Big City Dreams - By Tharan Pillay

Written By: Tharan Pillay

Category: Short Story

Competition: Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026

Tharan Pillay introduces us to "Big City Dreams," a captivating short story entry in the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026. The narrative unfolds in a vibrant urban setting, where a young boy navigates the complexities of school life, friendship, and the pressures of making difficult choices. With a keen eye for detail, Pillay paints a rich tapestry of city life, capturing the essence of youthful dreams and the harsh realities that accompany them.

About the Work

"Big City Dreams" delves into themes of aspiration and the struggle between right and wrong. Pillay crafts a vivid urban environment, using evocative imagery to draw readers into the bustling streets and complex social dynamics. The story's mood shifts fluidly from moments of humor to tension, reflecting the protagonist's internal conflicts and the external pressures he faces. Through a combination of dynamic dialogue and compelling narrative, the story explores the impact of decisions on one's future.

Big City Dreams

Original Submission by Tharan Pillay

2145 words

Big City Dreams

“Pillay!”

The sharp voice shattered the boy’s reverie. He turned his head to face the teacher. A piece of chalk whizzed through the air and smacked the boy on the forehead.

“Yes sir?”

“You busy staring out the window daydreaming about God-knows-what instead of paying attention in my class. Tell me, what is the name of the current that flows along the Western coast of South Africa? Hm?”

Thirty pairs of eyes stared at the boy as he tried to recall. “The B….B…”

“Yes?”

The boy stammered. “The Beng… Beng…”

“Spit it out boy!”

The boy’s eyes widened. “Sir, the Bengal Current!”

A wave of laughter tore through the classroom. The teacher’s face reddened. “Bengal current? Your bloody forefathers came to South Africa for a better life but you are still stuck in India! Bengal current?! You don’t know your head from your arse!”

The boy smirked at his classmates as they giggled and guffawed anew. The teacher clenched his jaw. “You think you funny boy? Come here, I’ll give you something to laugh about!”

The boy rose from his seat and marched to the front of the classroom. The teacher fetched his cane from behind the cupboard. Shutting his eyes and scrunching his face, the boy bent over. Without warning, the teacher swung the cane and delivered a sharp blow to the boy’s backside. The boy straightened in agony.

“Bend over!”

The boy complied. The teacher swung his cane and delivered five swift blows. Hissing in pain, the boy limped back to his seat, rubbing his stinging backside. He sat gingerly, wincing and biting his lip. The teacher glared at the class. “Let that be a lesson to you all!”

A bell clanged through the cloud of chatter. The children rose and rushed out of the classroom into the corridor. The boy hefted his bag onto his shoulders and straggled behind. As he entered the corridor, he was aware of a dull ache in his stomach. He caught sight of his friend in the sea of faces and caught up to him.

“Pillay, you’re a killer man. You really know how to rile up Naicker hey?”

Pillay grinned. “Hell, Gosh. I couldn’t remember the answer, what must I do?”

Gosh cackled. “Bengal current? That’s gold man.”

Pillay smiled sheepishly as his stomach growled. They trod on through the crowd of students. The corridor was alive, a creature of a thousand voices and limbs. It mumbled and barked and shouted and swore. Its feet shuffled and stamped, its hands clasped and cleaved, arms woven together in a tapestry of friendship. Five minutes later, the corridor became still once more as the students disappeared into their classrooms. Pillay slouched in his chair as Mrs Hassim droned on about ledgers and debtors and creditors. At last, the students took up their pens and began scrawling in their books. Pillay reached for his pen.

“Pillay!”

He looked up. Mrs Hassim’s crooked finger summoned him to her desk. He obeyed. She produced a slip and a few notes. Her powdered face regarded him.

“Go to the Tote and put this on Pocket Power”

Pillay nodded, took the slip and the money, and hurried out of the stuffy classroom.

