The Gang

They were not from broken families. They could even be considered privileged. Sure they had their troubles. John’s father was a violent drunk whenever he was home. Shekhar’s mother was perpetually sick. Salim was not sure of his sexuality and that was a problem then, in the late eighties.

On a Thursday, they bunked school after lunch, watched a sleazy movie, giggled at the lovers, rent-boys and hookers in the movie-hall. A pimp got hot and bothered. The three eighteen year olds managed to look intimidating. John knew a place near the beach where they could get a joint. Around nine, they were lying on the beach, comfortably numb.

A car stopped. A neat, decent looking man of about forty got out. His full-sleeved shirt, well-ironed pleated formal pants and polished black shoes indicated a successful professional. He stood erect and stared at the frothing sea.

The gang of three decided to have some fun. They moved towards the man. John brought out his switchblade. Shekhar carried an umbrella with the pointed end held like a sword. Salim snarled, ‘Let’s scare the shit out of him.’

When they were near the man, Shekhar said to him, ‘Don’t move or we will cut you down.’

The man turned to face them.

John waved the switchblade threateningly.

The man stepped towards him.

‘Stay away,’ John threatened, his voice faltering. The other two stood uncertain of what to do.

The man was just a foot away from John. He reached out for the hand that held the knife. Before John could pull away, the man pulled John’s hand towards him. John could feel the knife going into the man’s flesh. Even though it was dark, he could see the blood spurt out. John let go of the knife.

The man’s right hand held onto the knife. He raised his left to John’s head, holding the back of the neck, brought their foreheads together.

‘Don’t worry, my son.’

The man let go of John after saying that. He turned and walked towards the sea, the knife still in him.

The three boys watched him walk into the rough sea. They lost sight of him when he was waist deep in the water.

The gang got on their bicycles and sped back home. The next day and the next, they searched the papers. There was no mention of the man. They did not tell anyone. John did not mind his father’s violent temper from that day. He remembered the man who called him ‘my son’. The three boys did well in life.

Salim met the man many years later at a job interview. He did not get the job, and that was not because of the old incident, he just did not fit the job specifications. Salim waited till all the interviews were over. The man took Salim to his office.

‘It was just a flesh wound, luckily. What a crazy night that was, right?’ the man said.

‘We thought you drowned yourself,’ Salim said.

‘I tried. I chickened out. Or rather, the first gulp of water brought me to my senses. Not before it was too late, luckily.’

‘But why…?’

‘Why did you three boys behave that way that day?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Same here…’