An Encounter

You know what is irritating? Living almost right next door to four, yes four, not one, not two, not three but four, banks without one working ATM. The machine is out of order. Sorry for the inconvenience. The machine is out of cash. Sorry for the inconvenience. If youre that sorry why dont you make the stupid things work, huh? Its enough to make you go insane! Now here I am moneyless, ATMless and in dire need of money. And where is the nearest ATM you ask? Why only a measly twenty minutes away! In no mood for walking all the way and I have never been much of a walker to tell you the truth I went to the corner of the road where the taxies are parked; their drivers, standing outside squatting on the ground looking at the passersby in hopes for potential customers. You know taxies, strangely, look like animals huddled together for warmth when they are parked close to each other. Animals with stickers of Londan transport, eagles and veiled women with blue eyes with the word Longing written beneath them in Urdu. Navigating the asphalt jungle with style! So anyway I start looking for a cab with the oldest driver. Old drivers usually, and this is not a general rule, charge you less out of some sort of paternal instinct. Not all of them though. Some of them know that you know that they are supposed to charge you less and rob you blind using the same paternal instinct and your idiotic reliance on that. Cabbies are so meta! But like I said it is not a general rule. I find this ancient cab driver, smoking a weary cigarette and listening to old Bollywood songs. His car a dirty a black, the seats hunched over through years of service, peanut shells on the car floor, a picture of a man dancing in black robes on the upper-right corner of the windscreen. Yup, the car stank of grandfather. I walk up to him, Hello; yes can you take me to that place? You can? Great! He talked clearly even with the cigarette in his mouth. Strangely awe-inspiring. There must be a gig for that sort of thing. See the amazing Cigarette-Mouth in person. Be amazed at his vocal ability! I tried to open the car door. It wouldnt budge. This door doesnt work. Get in the back. Gladly. The back door surprisingly works. I clamber in. The car smells strange; like claustrophobia. Now I just have to buddy up to him and I am inducted into the glorious world of discounted cab rides! Shallow? Small, you ask? A man has to live doesnt he? Especially a man that is eternally broke. A man that is moneyless the year round and in debt the rest.

But of course fate happens to be a backstabbing bitch! I should have known. His cellphone rang suddenly. Whenever cellphones ring you should know that something bad is going to happen. There is something very ominous about those devices; like a shiver down your spine or like the stares of strange, hostile strangers. Yup, some Jani guy wants him to come over immediately. But he has a passenger? Alright. I have no idea what he said after that because he took the cigarette out of his mouth. It was as if he had dismembered himself. The cigarette looked to me almost a part of his anatomy. I lost the ability to hear anything for a while. I remember getting out of the car. I remember the sun irritating my eyes. God, how long was I in there? He is saying something. I cannot comprehend his accent. Go to that car. I follow his finger. A black figure is walking towards me. I start walking towards him. As I get closer to him I strange, frightening truth dawn on me. That guy looks like me. No, he is me. He even walks like me. A viewer perpendicular to us would notice two mirror images heading towards one another. He is wearing black. Am I wearing black? No I am not. The closer I get to him the more I realize that we do not look a thing like each other. The fumes inside the cab must have made me hallucinate. What did I tell you about old drivers? Yes that is his car. Please. My feeling of relief soon turns to horror as an image of my quickly slimming wallet jumps to my mind and leaps for my throat. He is one of those young bastards (we are almost exactly the same age) that have to impress their parents or their employers and will suggest the most exorbitant prices because their cars are on petrol you see. His car is new, recently polished and is an eyesore. Where am I going? I speak. My voice is a strange whisper. But there are ATMs nearby are they not? Why would I go all this way if they were working? Did you factor that into your calculations, asshole? I, obviously, do not say this out loud. I smile a smile dipped in poison and sarcasm and tell him to go. I get into his shiny car and slam the door shut behind me. He wants a fight; he is going to get one. I will bargain the fuck out of him now. Lets drive! I look around. Green bangles have been firmly attached to the dashboard. I am filled with wonder. It is as if I have stumbled across a new species of animal. What? He gets in. My mood turns foul again. He rubs his hands and then touches the bangles. As he is doing it he looks at me as if expecting me to appreciate this gesture. As if we are sharing a secret. To me it feels like the punch line of a lousy joke.

