Since the time I found that hairpin, I always kept it close to me; either in my trusty old knapsack, in my wallet, or in one of my pockets. I needed to find a safer way to keep it close to me and someplace I could have access to it immediately. I went to a local goldsmith and showed him the pin, and asked him suggestions on how to get it done.

He was impressed by the workmanship of the pin. According to him, the gold used in the pin had the appearance, colour and lustre of the purest gold but unlike pure gold, it was not malleable at all. In fact, he was unable to get any on the scratch plate to test for its purity. The ruby on the back was hollow and filled with some liquid. Which was another problem, he said you do not find hollow rubies in nature, this was something man made.

So he concluded, the artefact which I had in my possession was a beautiful fake. Not that I cared, I merely wanted to find a way to keep it close to me. The goldsmith suggested that I should get it fastened to my neck with a locket and chain. I had some money left over from the odd case that I get, along with some rewards from lost and found cases. I spent a bit of it to make a thin gold-alloy chain so that it couldn't be broken as easily as pure gold. Gold braces around the ruby clasped it firmly and suspended by a chain. Around my neck and close to my heart it felt just right.

On reaching home I thought I should inspect the goldsmith's work carefully so I took it out and held the chain in my hands. Despite the initial appearance, the craftsmanship was somewhat flawed. The pin did not hang straight, pointing down towards the ground. It pointed diagonally forward. Re-adjusting the attitude, I observed its angle and it was still diagonal. I stood up, turned towards my door, so as to have the goldsmith fix it right away. As I was turning, I noticed something strange.

Although I turned around, the pin was still facing the same direction. Inertia was being unreasonable, I thought. So I turned the chain another half a turn, the chain kept twisting on itself but the pin did not move. This reaction of maintaining its orientation was much like a compass or a gyroscope. I turned the chain to untangle it, and then pulled the pin downward towards the floor. As soon as I let my hand go, it angled itself again. Since the metal was not gold in the goldsmith's opinion, it could easily be a ferromagnetic material I thought. To verify my assumption, I took out an old plotting compass that I had to compare its orientation to the north-south direction. It was not pointing along the compass and was rather pointed in the north east and south west direction.

Funnily enough, when I brought the compass close to the pin, the compass also aligned itself to the same direction as the pin rather than it being the other way round. It was time for my medicines and they were bound to make me sleepy. So I decided to put my experiments and exploration on hold and took a nap.

Evening came, and with it came the anticipation for the next step. Before I had gone to sleep I had wondered; The compass points to the poles and aligns itself along the magnetic lines of force but what was the pin pointing to? It was evident it pointed to something but what it pointed to, was anybody's guess.

Dressed in some warm clothes I left for my evening exploration. The pin was wrapped and taped around my right hand wrist and the compass was in my right hand, such that it pointed in the same direction as the suspended pin. As I went on the main road the needle was pointing to my 1 o'clock position. So I went walking forward along the road in the 12 o'clock direction.

As I walked a few hundred meters in the same direction, the compass gradually moved to my 3 o'clock position. On my right hand side was a small uphill track amidst some shanties. The narrow road was barely wide enough to allow me to pass. The road seemed to get narrower as I went ahead and soon I was forced to walk sideways like a crab.

The walkway was studded with colourful bottle caps, shards of glass, empty cigarette cartons and other such garbage. The smoke from chewing tobacco being roasted overwhelmed my nose and made my eyes water. Tiny droplets of water dripped from the wet clothes hung on nylon ropes on the rooftops and splashed on me. The sounds of women fighting, a murder of crows feasting on an unfortunate rat and the constant religious songs that were blaring on the loudspeakers were completely different to the silence that I am used to and like.

Occasionally I checked the compass to confirm my bearing.

As I continued to make my way through the dense quartiere degradato I noticed the compass needles turning at a faster rate than usual. It could only mean that I was close to the target. Turning again in the direction of the compass I came upon a small, almost dilapidated structure. Its door lay straight ahead of me and the compass pointed square inside it, outside it was a board.

