Punch Drunk Love...

Yesterday, I was doing the rickshaw walk home from school. By this, I mean that it isn't that far, but it was 12:30 and stinkin' hot, and thus, my forward momentum was hampered by my constant, backward neck-craning any time I heard the rattling, staccato snarl of a motor-rickshaw. Now, this is slightly dangerous, in that my chances of walking directly into an open man-hole rise dramatically, but after a morning of wrestling with apathetic adolescents and William Golding, I’m usually willing to toss down the 20 Rupees (dunno 40 cents?) for a quick, albeit bumpy, ride home.

Unfortunately for the state of my dress clothes, no available ricks were apparent, so I started down my shortcut behind a park to avoid the traffic and crowds in front of my local Mazaar. As I turned a corner, and worked on breathing through my mouth as I passed an open garbage dump, I saw a group of men arguing noisily on the other side of the road. One guy, with a little toddler of a girl straddling the gas tank of his motorcycle, suddenly drew back and punched another fellow right in the face.

Whoa, I thought, that was unexpected. My stride faltered a bit, as part of me felt like I should say something, and the other part of me insisted, “Head-down, keep walking you damn fool, you don’t belong here.” The man jumped off his bike, grabbed his victim by the Kurta and gave him three quick jabs to the jaw. The other men were alternately trying to hold him back and cheer him on; it was difficult to tell which was which actually. By this time, I had inadvertently slowed my pace and was directly opposite them.

Suddenly, with his fist pulled back for another go, the aggressor turned and stared directly at me. Oh shit. His fist hung in the air, and I really didn’t know what to expect. But then his fist unclenched, and still holding the other man, he snapped a quick salute and yelled to me, “Hullooo Boss!” with a big grin. I was a little taken aback. I stammered out a quick “’Salaam Alaikuum,” and hearing the white man give them “The Peace of God” set the whole group to grinning and giggling. A few of them returned the peace, “Walaiku Asalaam,” and I felt a strange pride that somehow my distinct cultural difference and the strange socio-economic interplay that was happening here had calmed their argument.

That pride was somewhat diminished however, when the man gave me another smiling wave and then promptly returned to beating the snot out of his friend.