Ignition! I look back. Cigarette-Mouth is gone and now so am I! So am I supposed to turn here? No, you are supposed to go straight. But isnt there a bank here? Even if there is one, I dont want to go there. But it will be closer. It doesnt accept my card. Happy? Thank you fate. Here I could be talking about how girls are spreading obscenity in universities with Cigarette-Mouth but here I am getting irritated by a smug directionally-challenged bastard! He drives hopefully all impulses of conservation having died within him. I start to look outside. The sun has just started to begin, what will be, its slow climb into darkness. Wait, how long have I been out? I try to recall the entire day. I cannot. It is as if the day had just started. It was if I had woken up without money and hunting for ATMs. It was as if... Do you like Imran Khan? See what I mean? Sorry. What? Imran Khan. You know...The singer. I am as indifferent to him as much as I hate you. Hes okay, I guess. Mind if I play some music? Sure. Go ahead. Imran Khan. Surprise. Surprise. Bass thunders from the speakers like a pissed-off God. I can feel the reverberations in my heart.

You know a cousin of mine went to his concert in Dubai and he says his voice is not actually like this. They remix it or something. His actual voice is like (he lets go of the steering wheel, puffs his cheeks, his hands raised in the air holding invisible light bulbs) really throaty. He mimics what his actual voice is like. Thanks to all my fans! He chuckles to himself. He is staring at the bangles again. I have started to think about something but I have no idea what it is. It is as if I am feeling myself think. Strangely I am feeling myself think of an image I once saw of a friends arm on Facebook. He had cut himself with a razor. Tiny red scars all over it like scared ants vying for space. Sometimes you just get angry (damn)! But bro shes not worth it. Just fack off that rabish! Please dont say anything about her. I wish I were dead. Plzzz keep quiute; I warned you about the bitch. Im coming over. We will discas this. She will diserved that! I had remained silent. What I wanted to say was uploading self mutilated pictures makes absolute sense dimwit. But he is so sensitive! Hes a Virgo you see... Whats wrong with me? Wait. Has he let go of the steering? No he hasnt. He is driving; staring straight ahead, humming to the tunes. Weve reached a roundabout. Left, left, left. The small building of the bank can now be seen. Look a monetary island surrounded by supermarkets and parking lots with snoozing cars and chatting people. And people entering stores and people exiting stores and people buying and people selling and people coming and people going and people with bags and people who beg and people who are sitting and people who are standing and people and people waiting and people staring and people idling and people in a hurry and people happy and people sad and people who have just been born and people who are dying and people who have not been born and people who have died and people present and people absent and people just people. Whoa. Went strangely out of track there. Why am I thinking like this? We stopped. The car shivers eagerly.

The place was deserted. Nothing to measure the emptiness with. The sun fighting a losing battle. I do not want to leave the car. He turns the music down. The feeble protests of a puny creature. He turns to look at me. Is this the bank? It is. Why would we come here if it wasnt? Yeah. This is the place. So do you have like a special card or something? Special card? Because the other banks wont accept it? Yeah um... Its not that special, I mean it kinda is but most of the ATMs were out of cash thats why we came here. So why didnt you stop at the other closer place? I have no idea. Why didnt I stop at the other place? I dont know. I like this place. I wanted to come here. He nods his head with an almost careless ease. I never noticed his tiny movements. They are mechanical; more out of habit than any conviction. Like a well trained animal. Its insane! Better get going before they run out of money too. Everybody laugh! His laugh is forced, short, a bark. I look at the bangles. They are glittering in the strange dusk light. As if they are dancing on the arm of a dancing girl. I leave the car and briskly walk to the ATM. There is something in that car. Ever notice how ATMs are basically tiny, air-conditioned coffins? Somebody is there before me. I wait not so patiently making my displeasure known by pacing back and forth then by playing a tune on the glass door. I can see a silhouette inside with no visible features. Hunched over; almost criminal. ATM doors make crooks out of everyone. I hate it when people take their time in ATMs. I have done it myself. Stood in front of the flow of the airconditioner, all sweaty and out of breath, and enjoyed, to my hearts content, the cheerful headaches of the sudden cold and the angry remonstrances of the people outside.

