Our Galaxy

On S.V.Road in Bandra, there is a little hole in the wall called Galaxy. It's very close to my stomach. Galaxy saw me through my heady impoverished years. And what a time it was. It's a freedom I have never known since, where the biggest decision to make was between vada pav and omlette pav. Vada pav allowed me the luxury of a post-feast smoke.
Galaxy loved me. Every morning when I walked in bleary eyed, the good men there would plonk a cup of the vilest tea, alongwith the newspaper and a cigarette. No matter who was reading the newspaper, they would snatch it and hand it over to me, always with a smile.
I met Tanvir across the newspaper. He had this annoying habit of peeping into my newspaper and it used to tick me off no end till I discovered he was illiterate. Tanvir worked as a stuntman, crashing through glass, breaking bones and jumping off heights while Bollywood heroes powdered their noses in the shade.
We formed an easy camraderie. I taught Tanvir ABC, he regaled me with tales from the movie studios, many of which I suspect were flaming red lies. Over many omlettes and chai, I learned to love the man for who he couldn't be. He wanted a better life and for him English was a passport to that other world.
Tanvir never learned much. Though he could say "how are you my friend" with a Meerutish flourish. I learned much more. He could talk without fear or shame about his life, his people, his fears and ambition. He had a fresh scar to prove it everyday, a broken bone, a gash or just a burning heart.
I moved on from Galaxy. I hope so has Tanvir ... with a newspaper tucked under his scarred arms. Inshallah.