Sermons on the Hill

Sermons on the Hill

 

“Gadho, you need a direction and not a bike to find someone!” Birinchi was at his sarcastic best when I shared the benign intention of purchasing a brand-new bike with a whopping forty-six thousand rupees. Nisim was sitting beside us and relishing the breath-taking view of the eastern part of the city shrouded by layers of thick early morning mist. In fact, sitting at the stairs of Geeta Mandir that was what all three of us were doing.

It was freaking cold at six in the morning, and it pierced our jackets, monkey caps, hand-gloves, jeans and shoes, like a million piercings by needles. Triple riding on motorbikes and scooters was banned in the city, but people still did it at insane hours, when the city police patrolling would be relaxed. The best, and perhaps the only insane hour, was daybreak. On the way, while we shivered from cold, Birinchi announced that in two weeks, he would also purchase a bike. His bowling skills had caught the attention of the pr