Finally the figure inside turns towards the door and I realize it is a woman. I can only see her eyes and I need not see anything else. Her eyes are obscene. Her walking in naked on me would not have the same effect. Ah yes madam; does the ATM have enough cash? Her eyes show a momentary indecision (she is undressing). Yes it does. Her eyes betray the smile that is splattered on her face. Suddenly I am struck dumb with horror. A sad horror. I feel that I can no longer walk. I stagger to one side. Her eyes turn to steel. She is now fully clothed and wrapped in shawls. My Venus is furry now. And I feel like I have murdered somebody or have been murdered. I feel like scream blue bloody murder. I feel like murder. The unfair wrenching of life from an unwilling unsuspecting future victim. The buildings have switched places; they are actively chasing one another. I am the sadness that grips your heart when you watch the sun set. I know, right? And suddenly its gone that feeling. So is Strip-Eyes. I enter the ATM and punch in the four-digit password with that slight feeling of confusion that youre going to get it wrong. I take my cash and my receipt and exit the coffin. It is dark outside. The sun has gone down. How long was I in there? I can see my cabbie arguing with a policeman. I run towards him. He motions for me to sit in the car. I do. He argues for a while, gesticulating wildly. The cop has his arm outstretched and a perpetual frown. Cabbies black clothes have blended in the dark. He looks like a face and hands hovering in space, not connected by anything. He is coming back visibly irritated. He enters the car angrily slamming the door behind him. Sisterfucker. The cop looks up like deer on TV when the sense their predator. Guess he heard. What the fuck did you just call me, you piece of shit? The driver feigns ignorance. His eyes have confusion, innocence and sly amusement rolled into one inexpressible emotion. What? What did you just say? Say it again!

I said Sisters brother. I was talking on the phone. Here see for yourself. Even I am convinced. The cop with confusion personified on his face tells us to go. He drives and after a while we burst out into synchronized, rehearsed laughter. Cops are so stupid. If I was talking on the phone how did I know what he was talking about? I fucking hate cops. Now? Why? He excitedly shifts in his seat. There was this one time I was with this friend right? We went to pick his girlfriend right? And its just the two of us. So these cops stop us and say, Wh y have your windows been blacked out? And I go because I do not like the sunlight. They only stop the small cars for shit like this. I have seen big Pajeros with complete black windows pass by police check-posts easily. So anyway he, the cop, starts to look inside my car; his neck craned in checking out the backseat. And I say to myself, Yeah check all you want. No chicks here. Sorry to disappoint you! Then he tells us to get out and he checks the car all over. Then he tells us to get these windows fixed and we are on our way. Thats when I check my glove compartment and find the money, a good 2000, gone! I turn the car around and ask them have they seen my money. And they are all indignant... How dare you doubt my integrity? You think I stole money from you? Yeah exactly. So they are all angry and tell me to get lost. Went home really pissed off. And you know how parents are. You dont give them money once or less and they go all stormy on you. He shook his head in the same mechanical way. I hate cops. In slightly more visible conditions I would have seen that he was looking at the bangles. So whats your name?

I mumble it feebly. Hey, do you by any chance go to that college on 6th Road? I think I saw you there once. No I dont. Its a pretty awesome place. I heard they have ACs in the classrooms and heaters in the winter. I feel sad. Desolate. I miss Cigarette-Mouth. I miss Strip-Eyes. I miss everyone. A parade of acquaintances pass before my eyes, marching to an alien tune. I miss every single one of them. He cranks up the music again. I want to yell to him to turn it down. To talk to me. I want to strangle Imran Khan. He stops near the taxi stand. I tell him to drive me all the way to my home. I tell him the address. What does he look like? I cannot tell in the dark and I wasnt paying attention in the light. Outside the headlights of passing cars look like hovering lanterns. The sky looks like a faded old photograph. The people like blurry shades. All disjointed pieces forming a barely perceptible whole. My house is here. He stops. He touches the roof and a bright light lights up the car. I am momentarily blinded by the dancing girls waving. I reach for my wallet. You know. Its okay. Let it be. Youre a friend. I give him more than a planned to do so. Much, much more. I get out of the car. He has turned the light off. Everything is dark again the night barely illuminated by the moon. I enter my home. I turn to look at the car and I know he is looking at me. I know I will always regret not asking his name. For I know we will never meet again.

I watch his car drive into the darkness. I feel as if Im a whole lot poorer and a whole lot richer. I feel as if I lost a friend. And a lot of money.