Take my hand, Sanu-bhai, and I’ll teach you everything I know. Just like your big brother, now hey-na? I’m rising twelve, yeh, and I been working Kathmandu streets since I was a chut, so don’t you be scared. No blubber-babu, eh? I’ll look after you – just do‘s I say.
First thing: watch those dogs. They hate us even more an the people do. Don’t ask me why. They want same rubbish as us, but too dumb to look round an see a pile of the crap on every corner. Plenty to go round, I say, but try telling that to a stinking kukur. Fact is, they’re nasty. Snarl and snap at you. Sometimes big packs a’ them, too. So just keep your eyes down, babu, and keep walking. My Bua’s got a big wire hook he shakes an, oh-yeah! that gets em hopping! But don’t you try that, boy, you hear? You just a little chut and not up for that. An you listen to me, now - there’s some mutts around here that’ve gone mad in the head an if they get you – bhayo! You’re gone. Uncle Kumar got bit, and aiya-aiya-aiya was he a mess. Frothing at the mouth and howling – ar-ar-aaaaar! - and rollin is eyes and then two days later - dead as meat. Just stay well away from dogs, babu, you hear? Well away.
La, but don’t look so scared. Here - make a sling-shot like mine and you’ll be tough like me. See? Twig first, rubber from some chappals ‘cross the middle and a good hard rock. I’ve got tip-top aim. They call me the king! Get dogs smack ‘tween the eyes and birds right out a their trees. Now, hide here and I’ll try Mrs Office Lady’s fat chaak. Ready, steady… FIRE! Gotcha! Yeah! She is HOPPING mad! Not bad, eh bhai? Not bad at all.
But now, Sanu-bhai, to work. Grab your sack. Work over this heap and stuff in anything we can sell or use. You find something good don’t you sneaky-sneaky snitch it for yourself, eh? Always show my Ama or Bua first. They took you in, babu, cause god-only-knows where your folks took off to, so you gotta tow the line, right? And you gotta look sharp cause there’s a lot a crap in these dumps nowdays. Shitty nappies and womens’ bloody stuff, an all. When your sack’s full, take it down Teku camp and sort into piles for kawadi when he comes to buy. Two rupees a kilo for paper, three for plastic, five for cloth and eight for metal. Bua swears he cheats on the weighing, but ke garne? What can we do? Shit-all, that’s what.
Now, those guys over there, babu - police. See the big sticks? Fact is, after the dogs, they’re the next worse thing – and you can’t even take pot shots at em. Nai, nai, they don’t find find it funny at all. Got that, boy? NO HITTING POLICE. Don’t laugh, I tell you. You’d be dust before you could say, “O-ho sorry, thought you were a dog.” But they can do whatever they damn like to us, so you watch out. You going over a rubbish dump and they come by? Just skoot off. Chito- chito! You don’t make it? Then answer all their questions, but keep your eyes down and never say where the grown ups are, cause THEY get the big trouble. Not so bad if they keep paying up - you know, twenty percent dhamki dini to the police - but sometimes they not got it, and that’s when the hassle starts.
Bua didn’t pay up for a while and the police were getting nasty, you know? Giving him dhuka, dhuka. Then there’s a break-in - one of the fancy houses in Sanepa - and next thing – who’s in for questioning? You got it – Bua. Police use a big heavy stick to ask their questions, hey-na? Bua got it bad. Ama looked pretty bad too, when she got back from visiting him. We to pay three thousand rupees to get him out. That don’t fall outta rubbish heaps, eh Sanu-bhai, if you get me.
So, babu, this is tricky stuff, an you got to really listen up, na? Best time is when lots a kweeros get all crammed in takin photos of a festival or something. So stuck in their cameras you could peel the pants right off their chaaks an they wouldn’t notice! Once I took this American guy’s wallet and he turned round just as I was slippin it out of his pocket. I just did big smile, stuck out my other hand - “Chocolate? One rupee?” He so busy shooing me away, didn’t even realise his wallet’s gone! What a gaddha!
So, there I was this morning, babu. Get the picture: Durbar Square, nice an sunny, big noisy festival, temples and palaces all sides, the whole place crawling with kweeros. Perfect. My escape route is that alley way there, and up ahead, my first kill. A blonde in batik shorts. Kweeri women are trash, bhai, showing their legs around. Ama says no dignity. BUT big camera and many, many gold chains. Very fine. Now I work extra careful. Watch first. Ahaa - she buy one Buddha so I see her paisa purse. Arey! What a fat wad! An there it goes, back in her pack. Couldn’t be easier, Sanu-bhai, hey-na?
