Best Friend
He was a common sight there. The legless beggar, his aluminum bowl, his crutches, the ragged wooden stick (to keep unruly children and dogs at bay) and the brown dog, pale pink skin (with powdery white on the edges) showing where the hair had fallen off, bitten off, who knows. Every morning, like the sun, this man and animal pair would slowly walk the long (for the legless beggar) walk from the slum dwelling ten minutes away from here. Here was a junction. Spices met textiles and became friends with cosmetics, wheat and rice were neighbors and there was the medicine shop. Men and women, walked up and down the shops, children stopped by at the cycle repair shop, getting their wheels blown for a rupee, while pretty adolescent girls could get it done for free. They would ride away with a scorn mingled with a flattered smile – some boy liked them, even if it were the shabby, smelling of grease (and sweat) cycle shop boy. Their lists began thus. In the midst of all this, sat the old beggar