it was.

Resigned to his fate, Akku chose the narrow alley. Half a dozen unused bricks had been strewn about the road, so that you could hop from one to the other and not step in muck. Juggling a sack of clothes, and nearly at the end, Akku paused and turned. The window of the house next to the alley had been opened. A TV was switched on, an old blurry CRT model, and Doordarshan, the national public service channel was on.

A poorly edited video of a Russian circus was being played, probably a remnant of many decades ago when a new nation was being courted by the USSR during the Cold War. Akku stood there and watched in amazement at the show, till the very end when it was replaced by a badly out of tune song about farmers and soil and such. He was thrashed that day for being late and curled to sleep in his usual spot without any food, but he dreamt of the circus.

The next day, he went back.

Over the next few days, he collected bricks and stacked them closer to the window, his own personal viewing gallery. He thanked his stars that the Window remained open. When he tried to mimic the stunts the next day in front of all the kids, they clapped and cheered. He played cricket with the apartment boys for hours that day, chasing after every ball that they sent to the gutters gleefully. He had his own fan club, in his mind.

The rains had made the bricks wet and soggy, so he ran around trying to steal plastic tarps. On more than a few occasions, he thought he saw an old withered face peering at him from inside the house. He never had to collect laundry from the house, his boss said “Where’s that old hag going to go anyway?” And guffawed loudly through paan stained teeth. Even the newspaper delivery boys rarely bothered to leave the copy of the Times at the doorstep. Akku was confused. During one rainy day, he found a hot plate of plain poha left at the window sill. He licked the plate clean within minutes. The next day the poha had peas in it.

The Christian bakery across the street was the first shop to open in the morning. He was rarely up at the time, unless they needed an extra hand, especially during Christmas. And this year they did. As he loaded the rich, creamy cakes into the display, he felt a shadow looming over him. The same old lady from many weeks ago! But this time she was not angry. “Two bun paavs” She croaked, simpering down at him and then added “And any cake that the boy wants….” The shopkeeper grumbled about what a waste of cake it was, but Akku was thrilled. The lady looked back and smiled, her shrivelled grasping her four pronged walking stick. One of the rubber soles of the stick had been replaced by a tennis ball. Before the day was up, all the tennis balls that were stuck on the temple roof had been packed into a plastic bag and left at her doorstep. Along with a newspaper.

Akku began leaving newspapers at the Window, any and all he could find. He couldn’t read to tell if it was today’s, but he could tell from the crispness of the paper. The same paper would be used the next day to leave him treats. The lady never spoke to him again but peeked at him on occasion from behind the curtains, flashing a surprisingly toothy smile.

The show never wavered from its over the top theatrics, and Akku became even better at mimicking what he saw. They even let him perform at the festival celebrations, and he did, dressed in the best clothes he had. His chappals were a gift from the Window. All the kids cheered their scruffy little hero.

One day the Window remained shut. 4:35, 4:45, 5:10, 6 pm. Akku sat there till the sun went down, but the Window would not open. The next day, a large truck arrived at men began loading stuff into it from the house. Akku watched the TV tossed into the back, as it drove off. There was no more Russian Circus at 4:30.

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