NOISE

Buffer the song and play it while you read, will you? Okay. Don't.

As the sound of namaz finds its way into his shelter, a yet mild, orange sun appears at a corner of the broken, dusty window and Manoj rubs his eyes. Its dawn and its time to wake up. Manoj rises from his makeshift bed, walks to the grimy old washbasin and patiently collects a little water in his hands as it struggles its way out. After washing his face, he bends down near the old box shelf, and takes out a kite he prepared yesterday, string tied and all ready.

For a year and a half now, he has found shelter in an old, abondaned battery room of the Indian Railways, at the head of Allahabad junction. His mother passed away a few days before he ran away from his uncle's house. Now, he lives in this old, beaten down abode, plain in architecture and layers of dust everywhere.

A cool, mild breeze meets him as he throws open the rickety door after a brief struggle with the brass latch. As he walks around the small building to the other side, he catches his reflection in a cracked, dustladen window pane- hair dishevelled, breeze playing with the kite he held in his hand. As he does everyday at daybreak, Manoj walks parallel to the rail tracks away from the station and towards the nearby railbridge on the Ganga.

He steadies himself as he walks across the railbridge, river flowing in a steady current below. Halfway across from where he intends to go on the bridge, he hears the whistle of a train rushing his way from the other side. He holds the kite close to his chest, turns somewhat away the track, eyes partially closed as the train rushes past with force, in a gust of noise.

Resuming his walk after the train has crossed, he reaches the spot on the bridge for today. There, he bends down, and carefully ties the kitestring to the truss base of the bridge, with sufficient string length on the kite for it to fly.

Later on, after he has made his way back across the bridge and down to the south bank of the river, he sits on one of the many ghats that dot the riverside and looks back up at the bridge towards the east. Soon, just like everyday, the sun will come up from behind the bridge. At that time, everyday, Manoj looks up hopefully across the length of the bridge, where everyday he ties a new kite. At this time, there are days when some of them take flight. Some are tangled up in their own strings. Still others are completely battered and bruised.

Searching for solace.