Book excerpt of 'The Mountain Shadow'

THE PAST, BELOVED EMEMY, HAS BAD TIMING. Those Bombay days come back to me so vividly and suddenly that sometimes I'm shaken from the hour I'm in, and lost to the task. A smile, a song, and I'm back there, sleeping sunny mornings away, riding a motorcycle on a mountain road, or tied and beaten and begging Fate for an even break And I love every minute of it, every minute of friend or foe, of flight and forgiveness: every minute of life. But the past has a way of taking you to the right place at the wrong time, and that can be a storm inside.

I should be bitter, I guess, after some of the things I've done, and had done to me. People tell me I should be bitter.A con once said, 'You'd be a top bloke, if you had a little spite in you. But I was born without it, and I've never known spite or bitterness. I got angry and I got desperate and did bad things too often, until I stopped, but I never hated anyone, or consciously wished anyone harm, not even men who tortured me. And while a small measure of bitterness might've protected me from time to time, as it sometimes does, I've learned that sweet memories don't walk through cynical doors. And I love my memories, even when they have bad timing: remembered minutes of sunlight staking out patches on tree-lined Bombay streets, of fearless girls flashing through traffic on scooters, of handcart pullers straining under the load but smiling, and those first memories of a young Indian-Irish detective named Naveen Adair.

Caption: Published by Hachette India

We walked on the road silently for a while, passing between cars and streams of people, swaying back and forth between the bicycles and handcarts in the dance of the street.

In the wide doorway of the Fire Brigade building, a group of men in heavy navy-blue uniforms chatted and laughed. Inside the firehouse there were two large fire trucks, shimmering sunlight from every polished red or chrome surface.

An extravagantly decorated Hanuman shrine was fixed to one wall, and beside it a sign said:

IF YOU CAN'T STAND THE HEAT,

GET OUT OF THE BURNING BUILDING.

Further along, we entered the shopping district, spilling out from the Colaba market. Glass merchant, picture framers, timber and hardware stores, electrical goods, and plumbers' supplies gradually gave way to clothing, jewellery and food stores.

At the wide entrance to the market itself we had to stop, as several heavy trucks made their way out into the maul of traffic on the main road.

'Listen', he said as we waited. 'You were right, about Vikram talking too much. but it ends with me. I'll never talk about it to anyone else but you. Never. And if you ever need me, hey, man I'm there. That's all I'm trying to say. For Aslan, and what you did that night, if you don't want it to be for you.'

It wasn't the first time that I looked out from the red exile my life had become, into eyes alight with fires, burning on cliff-tops of the world escape. In my fugitive years, I sometimes found fast friendship in the song of rebellion: in the loyalty others pledged to my escape from the system, as much as to me.

They wanted me to stay free, in part, because they wanted someone to escape and stay free. I smiled at Naveen. It wasn't the first or last time I went with the river inside.

'How do you do,' I said, offering my hand. 'I'm Lin. I'm not a doctor in the slum.'

'Pleased to meet you,' Naveen replied, shaking my hand. 'I'm Naveen, and thank you. It's always good to know who's not the doctor. 'And who's not the police, 'I added. 'How about a drink?'

'Don't mind if we do', he replied graciously.

Just at that moment I had the sense of someone standing too close to my back. I turned hard.

'Hang About!' Gemini George protested. 'Easy does it with the shirt, mate. That's fifty per cent of my wardrobe, I'll have you know!'

I could feel the bones of this thin body against my knuckles as I released my grip.

'Sorry man', I said, straightening the front of his shirt. 'Creepin' up on people like that. Should know better, Gemini. It'll end in tears one day.'

'My fault, mate', Gemini George apologised, looking around nervously.' Got a bit of problem like,y'know?'

I put my hand in my pocket, but Gemini stopped me.

'Not that sort of problem mate. Well to be honest, that is a problem, but it's such a constant problem, you know, bein' broke, that it's become more of a meta-cultural statement, sort of grim but compelling penury soundtrack, know what I mean?'

'No man', I said, handing him some money. 'What's the problem?' 'Can you wait?' 'I'll just get scorpion'

'Sure'.

Gemini looked left and right. 'You'll wait?'

'I nodded and he ducked away past a nearby stall that offered small marble figures of gods for sale.

'Mind if I hang with you? Naveen asked?

'No problem', I said. 'No secrets are safe with Gemini and Scorpio especially their own. They could have their own radio station. I'd listen if they did.'

Moments later Gemini reappeared, dragging the reluctant Scorpio with him. The zodiacs Georges, one George from south London and the other from Canada, were inseparable street guys. They were mildly addicted to seven drugs, and completely addicted to one another. They slept in a relatively comfortable warehouse doorway, and made a living running errands, sourcing drugs for foreign customers, and occasionally selling information to gangsters.

They bickered and fought from the first yawn to the last stumble into sleep, but they loved each other, and were so constant in their friendship that everyone who knew them loved the Zodiac Georges for it: Gemini George from London, and Scorpio George from Canada.

'Sorry, Lin,' Scorpio mumbled, when Gemini dragged him close. 'I was under cover, like it's this trouble with the CIA. You must have heard about it.'

'The CIA? Can't say I have. But I've been in Goa. What sip?'

'There's this geezer', Gemini cut in, while his taller friend nodded quickly. 'Snow-white hair, but not an old guy, with a dark blue suit and tie, a businessman type-'

'or the CIA,' Scorpio cut in, leaning close to whisper.

'For Chrissakes, Scorpio!' Gemini spluttered.' What the fuck would the CIA want with the likes of us?

'They have these machines that can read our minds', Scorpio whispered.

'If they can read our minds, there's no point whisperin', is there?' Gemini demanded.

'Maybe they already programmed us to whisper, while they read our minds.'

'If they read your mind, they'll run screamin' through the streets, you fuckin' twat. It's a wonder I don't run screamin' through the streets n'all,innit?'

There was no reliable map of the side-tracks the zodiac Georges took when an argument meandered, and no time limit. I usually liked it, but not always,

'Tell me about the white haired guy in the suit.'

'We don't know who he is, Lin' Gemini said, returning to the moment. 'But he's been asking' about Scorpio at Leopold's and other hide.

Gemini looked at me, his face crying why-was-I born. He tried to be patient. He took a breath. It didn't work.

If it's the CIA, and they can read our minds, 'he shouted to Scorpio through clenched teeth, 'they'd hardly be goin' round askin questions and say Hey! We just read your mind, old son, with our mind reading machine, and we didn't have to ask questions about you or follow you around, because we have mind-reading machines that read people's minds because we're the fucking CIA, wouldn't they? Wouldn't they?'

'Well...'

'Was he asking you by name?' Naveen asked, his young face serious. 'And if he is asking after both of you, or just Scorpio?'

Both men looked at Naveen.

'This is Naveen Adair', I said. 'He's a private detective.'

There was a pause.

(See interview: Shantaram revisits Bombay in a new avatar)