Exiting the school gate, he crossed the quiet road and strolled around the fence surrounding Greyville racecourse. He peered between the slats. Thudding hooves launched a volley of sods into the air, clustered divots left in their wake. Jogging, he turned into Grey Street. Passing the bustling Broadway stores, he gazed wistfully down the road at the Shah Jahan bioscope, a gateway to the lurid streets of Chicago and Bombay. The festive strum and groove of a live band coasted through the air from the Himalaya Hotel as he crossed Maud Lane. He upped his tempo to a run and crossed the bridge spanning Alice and Leopold Street. Swift as Mercury, he passed the numerous clothing shops, spying Hansa’s across the road and squinting to check the football fixture results. Ahead, the burnished dome of the mosque gleamed in the afternoon sun. As he approached Victoria Street, Patel’s Vegetarian Restaurant glared at him from across the road, drawing a grumble from his belly. Turning right, his mouth watered as the curried aroma of Victory Lounge teased his gullet. He eyed the golden pastries and buttered sweetmeats of Mullahs Café. Rounding the corner, he entered Albert Street, the clothing shops dwarfed by the Nedbank House casting its imposing shadow across the street. Finally he arrived at Queen Street, catching sight of the Tote in the distance.

Inside the Tote, a miasma of cigarette smoke hung in the air. A few men loitered in the corner, puffing, as they observed the monitor. Pillay joined the queue of gamblers, watching as they placed their bets at the teller. Sheaves of notes exchanged hands while a woman scribbled on the whiteboard, updating the odds. Pillay reached the counter and handed the slip and money to the teller. A moment later, he stepped back into the clear light of the street, inhaling deeply before sprinting back to school.

At last, the final bell rang its beloved signal and the children hurried out of the school gate. As Pillay hoisted his bag and made for home, Gosh called out to him and opened his lunchbox.

“Here Pillay, the last sandwich. I saw you didn’t eat at break time.”

Pillay’s eyes widened. He grabbed the sandwich, quashing the urge to devour it immediately.

“Hey, shot Gosh, you’re a top man.”

They shook hands and parted ways. As soon as he rounded the corner, Pillay sank his teeth into the sandwich, the tomato juice and smooth cheddar melding into a piquant bolus on his tongue. Within minutes, the sandwich had disappeared. Sated, he licked his lips.

In his periphery, Pillay saw a lean figure approaching. He turned his head.

“Hey Tingo! Howsit man”

The thin man smiled. “You good Pillay? School keeping you busy eh?”

Before he could answer, Tingo pulled him aside and glanced around. “Listen, I need a favour from you man.”

Pillay tensed. “What is it?”

Tingo whispered. “Saturday morning. We want to hit the Tote. And we need a lookout.”

“Oh no Tingo I can’t get involved with all that”

“Ah come on boss. It’ll be a quick one, in and out. You know the streets so well. And besides, we’ll give you a cut.

Pillay froze. Tingo smirked. “Ah that got your attention right?”

Pillay composed himself. “No Tingo I’m sorry. I can’t help you with this.” He gestured to leave. Tingo grabbed his arm.

“And what about your Mummy eh? And your sister? Don’t you want to help them? You are only thinking about yourself.”

Pillay grimaced. “I don’t know, man…”

“Don’t be a fool, Pillay. There are big bucks here, enough for us all. It’ll be me and Smiley. Sleep on it. Tomorrow is Friday. You can tell me then.”

Tingo patted him on the shoulder and backed away. “Think about it.”

He disappeared around the corner. Pillay sighed with relief and hurried homewards to Victoria Street.

He entered the dilapidated building and trudged up the dusty stairs. Reaching his flat, he rapped on the door. A young lady opened the door.

“Hi Lallie,” Pillay greeted his sister. Her blank face greeted him back.

“Everything ok?” he asked.

“Go talk to Mummy” Lallie replied flatly.

Puzzled, he walked in. A few roaches crawled towards him. He stamped a foot and they scurried across the floor into a small hole in the corner. He walked towards the courtyard. Passing the bedroom, he frowned as heard his father’s heavy snores. In the courtyard, his mother sat on a bench, her countenance bleak. Pillay dropped his bag onto the floor. He gestured towards the bedroom.

“Why is Daddy home so early?”

Mummy closed her eyes and sighed.

“What’s wrong, Mummy? Has he been drinking again?”

Mummy nodded.

“At school?” Pillay asked tentatively.

Mummy nodded again, her face warm. “They fired him.”

He glanced at Lallie as she walked into the courtyard. In silent sorrow they stared, their tears hidden by the long shadows of the late afternoon.

Friday afternoon arrived almost too soon. Pillay exited the school and made the familiar journey home as the azaan echoed through the streets. His chest tightened as he spied Tingo’s lean frame from afar. Tingo crossed the street and met Pillay at the corner.

“Howsit boss?”

“Hey Tingo.”

Tingo stared at him, eyebrows raised. “And?”

Pillay gazed at the ground. “Ok, I’ll do it.”

