Fiction: A chain of bizarre events is set in motion as a funeral procession collides with a scooter
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The funeral procession had started out. It was a small one, a poor one. A young man was at its head, cradling a small corpse, holding it parallel to the Earth. The corpse was wrapped in a new white cloth. This was anointed with haldi-koonkoo and bore a small garland. The young father’s clothes were dirty, betraying his poverty. Clutching the young father, an old man tottered after him. He had only one eye, the right one; the left one was completely shut. As the old one-eyed man tottered along, he turned his head constantly, looking from left to right. He was followed by ten other men. Their clothes were also dirty, betraying their poverty. Bringing up the rear were two young men. Their clothes had been ironed seven or eight days earlier and had been in constant use since. The starched smoothness was long gone but the folds remained. The funeral procession turned into a narrow lane. On either side, were the rear-ends of big houses, bungalows and the city’s fabl’d waadaas. If a house or two faced the lane, their doors were closed.
It was 2 pm. It was hot. No one was around. And the poor funeral procession...