This afternoon

Here's my attempt at a novel topic, some three years ago. I never got round to writing it properly.

This afternoon, as I walked home from school
- I passed a bicycle repair shop, a lad poked his tongue out at the owner in triumph, and danced a victory jig. I wondered what had happened.
- I caught the eye of the man, he looked at me strangely.


This afternoon, as I walked home from school
- I turned into the little shortcut, a bullock cart approached from the opp. direction. The bell tinkled, and as it approached, I also heard the rhythmic toc toc toc of the wheels of the rustic blue cart. The driver hit his whip lazily.
- I caught the eye of the man, he looked at me strangely.

This afternoon, as I walked home from school
- a man was painting a little statuette (plaster of paris) of Mother India, by him were several more: some prettily coloured and other figurines equally graceful waiting for their turn.
- He caught me staring, and as he looked askance at me. I shrugged and continued my way


This afternoon, as I walked home from school
- A little warbler began a song, I stared at it. Beak parted, throat swelling, creating little notes woven together with joy.
- It caught me at it, no, it did not look at me strangely. Merely tossed its golden head and flew off.

This afternoon, as I walked home from school
- My own soft melody was interrupted by more jovial tunes, they were quickly established as from a loudspeaker on a little cart. I got no glimpse of its driver; I was distracted by the girl who rode it. Her faded ‘lehenga’ sharply in contrast with the bright flower in her hair, indeed, the bright smile on her face.
- She looked at me that instant. I beamed and quickly averted my face. When I looked up again, there seemed to be a problem, the cart wouldn’t move. She got down, pushed it over the pothole, then with the same effortless grace, swung herself back up into the cart.
- I stared until it took a turn, then continued my way

This afternoon, as I walked home from school
- I saw three girls grouped over a book, under the freckled shade of the old pepal tree. They were struggling over it, probably a piece of homework, the pencil moved uncertainly from one line to another.
- I felt an urge to approach them, to help them with it. Then ruefully wondered what they would think of my attempts- I was not very good with their language.
- I walked on.