A Bowl of Elusive

If you reach a certain address at the Greenfield School Lane in Sambalpur, Odisha, you’ll come across a big green walled house. That’s my house. My permanent residence. Even though I haven’t lived there for over twelve years now. The earliest memories I have of this house is from 1996 or 1997 when I would come here for the holidays. It was my grandparents’ place back then. And my father would get me here whenever he could. Of course, I’d been here before but that’s only as far as I can remember. I loved coming here because it was a break from my otherwise troublesome life.  And I remember the house being very different from how it is now. The architecture didn’t change but the house’s identity did. For example, when my grandfather was around, the central hall always had this smell of Colgate tooth powder that he used to clean his dentures with and even now, that smell invariably reminds me of him. And the kitchen used to be my grandmother’s kingdom. The kitchen, with walls c

The streets are merciless and they teach you the most brutal lessons. Chotu had no family, no relatives and he grew up in the arms of the streets of Mumbai. Chotu was a pickpocket, a thief, a grifter and anything else required to survive on the streets, all alone. He'd been in schools as a child and had picked up languages and enough education to pass off as a gentleman, something he knew he wasn't. But life was a big pretence for Chotu and he didn't mind being a little different from the street urchins he grew up with. He had friends who'd come up with ideas for scams and cons and he'd plan them out and run them, taking advantage of his innate charm, often conning people of thousands of rupees. After every scam, he'd leave the town for a new one. It was healthy that way, because he hated the troubles his cons created for people and he had to run away from them. His last job hadn't gone that well and Chotu now found himself hiding out in a quaint litt