Tuesday, April 14, 2009

Mumbai freeze-frame: Homicide

8. Homicide

He tossed and turned, burying his face deep in the pillow only to come up for air when he absolutely couldn’t breathe anymore. He checked for messages again on his phone, got off the bed and looked in the mirror for a sign - some sign, any sign. He tried turning on the study table light and then switched it off again when his head began to throb. A long wash then in the basin, throwing the water all over his face and rubbing the soap deep into his cheeks. When he walked back into the room, he checked his phone again and was now positively, irrevocably sure why she hadn’t called. He walked out of the house, hailed a rickshaw, climbed off after thirty minutes, nodded to the watchman standing at the the entrance to the lifts and the staircase, ran up the five floors and rang the bell. When she opened the door a minute later, sleepy-eyed and clad only in her thin translucent nightie, he looked past her and could barely make out the sleeping naked form of the man in her bed, through the open door in the bedroom beyond.

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