"Too late, man!" he bellowed, pulling his shirt from his back and throwing it at me. "Too fuckin' late!"
He wore a black singlet under the shirt, and the black hat was still hanging at his back. The cane juice crusher had a portable hi-fi at his stall. A new song from a hit Hindi movie started up.
"Hey, I love this song, yaar!" Vikram cried out. "Turn it up, baba! _Arre, full _karo!"
The juice-wallah obligingly turned the volume up to the maximum, and Vikram began to dance and sing along with the words. Showing surprisingly elegant and graceful skill, he swung out from under the crowded awning and danced in the lightly falling rain. Within one minute of his twirling, swaying dance he'd lured other young men from the footpath, and there were six, seven, and then eight dancers laughing in the rain while the rest of us clapped, whooped, and hollered.
Turning his steps toward me once more, Vikram reached out to grasp my wrist with both of his hands, and then began to drag me into the dance. I protested and tried to fight him off, but many hands from the street assisted him, and I was pushed into the group of dancers. I surrendered to India, as I did every day, then, and as I still do, every day of my life, no matter where I am in the world. I danced, following Vikram's steps, and the street cheered us on.
The song finished after some minutes, and we turned to see Lettie standing under the awning and watching us with open amusement.
Vikram ran to greet her, and I joined them, shaking off the rain.
"Don't tell me! I don't wanna know!" she said, smiling but silencing Vikram with the raised palm of her hand. "Whatever you do, in the privacy of your own rain shower, is your own business.
Hello, Lin. How are you, darlin'?"
"Fine, Lettie. Wet enough for you?"
"Your rain dance seems to be working a treat. Karla was supposed to join me and Vikram, right about now. We're going to the jazz concert at Mahim. But she's flooded in, at the Taj. She just called me, to let me know. The whole Gateway's flooded. Limousines and taxis are floatin' about like paper boats, and the guests can't get out.
They're stranded at the hotel, and our Karla's stranded there, and all."
Glancing around quickly, I saw that Prabaker's cousin Shantu was still sitting in his taxi, parked with several others outside the restaurants where I'd seen him earlier. I checked my watch. It was three-thirty. I knew that the local fishermen would all be back on shore with their catches. I turned to Vikram and Lettie once more.
"Sorry, guys, gotta go!" I pushed the shirt back into Vikram's hands. "Thanks for the shirt, man. I'll grab it next time. Keep it for me!"
I jumped into Shantu's taxi, twirling the meter to the on position through the passenger window. Lettie and Vikram waved as we sped past them. I explained my plan to Shantu on the way to the kholi settlement, adjacent to our slum. His dark, lined face creased in a weathered smile and he shook his head in wonder, but he pushed the battered taxi a little faster through the short ride on the rain-drenched road.
At the fishermen's settlement, I enlisted the support of Vinod, who was a patient at my clinic and one of Prabaker's close friends. He selected one of his shorter punts, and we lifted the light, flat boat onto the roof of the taxi and sped back to the Taj Hotel area, near the Radio Club Hotel.