I entered into the dimly lit room. A few seconds passed and my eyes adjusted to the darkness in the room. About ten-foot-tall frieze of stone was mounted against the wall. The most beautiful monolithic sculpture that I had ever seen, twelve forms of Lord Shiva carved in perfect symmetry. A stone frieze of this beauty in such a dilapidated building, clamped against the wall with rusted metal strips was a shame, I thought. A poojari was sitting on a floor stool beside the figure of Lord Shiva, dressed in an orange dhoti. He had a small brass vessel with Panchamrut as prasad. I sat on the floor close to the poojari and prayed for a while.

Onasking him about the statue he said, "This statue of Baradev was found inthe year 1940 by workmen while digging to create a road between Parel andSewri. This temple was founded on that same location later that year. Thearchaeologists claimed that the statue is older than sahava shatak (6thcentury) and is one of the oldest in the city. People in the past used to havea carnival annually to celebrate its discovery but that all stopped after WorldWar II. Most people live in these tall residential towers so close to thisnational heritage but do not know about it. This insufficient awareness andgross neglect is the cause of the bad condition of this temple. Now only a fewdevotees like you and me come to worship here."

I nodded as I thought about how such a great religious and artistic part of our history can be forgotten so easily. The poojari got up and left for a while.

While I sat there with my eyes closed, a feeling of déjà vu swept over me. The sounds of the women fighting at a distance coupled with the tormenting loudspeakers became silent, the breeze from the ceiling fan reduced, time seemed to slow down. I opened my eyes. The flickering of the flame on the lamp had slowed down to a gentle slither. The swiftly spinning ceiling fan was rotating at a snail's pace. The pair of pigeons courting on the beam of the ceiling, frightened by something, who almost took flight had now slowed down to a graceful and gentle flutter.

The last time this happened I was fixated upon the beauty of the girl but this time away from the intoxicating gaze of her eyes I could notice these changes around me. The pin taped around my wrist shone dimly through the duct tape. I stood there devoid of any sensory stimulation my ears began to focus upon a conversation happening outside the temple. Two men stood outside at a small distance from the entrance of the temple. I turned around and saw them through a small gap in the temple door.

They were looking at a white washed wall on the right side on the temple making animated hand movements. As they were pointing and discussing they were also wary of their environs. Whenever someone passed by them, they used to talk softly and stand closer. One of the men was old, well over the hill into his fifties, well dressed in a grey safari suit, bushy moustache, and a receding hair line. The other person was a stark contrast. He was in his late thirties, shabbily dressed, red shirt with sleeves rolled up to his shoulders and cream coloured pants. The older man appeared as though he was instructing the younger one.

"The court results will be out tomorrow by 11A.M. and it doesn't look like I will win this case," said the older man.

"I know. What can I do for you, sir?" asked the younger man.

"Even if I did lose the case, it would still be my victory if these 'obstacles' were removed out of my way," said the older man.

"You know I would do anything for you, so long as I am compensated for my efforts, " said the younger man.

The older man said, "All you have to do is take the Hartshorne that I have in my godown. Then pour it into the box of white powder lying in the backroom."

"Consider it done," said the younger man.

"Come to the godown at 1 o'clock in the night, I will be waiting for you," said the older man and then he walked off.

The younger man loitered in the vicinity of the whitewashed building. He walked around it a few times and then went off in another direction.

As soon as they walked away, the sounds of the loudspeakers and bickering ladies returned. The flame began to flicker more aggressively. The pigeons flapped their wings more briskly and flew out of the door. Time returned to the pace it always followed. My thoughts were fixed on their conversation.

The poojari came in by then and I took my leave. As I left, I noticed the whitewashed building had a chimney on top of it, through which the steam was ejected. Also, I noticed a gutter around the building through which lather rich water flowed. From my few and measly observation I got a vague understanding of what those men were plotting. To get an accurate conclusion, I had to gain more information.

On the way back home I went to the scrap paper dealer (aka. Raddiwala) and bought the local newspapers of the past few months. These papers containing stale news would have hidden within them the clues that would solve the entire puzzle. Time was of the essence as whatever these people had planned took place after 1 am tonight and it was already 8 pm when I reached home

I began my research forthwith. Within a span of hours, I had all the data I needed. So I left to prepare for my plan. I went to the shops and bought a few kilograms of chalk powder, the type of powder used in playgrounds to mark the boundary lines.

