On a normal day, it took Vikki seven minutes to cycle back home after school.
Today, he had taken twenty minutes just for half the distance.
Chandu Uncle, from behind the billing counter of Chandu and Sons Tiffin and Condiments, was the first to suspect that something was wrong.
At first, when he saw Vikki wheeling his cycle along meticulously slowly, he hoped for a profitable and not exactly rare visit from the boy and his famous high-school boy appetite. “Ah!” he thought. “Vikki’s not cycling at the speed of sound for once,” he thought. “I’m glad we just made a fresh round of samosas,” he thought. “Here he comes!” he thought.
But the boy walked past without as much as a wistful sniff at the newly baked cakes or a stolen glance at the freshly fried samosas.
Chandu and all Sons of the establishment were set to be attacked by panic at this undisguised display of disinterest and apparent customer dissatisfaction. But then they noticed the downcast eyes, the trudging steps, the frequent and rather loud sighs, the glumness etc and they were relieved. “Ah, there must be something wrong,” Chandu thought. In fact, if the proud owner of Chandu and Sons Tiffin and Condiments was to later recount the tale, he would have sworn to have seen a menacingly grey cloud ominously following the boy.
Which is odd, considering that it was a particularly sunny day, with the sun bearing down mercilessly on our young (tragic) hero’s head, and therein lying his problems.
You see, Vikki had lost his cap. And it wasn’t even his to lose. It was ‘borrowed’ from his brother.
Today, he had taken twenty minutes just for half the distance.
Chandu Uncle, from behind the billing counter of Chandu and Sons Tiffin and Condiments, was the first to suspect that something was wrong.
At first, when he saw Vikki wheeling his cycle along meticulously slowly, he hoped for a profitable and not exactly rare visit from the boy and his famous high-school boy appetite. “Ah!” he thought. “Vikki’s not cycling at the speed of sound for once,” he thought. “I’m glad we just made a fresh round of samosas,” he thought. “Here he comes!” he thought.
But the boy walked past without as much as a wistful sniff at the newly baked cakes or a stolen glance at the freshly fried samosas.
Chandu and all Sons of the establishment were set to be attacked by panic at this undisguised display of disinterest and apparent customer dissatisfaction. But then they noticed the downcast eyes, the trudging steps, the frequent and rather loud sighs, the glumness etc and they were relieved. “Ah, there must be something wrong,” Chandu thought. In fact, if the proud owner of Chandu and Sons Tiffin and Condiments was to later recount the tale, he would have sworn to have seen a menacingly grey cloud ominously following the boy.
Which is odd, considering that it was a particularly sunny day, with the sun bearing down mercilessly on our young (tragic) hero’s head, and therein lying his problems.
You see, Vikki had lost his cap. And it wasn’t even his to lose. It was ‘borrowed’ from his brother.
[To be continued...]
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