Rohit Shankar
Jul 10, 2017 · 3 min read

Pebbles in the street.

The tall lean man loosened his tie, gasping inwardly at the sultry sea damp sea air that hit him as he climbed down the stairs. He’d never had to worry about space or people bumping into him in the crowded streets outside his building. The sharp suit, designer glasses and smooth shave exuded the appearance of affluence. The smell of money. Or ck one as his credit card bills reminded him. His eyes didn’t focus on anything as the swelling crowd naturally parted around him, making its way like a stream around an obstinate rock. His head unusually empty, he began to walk.

The ring of a coin dropping into the tin bowl reminded the boy of where he was and who he was. He hated it. He’d often sneak off into the little alcove of the giant bank of india building in the old fort area, with his tin bowl sticking just far enough out onto the footpath to be noticed but not so far as to get mistakenly kicked. Slouched in his position, half sitting and half sprawled the young boy kept himself occupied, as children do, with the odds and ends that fluttered and rolled and clattered down the footpath. A mass of debris invisible to the hurried feet that pushed it in it’s way around the city. Over his long life of 6 years on these streets, he’d collected his favorite bits, shined lapel pins, buttons, thimbles and a toy car with no wheels. He’d even collected an enviable set of smooth pebbles over the years that he kept tied to his slender waist in a small velvet pouch with the logo of a swan upon it.

The click of the stones, smooth and sharp against each other contrasted for an instant with the traffic and the hum of the crowds. He knew that sound. Wondering if it was that new electric sedan his colleague had been telling him about, his eyes scanned the street. Apart from a shiny sedan that looked slightly like his, he could spot nothing new. Just as he was about to push the thought back into the random recess of his mind, there it was. A smooth sharp crack.

His feet found their way across the ruined temple tiles and deftly jumped over the remnants of an elephant sculpture in the ancient hampi style. His shorts bulged, his granny’s murrukus in one pocket and a pouch that cracked as he ran in the other. Whoops of joy greeted him as he ran towards his friends, already playing beside the temple pond. This was why he loved summer vacations. No more homework, school and the big city.

Tears streaked down his cheek, onto his starched shirt and perfectly matched tie. He’d come so far. A lifetime of sacrifice and work. He’d been consistent. Engineering, management, a job, a promotion and here he was, a young captain in India’s vast economic army. The life brought with it all its perks. Yet in one afternoon, over in bad call on advice he’d known was right, he’d lost it all. In a flash the dreams of being the hallowed principal, those hints dropped over countless drinks, endless nights before the neon glare of his laptop, had vanished. Yet he finally recognized the sound.

He knelt down, placing his slim wallet into the bowl and gestured to the boy. After a moment’s hesitation, the child smiled brightly, withdrawing from his precious pouch his entire treasure. There they sat, man and boy, throwing up a pebble and grabbing as many as they could before catching the first again. Neither cared for the wallet or the smirks on the faces that passed them. All they heard was the smooth sharp crack of stone against stone.

Rohit Shankar

Written by

Closet writer, courtroom lawyer.