Heaven’s Ink

It’s a cold dank day, the sky the colour of a soiled mop. Will it rain today? I throw the question out to the universe, hopeful.  For months, the sun had played tyrant, showing off its power and prowess to this hapless city, sticking a straw into its core and sucking it up dry. It’s not that clouds never showed up. They often did. But these naughty clouds teased us, gathering together, rumbling and mumbling for a little while and then dispersing, leaving humans, animals and plants parched and morose. Water crisis gripped the city and rumours spread that residents of some new apartment complex were dashing to the nearest mall’s bathrooms for their morning ablutions.

As we scramble for ways to conserve water, a salesman’s pitch grabs our attention. He offers a daily waterless car-cleaning service right at our doorstep, and at an unbeatable price. I’m elated—we’re all elated! I sign up for the demo and watch in awe as they transform my car into a gleaming mirror using barely a glass of water. I immediately confirm their service and pay the advance. Invoice in hand, I  head back to my apartment.

I run into Raju, our car cleaner. The worn washcloth slung over his shoulder; his eyes catch the paper in my hand. His face, usually as bright as the morning sunrise with which he starts his day, clouds over. “You’re going with them?” he murmurs, voice soft as a breeze “Good. Water is scarce. I use little to clean, but… okay.” He turns and walks away.

And that is when it hits me. I am depriving him of his income. One car won’t matter—he cleans so many, I tell myself. But what if everyone switches to the waterless service?

Raju’s car cleaning supplements his income significantly. Before his security guard shift at the neighborhood school, he cleans most cars in our apartment complex early each morning. For fifteen years, Raju has been cleaning our cars. We have watched his sons grow. They would tag along with him in their school uniform, helping him with small jobs like fetching water, or emptying the bucket of dirty water while his hands moved like lightening, cleaning and polishing the cars.

 Guilt gnaws at me. I stand torn between Raju’s water-dependent craft and the waterless efficiency of the car cleaning company. In a city gasping for every drop, do I have a choice?

As I sigh, resigned to let Raju go, a heavy drop of water falls on my nose, trickling down my cheek. I glance up, and another lands on my forehead. The sky ruptures, unleashing a torrent. The invoice of the car washing company slips from my hand and flies away, carried off by the wind.

I duck for cover and call Raju. “I am not going with that car cleaning company Raju, please keep cleaning my car.” I shout over the loud deluge.

The heavens have taken the decision off my hands, choosing the heart’s pulse over the cold hum of steel. Rain pours, a wild, cleansing symphony, washing away my doubts. I make my way home, soaked and smiling, grateful for the sky’s verdict—a reminder that even in a parched world, some bonds are worth preserving.