Tingo grinned “That’s my boy! I knew you’d make the smart choice.”

He took Pillay by the arm and led him into a small avenue.

“Alright, here’s the plan. We want to hit it at one o’clock Saturday afternoon. So we’ll meet half an hour before that. You’ll go in before us and signal if there’s any cops in there. If it’s safe, you rub your nose twice. If not, you scratch your cheek. Got it?

Pillay nodded.

Tingo continued. “While we’re doing our thing, you stand outside the Tote. After it’s done, we’ll meet again at my place and I’ll give you your cut. Right?”

“Sure Tingo.”

Tingo patted him on the shoulder. “Alright boss. See you at half twelve on the corner of Queen Street!” He skipped off down the road. Pillay continued walking home on quivering legs.

That night, a restless mind plagued Pillay as he tried to sleep. Sandwiched between his mother and sister on the bed, he lay paralysed, watching the macabre dance of ghostly shadows on the cracked ceiling. Rats nibbled at his feet as he finally dozed into a fitful slumber.

He left the flat early on Saturday morning to clear his mind and paced the streets, like a lost spectre. In the distance, he spied his friends kicking a ball in a quiet alleyway. Soon, the sun passed its zenith in the pale sky. His feet made their way to Queen Street. Tingo and Smiley were already waiting for him on the corner. They went through the plan once more before Pillay walked to the Tote to scout the area. The familiar cloud of smoke and hubbub of chatter welcomed him as he entered. His eyes darted around the room. No cops. He turned to leave, but paused midway. Nudging his way through the crowd, he strode to the back of the room. The closed bathroom door stared at him. He tried the handle. It was locked. Shrugging, he made his way back through the crowd and exited. Out of the corner of his right eye he saw the two young men watching him. Pillay rubbed his nose twice and walked left to the intersection of the road. A moment later, screams and a single gunshot erupted from the Tote. Pillay’s throat began to close and he gasped. His hands began to tremble and water rose to his eyes. The Tote fell quiet. He stole a glance at the entrance of the Tote. No sign of the men. Time dragged on. Pillay squirmed. Ages passed. Finally, Pillay heard a shuffle at the entrance and the men emerged, masked, from the Tote. Pillay recognised the slender frame of Tingo hauling a black bag. As the men turned right and fled, thudding echoed from the Tote. Seconds later, a burly uniformed figure appeared at the entrance. A shot shattered the silence. Startled, Pillay blinked. He watched as Tingo staggered. A second shot sounded. Tingo’s head whipped back and he collapsed to the pavement. Smiley disappeared around the corner. Pillay stared, rooted to the spot, as the uniformed figure showed a pale cheek. As the figure began to turn, Pillay unstuck his legs and sprinted away around the corner. A cry rang out from behind.

“There’s the lookout!”

Pillay dashed down the road, wheezing, not daring to look back. He raced through the streets, turning here and there, ducking into side alleys and weaving through the crowd. The azaan rang through the streets. Voices and buildings blurred and blended in a melange of confused scenes. His eyes grew misty and his vision clouded. As he ran, the azaan grew fainter until the harbour rose into his vision. His breathing laboured, he slowed down to a jog and crossed the busy street. Huffing, he reached the bay and glanced behind him. The busy townscape showed no sign of the uniformed figure. He sat on the dock, staring at nothing in disbelief. He blinked the tears away, his eyes red. The saffron light of the afternoon soaked the streets and glittered on the water. The boats and yachts cast their long shadows across the dock. He sat in the shade, gazing at a distant ship sailing away. It dwindled to a point, a speck, a blemish on the horizon, until it vanished over the edge of the world into the light.

About the Competition

The Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026 by Hashtag Kalakar is a prestigious platform celebrating literary creativity across various genres. It invites writers and poets from around the world to showcase their talent, offering a space for diverse voices and unique storytelling. This competition is a testament to Hashtag Kalakar's commitment to fostering a vibrant literary community and supporting the creative arts.

We extend our heartfelt thanks to Tharan Pillay for sharing "Big City Dreams" with us in the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026. His story offers a poignant glimpse into the challenges and triumphs of city life, capturing the essence of youthful determination. We look forward to seeing more of Tharan's creative endeavors in the future.

About Hashtag Kalakar

Hashtag Kalakar is a creative platform dedicated to providing artists, writers, singers and other creative talents with opportunities to showcase their work and reach wider audiences through competitions, features and creative initiatives.