Scene in Hy Cactus

EXT: Joshua walks towards a dingy building just off Hill Road. It’s the middle of the night. Dogs growl and prowl. Cats slink off and rats are quite active on the street. Heaps of garbage piled on the sides. A dusty bike tied to a cycle tied to an auto tied to a car that hasn’t moved since independence. Joshua lights up a cigarette. Checks his phone.

Message from his landlord: “Rent?! pLS. pay by wknd.”

Message from his school friend, Brett: “New digs! Come!”

Josh clicks on image of the thumbnail. Large room. He can see some grey-green mountains beyond Brett. Sofas. Plural. Joshua smiles.

Josh has reached the building. The name “Hy Cactus” is almost scraped off. (No one knows what Hy stands for.) Paint peels off.

INT: Joshua enters the building. Very narrow staircase – the width of a sitting cat. Faint smell of urine. Josh covers his nose. Scratches, vulgar drawings on the wall. Josh reaches the second floor. He’s nervous. Has started sweating a little.

Takes out his keys from his pocket. Fumbles with them. Opens the door. Hears grunts, croaks, garbled sounds. Joshua tries to avoid looking while hurriedly taking his sneakers off. Too tight so he bends down to quickly untie his laces. He really wants to avoid seeing what is going on in the living room.

“Your dinner is on the table. Don’t waste it.”, he hears his landlord’s gruff voice. “Sit and eat.”

Joshua: “I’ll take it to my room.”

Grabs his plate and a spoon. In the rush, the spoon falls to the floor. As picks up, he quickly glances at the woman pinned against the wall. Faded green cotton saree. Mismatched blue blouse. Greying hair but beautiful. Right now trying to fight the large, sweaty man who has his hands around her neck.

Joshua picks his plate and gets inside his room. Small room but very tidy. A single cot near a window with rusted grills.

Tries to latch it with his free hand. Can’t. Latch is broken. Sits on the bed. Eats with tears running down his face. Hears grunts, croaks, and garbled sounds.

Fumbles to get his phone out. Accesses his netbanking app. Transfers 20,000 bucks. Hears a ping outside. Someone’s phone got a message.

Croaks, grunts, garbled sounds stop.

Takes his phone. Goes to the landlord’s message.

Replies to the message: “Rent?! pLS. pay by wknd.”

Types: “Paid, dad.”