Reality

It was not my usual path. The road is out of way for any school, office traffic in the early morning hours. I don't recall how did I end up taking that way to work. 

The old man sat head bent, on the sidewalk outside a crumbling, deserted cinema; with a shabby sack and an armload of shabbier, dim, old, used stuffed toys. No customers, no chance of a sale. Just a gloom ridden background, and an equally fragmented foreground. 

The visual was quite out of a painting, if you ask me. Or perhaps it could have been a Majid Majidi film. Who knows how to define reality, really?

I slowed down driving past him ... just to be sure that he was ok. The old man raised his head slightly from the resting position at his knees and asked, "chahiyain?" 

No, I shook my head. 

He went back to his earlier posture. 

I drove a few meters ahead but couldn't manage any further. Reversing the car, I stopped in front of him again. He looked up, this time only his eyes talking. 'What now?' They seemed to ask.

I suggested a deal. 

When his hand reached for the bill in my hand, he didn't hold it. He touched it and keeping his touch there, without taking the bill from me, he sobbed, "Allah Madina dikhaey! Allah Madina dikhaey!"

The bill shook between our fingers.

I had a difficult drive on my way ahead. I had a difficult day getting over that moment. Quite honestly, I'm still struggling. 

Who purchases Madina on a deserted street outside a forlorn cinema at 8 in the morning, with a grimed, crumpled note? 

Who knows how to define reality, really?

(This is the story of a happening on March 22nd, 2019. It had been in my drafts folder since then, when I had shared it in my online book club. Putting it here now.)