The Mind Creative
Barahdwari, which literally means
‘of twelve doors’ was a suburb in
the city of Joypur and had long
since outgrown its name, having
started as twelve houses around
an oval playing field. The initial
twelve spaciously built houses
facing the oval were backed by
much smaller apartment like
houses built in two concentric
rows separated by a single
alleyway. We lived in an upstairs
flat on the back row, and it was
from our balcony facing the road
that we were watching the car
following Mofbee’s slow progress
on the road.
He walked with his usual
peculiar, stiff legged gait, like a
Hardy tin soldier, his long arms
dangling straight by his sides.
He wore trousers of some
indeterminate mousy colour
which fell short of his ankles by
a good six inches. Depending on
their length we often referred to
his trousers as flood or puddle
pants. That day, the motley
crowd on our balcony consisted
of a few other members of the
Mofbee fan club as well as Ma
and I. The fan club consisted of
children between the ages of
eight and twelve and although I
was only nine, I had become the
boss of the brat pack, pipping
everyone to the post simply due
to my superior knowledge of all
things weird and mysterious.
50