We still had three hours to pass. I followed Bindaas like a zombie. She even took me to an old fashioned cinema hall with folding chairs. The volume was extremely loud and full of raucous people who were chain smoking and trying to kill each other with the smoke. The language was Hindi. The hero was beating armies of enemies with his muscular display.
I pulled at Bindaas arm. She was engrossed in the movie. I told her I was stepping out for a cigarette. I had fallen in love with Indian cigarettes. I was standing in a shady corner smoking my cigarette when a man started taking pictures with a very bright flashgun. He was a very thin man with a French beard. He seemed to have tied his baggy black pants with a piece of rope. A loose dirty white shirt was half untucked and on top of that he was wearing a photographer’s jacket with all the pockets. He had black long hair which fell in front of his face and he kept pushing back with a deft swipe of his left hand. He looked like a bandicoot. I do not know why that word came flying to my mind. Perhaps because of his long thin nose.
“Stop, that’s enough! Go away. I don’t want my picture taken.”
‘Copy right now in fifteen minutes.’ He said, ‘wait here I will bring copy.’
‘No I do not want any copy’ I said angrily to him.
‘Then maybe you see ancient porn picture. People, kings, Englishman, f---ing. It is the last chance. The building soon fall. Ancient Kama sutra practice pictures gone. Take pictures if you want with my camera.’