Short Story

"When the power of love overcomes the love of power, the world will know peace." -Anon

The Mumbai stench seemed to hit before they even landed the airplane. Anna’s eyes widened at the viewing portal, struggling to comprehend what she was seeing.

“There are around a hundred thousand families there,” her Aunt Gladys sniffed, accepting a scented hand wipe from the smiling air hostess. “They’ve encroached on over three hundred acres of airport land – can you imagine!” she wiped the grease from the packaged chicken meal from her hands.

The cocktail scent of alien spices outside of the airplane was intoxicating, like nothing Anna had ever come into contact with before. Her head reeled in the dizzying heat. What was that smell?

“It gets down your throat, doesn’t it?” Aunt Gladys waved her head in the direction of the shanty huts leaning against each other against the airport railings. “Poverty.” She retrieved a pair of gloves from her pocket, warning Anna to be careful what she touched. The city was dirty. She didn’t want to pick anything up on her hands.

A small man in a white cotton shirt greeted the pair with an enormous smile, his white teeth glistening against his dark skin. He took Aunt Gladys by the hand and escorted them to the taxi, explaining that he had been sent from the New-Life Lokhandwala Christian Church to welcome them.    

“The children are so keen to start their English lessons with you, Miss Anna,” he said rocking his head – an Indian gesture Aunt Gladys had said means ‘I mean you no harm’. Anna smiled politely, habitually checking her nails for new formed specs of dirt.

The taxi stopped outside a large white building, and the man wiggled his head at the driver and uttered “Dhanyavad” before helping Aunt Gladys out of the car.  Anna had already exited and was standing stock still, staring at the child’s torso in front of her; propped against a skateboard, a bowl for spare change placed in front of him, the body mutilated, the arms and legs removed.

“Quickly, Anna, come inside,” directed her host, ashamed of the sight. Flustered, Anna reached into her pocket to offer change to the bowl, feeling the enormous swell of guilt at her own disgust. “No, Miss Anna… we don’t give them money!” warned the man, his hands flailing wildly. “They are from a low caste, a Hindu caste – means they have been bad in a previous life.” Aunt Gladys averted her eyes and entered into the hotel.

“Well, what does he expect,” She removed her gloves and ordered a nearby waiter to bring a fresh pot of chai to her room; wishing to freshen up after the exhausting plane journey.

“He doesn’t even have hands to pray.”

**** Please offer your thoughts and feedback to me on this piece, not sure quite how it sounds, word count is purposely limited! *********