I slink up behind. She taking photos of the dancers… good, good. Shhhhh, I unzip backpack, hand inside, wallet, out - and run! Up that alley! Made it! No one saw me – clean as a knife. Not bad, eh, bhai? Not bad at all. I hunker down and count. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, EIGHT hundred rupees. I’m rolling, babu, I’m the king! Wahay! But I don’t stop there. Oh –no, it’s my lucky day, boy, hell lucky!
I go back for the real prize. Big fat kweeri wife with lots a bags and two cameras! Bet her paisa’s in that pouch under her belly. Aiya! She’s had more for her lunch than we ate all year! Right, bit more tricky this time, Sanu, so listen up.
Sneaky does it. Sweat drippin off her nose - what a fatso! - I can feel her wobbling from three feet away. Slowly get that zip. Wait for big moment in the dance show… NOW! Tight squeeze- fingers inside – grab – pull – SHIT! She’s felt it! She’s looking down! Wallet’s in my hand! Shove it in my pocket and stick out other hand -
“Chocolate? One rupee?”
But what? She’s smiling. Nudging her husband, pointing at my clothes and bare feet, shaking her head. Oh no… reaching for her money pouch! I’m out of here.
I shoot across the square and behind a pillar. That’s when I should a run home, Sanu-bhai, but too damn nosy. You learn from me, boy, learn well. You get a little luck, don’t push it.
I watch her from my spot. Her puzzled face, scrabbling round in the money pouch, then she moans like a dog and grabs her man. Panic on his face an he puts his arm round her – chha! no shame at all. Brings her over to some temple steps, right below me. She goes through her pouch, shaking her head, fat tears spilling, spilling. Pulls out a piece a cloth and blows her nose into it and – get this, bhai - pushes it up her sleeve! Can you belive they keep their snot?
I check my loot - two-thousand rupees! Wahay, babu! I’m doing very fine, I am. Just one more hit an I’ll have enough for Bua.
But then a scream.
Who the hell was that? More screams and everybody is running.
What is?! I don’t believe it.
The mad dog.
I want to run too but people are pushing, shoving.
How’d that damn dog get here, anyway? Police should a shot it. But no sign a them and the kukur’s here, all right, slinking into the square, lips pulled back, dripping mouth. I’m stuck behind a young guy, red hair, saddhu-style. Cloth bag over his shoulder, inches away. Just a quick grab an I can dash for it.
But that dog. Just in front of us the fat kweeri’s sitting there, frozen, holding her money pouch in both hands and staring at the dog. He’s staring at her. Husband gets to his feet, pulls her up, starts edging along the steps. Dog’s moving straight towards them, shoulders big and hunched, fur slashed. Tail’s half chopped off and one back leg hangs like a loose twig, dragging in the dirt.
Dog like that killed Uncle Kumar. Aiya-aiya-aiya…
Me thinkin, if I get this bag and run, that’s enough for Bua and I’m gone. But that shit-crap dog is heading straight for the woman. I’m sweating. She and her man are trying to go backwards up the steps, but they’re not making it, just grabbing each other and shifting their feet but not going anywhere. She’s whimpering. I’m shaking all over. Shove my hand into my pocket. My slingshot and a rock. And her wallet. One rock. One more wallet and it’s all over. Bhayo! It’s so easy, so fast. Just one. Stop shaking. Do it, chito, chito! Do it now!
The dog jumps. Smack! Ar-ar-arrrr!
Right between the eyes. He twists once, lands in a heap, screaming like a demon. Blood spurting, spurting on the dust. A lot a thrashing then it slows down. Final twitch and a jerk; he’s still.
Slingshot hangs in my hand.
Everybody starts running and yelling. Fat kweeri hanging onto her husband sobbing, quivering like fresh-cut meat. People charging everywhere, but I can’t move my legs. Saddhu-hair and his cloth bag have gone.
I just stand there shaking and looking at that dead dog. Then - big shit - policeman coming my way. But, wait, that woman’s with him, pointing at me.
Hold up my slingshot. Yes, it was me, madam. I killed the dog, I saved your life. But she’s not looking at my slingshot. Oh no, no, no. She’s clutching her empty money pouch and pointing at my face. And the policeman’s pointing too. With a big stick.
Like I said, bhai, after the dogs, the police.
It wasn’t my lucky day.
Take my hand, Sanu. Aiya, aiya! Softly, softly! It’s still hurting bad, but you learn from it, sanu babu; it’s gonna teach you everythin it knows.
