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Red Earth and Pouring Rain

The early morning sun makes its way through every nook and cranny of the house and it makes a small pool on the floor. The dust rises slowly and begins heading towards the calling of the rays. The mullah chants Allah ho Akbar into the microphone and the finches scatter from around the mosque. They return when everything turns quiet, till the next call reverberates through the loud speaker. Closer to home, the newspaper boy cycles down the street and flings the morning daily across the street, past the gates, and into the house. The summer heat has engulfed the whole of Daulatganj in a murky yellow haze. The red-tiled roof tops slowly merge with the white kurtas and linens hanging on the clothes line.

Daulatganj exists in a world of its own; laid back, small and relatively unknown to the world outside. It is predominantly a Hindu and Muslim community. The Daulatganj water and sewage board workers are out cleaning and picking trash from the streets. The DWSB lady is bent over, one arm holding a broom and the other rested on her back. In swift uniform strokes she sweeps the street. Slow rhythmic chants of Hindu prayers are heard over loud, clanging bells and gongs.

My brother John wakes up and looks out of the bedroom window. He smiles at something. I'm awake and watch him for a few minutes and get up from my bed and sit on his. On the street, the milkman carries three huge cans and cycles towards different homes. A vegetable seller balances a big round basket of vegetables on his head. The collision is inevitable. The vegetable man unawares of the milkman cycling behind him walks, then stops, enticing people to buy his produce. He changes direction every time he moves. The milk man pedals and makes conversation with people on the street not realizing the impending catastrophe. The milkman has his head turned in conversation when there is a sudden screech.

He has just crashed into the vegetable man and the basket falls to the ground. Red ripe tomatoes, big mud covered potatoes, green leafy spinach, beans, and lady fingers roll out and scatter on the street. John is laughing and so am I. The men yell and scream at each other. John turns to me: "I knew that was going to happen". He's still in splits about the whole episode. "Shikha, let's go downstairs or mom's going to come get us". Both of us didn't want that. If she came up then it meant that we'd have to clean our rooms. Time off from school was meant for more than just cleaning our

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