To be safely kept

Between the smoke, dust and the general winter fog that now envelopes Delhi, it is hard to tell where one is going. The early morning drive to the airport should have been full of the prettiness of dawn, but all that passed us by were indistinct neighborhoods and speeding traffic on unlit roads as I drove mostly by instinct hoping that I was indeed going where I thought I was going. We reached the airport sooner than we thought it would take to get from one end of the NCR to the other, but I will take a small mercy when I get it. Having dropped off my friend, soon I was on my way back on the same roads, looping back to head home. I drove and waited for signs of dawn: the uniform dark of the sky breaking into a palette of blues, the tell-tale lightening of the sky- nothing. Right-turn to Vasant Vihar, straight on outer ring-road all the way till the flyover past Okhla lets you exit on to Friends Colony and then Ashram. When I was waiting at the Ashram modh for the signal to let me turn right, the sky finally beginning to relent, I saw two hijras finishing their conversation to turn their attention to the cars waiting at the light. One of them headed straight to me, and tapped on my window. I usually never give money solicited like this, but I have no idea why I reached into my purse and pulled out a bunch of notes, lowered my window and held it out. S/he took it, reached into the car and placed both her hands firmly on top of my head and said “malik tujhe rakkhe,” before moving swiftly away. The lights turned green and I drove away too. But that momentary, unsolicited, presumptuous, compassionate contact touched me deeply and took me utterly by surprise. In that moment, an utter stranger who battles liminality daily, in measures I will never fully understand, gave away much more to me than I could give, and I took it for safekeeping; I took it to be safely kept. As if on cue, the morning became a misty grey. The drive on the DND over the Yamuna was as pretty as a dream. Mist caught like clouds in the rushes on the river bank held back a sleepy new year’s morning, as pink clouds, clear skies and a rising sun urged me on to the Expressway and to a brand new New Year’s day with an odd assurance that I will be safely kept.