Also, I bought a few different kinds of hairpins, not the fancy gold one I found, but the cheap kind you get on the street. Now all that I needed was a set of worn and torn clothes as a disguise. The garbage trucks had not come for the past few days so I went and scrounged in the dumpster and found what I was looking for. The set of clothes I had worn in the mangroves was where I had thrown it. Now I was ready to carry out what I had planned.

I took those clothes with me and went through the slums by the same path as I had a few hours earlier. A public toilet was the perfect place for me to switch into the other apparel. The good set of clothes, the chalk and the hairpins were in a plastic bag that I carried with me. I went towards the temple which was closed at present and sat at its door step with one hand outstretched.

My inquisitive behaviour had reduced me to a beggar, albeit, one who wore an expensive gold chain with a supernatural talisman. The street lights that overlooked my first mendier endeavours before long switched off. I sat there in absolute darkness listening to the crickets' calls. The cold harsh wintertime winds were remorselessly absorbing my body heat. All this made me uncomfortable and aided me in remaining wide awake.

It was 12am when I set my plan in motion. I got up from my uncomfortable seat and slowly walked along the edge of the wall of the white washed building till I reached the door. The locks on the doorway were simple three lever tumbler ones, and I could employ my lock picking skills after a long time. How and why I learnt to pick a lock is an old and boring narrative which can be saved for another day. I used the inexpensive hairpins and bent it inside the lock chamber and picked it right.

When I opened the door, its old hinges let out a high-pitched squeal. Fortuitously it went unnoticed and I went inside. Using the backlight of my mobile phone as a flashlight I made a quick survey of the interior of the place. In one corner of the room I found a few opened shelves. I walked towards it and looked for what I assumed I would find there.

On the ledge in the bottom was a boxful of fine white powder. And so I exchanged the chalk in my bag with the white powder which was on the shelf. Again using the backlight of my mobile phone as a guide, I went out towards the door. On getting out through the threshold I latched it with the deadbolts and locks, same as it was before. The clicking sound of the door echoed but it was not loud enough to awaken anyone.

I went back to sit at the doorstep of the temple to watch over how my plan would unfold. A dog that was disturbed by me shuffling around in the dark, came towards me and inspected my scent. The gentle dog huddled up against me. Both exposed and vulnerable against the elements gave each other company in the cold and dark night.

The next morning, I was woken up by a warm hand tapping on my shoulder. The poojari of the temple whom I had spoken to yesterday was waking me up with a smile. Whether he was merely being nice or whether he recognised me in my disguise I didn't know. He had a paper bag in his hand from which he removed two Wada Pav and a pack of glucose biscuits. He gave me one Wada Pav and opened the pack of biscuits and put half of it next to the dog who indolently ate them. He ate the other Wada Pav himself. Then he said, "I am going to bathe now, there is a spigot behind the temple. You should also bathe early and pray at the temple before you go."

The poojari changed into his cotton dhoti and went inside the temple to begin with the daily rituals and the dog also went away. I sat there with my hand outstretched outside the temple. As people passed by, I noticed four types of interactions between me and them. First, some of them handed me alms. Second, I was grossly ignored. And lastly, some people gave me contemptuous looks and said, "get a job" or "waste of humanity" comment. I understood their points of view as I was 5'10', 80kgs and had youth and health by my side.

As I sat there pondering about this social economics I saw a frail old man walk up to the whitewashed shop. He opened the door and went inside. Within 5 minutes of him entering I saw the chimney steaming and the foamy water coming out in the gutters.

After half an hour or so, two more people came to the place. The entire time I spent there was uneventful, barring the few hundred I made while sitting at the temple doorstep. At about 11am a boy came running towards the shop in excitement while holding a newspaper in his hands.

He sang, "We won! We won! We won the case!"

My work there was complete and I got up to leave. When I walked a bit ahead of the whitewashed place, I saw the old well-dressed man whom I had seen yesterday.

He was shouting at someone on the phone, "One simple task I had given you! You couldn't even do that properly? Do you know how much loss I would suffer for this? Do not ever show your face in front of me?"

He cut the phone with the aggression that must have cracked a button or two and walked away mumbling something. It was a long night indeed. So I went back to the same public toilet and changed in my good pair of clothes. Then I went back home and threw my used and abused clothes along with the white powder from that box in the same dumpster close to my home. Went back home to enjoy my last holiday before I joined work again.