So let's set the scene...
Typical Mumbai summer morning. Not comfortable. Far from it, in fact. Humid enough to make you crave a thanda bisleri with every pore of your sweat-soaked skin. A little past rush hour, so you are actually looking forward to getting in a local train just so you can stand at the door and feel air move, even if it is not exactly a cool breeze.
Like countless (quite literally) other Mumbaikars, I take the local train to get where I want - which today is a god-foresaken maritime training institute, at god-foresaken Reay Road. It always makes sense to spend 25 minutes in close contact with sweaty, smelly, mostly ugly strangers than be comfortable in a taxi but end up sitting in it for an hour plus 25 minutes. Yes, thanda bisleri instead of simply a water bottle from home; entitled enough to claim Reay Road as god-foresaken; shamelessly brands people in local trains as "mostly ugly"; but will always prefer the C.S.T. Slow local from the harbour line platform over a cab. Welcome to Mumbai!
I got off at Reay Road, walking in long strides to get to the exit. Long strides not just because I am perpetually late (I am) but also because if I walk faster, I can hit the shade a nano-second sooner.
Mid-stride, I saw that kid. A girl, no more than twelve, was on the ground, begging. We have all seen them before. If you have spent 30 seconds in any South Asian country outside of the airport, you have seen them. Dreamy eyes, no longer moist with tears, but a trail of leftover brine running down and over the cheeks, most of the water from the tears long since evaporated. Snot-stained lips. Tattered clothes. Thin strands of hair - the colour of dust - falling over the face to cover rust-coloured teeth.
Allow me to tug at your heart strings a wee bit harder - a slightly longer look made me realise she was not on the ground. She was on what can only be described as a skateboard. Except that she was not skating. She used it to slide her torso along, because her legs were uselessly bent at awkward angles. She used that skate-board just to move, pushing with her hands, dragging her legs like we drag those fancy shopping bags behind us on the mall floor.
Ok, that's a gloomy enough picture. Poverty, disability, heat, humidity - it's all there. But would you stop to help this child? Come on now, be honest! We see them so often, that if we were to stop every time, we would never get anywhere. God-forsaken or not, I still want to get to that damned training institute before I evaporate!
Well, just the fact that I am here, asking this question to strangers reading my blog, means that I did stop. No, I am not a better human than you are. Oh God no, definitely not!
My natural instinct would be to act like an ostrich. Ostriches and I have more than just long legs and bad hair in common! If things get awkward, I prefer to bury my head in the sand and hope that things are better when I resurface. So that is what I did. Turned my chin up, intending to walk right past. No plans to chance a sidelong glance. Even pushed my legs farther ahead to cover more distance. She had other plans though!
"Aey bhaiya, kya chikna dikh raha hai aaj!"
Oh come on now, kid! Why would you do that to me! And I know it was me she spoke to - I am not exactly pretty, but the others were all mostly ugly, remember? So I obliged her with a look, and what I saw made me stop. She was gorgeous!
The same tear-stained cheeks - but this time with a dimple in one of them. Eyes not at all dreamy but full of mischief. Those rust-coloured teeth, all pointing in different directions, grinning stupidly. Lips, still snot-stained, but shaped in a smile wider than Sonam Kapoor's. I honestly don't remember anymore, but I like to believe that the tattered frock she was wearing had smileys printed on it. I grinned right back at her. How could I not! She laughed, out loud. With me? Maybe. Probably at me.
Of course, I walked on. I had a reasonably good day at the institute, was cheerfully chatty most of the day. I did not really give the girl much thought all day, until evening. On the way back to the station, I bought two vada pavs for her. Not much, but I hoped she would like it. Maybe she would like it enough to forgive me for the chin-up-stride-past routine I thought fools everyone. Unfortunately, it did not go as planned.
I could not find her this time, so I took the next Andheri local. Found a seat, unwrapped the newspaper packing I was holding, and ate those vada pavs myself. Not a bad meal, but I still wish I had found her.
Why, after all these years, do I need to write about her? Because it is people like her, deprived of so much that we take for granted, who prove to us that happiness is but a choice.
Image Credits: Chirodeep Chaudhury/ Forbes India https://www.forbesindia.com/aperture/slideshow/frozen-in-time-a-photo-tour-of-bombay039s-public-clocks/57611/2
Typical Mumbai summer morning. Not comfortable. Far from it, in fact. Humid enough to make you crave a thanda bisleri with every pore of your sweat-soaked skin. A little past rush hour, so you are actually looking forward to getting in a local train just so you can stand at the door and feel air move, even if it is not exactly a cool breeze.
Like countless (quite literally) other Mumbaikars, I take the local train to get where I want - which today is a god-foresaken maritime training institute, at god-foresaken Reay Road. It always makes sense to spend 25 minutes in close contact with sweaty, smelly, mostly ugly strangers than be comfortable in a taxi but end up sitting in it for an hour plus 25 minutes. Yes, thanda bisleri instead of simply a water bottle from home; entitled enough to claim Reay Road as god-foresaken; shamelessly brands people in local trains as "mostly ugly"; but will always prefer the C.S.T. Slow local from the harbour line platform over a cab. Welcome to Mumbai!
I got off at Reay Road, walking in long strides to get to the exit. Long strides not just because I am perpetually late (I am) but also because if I walk faster, I can hit the shade a nano-second sooner.
Mid-stride, I saw that kid. A girl, no more than twelve, was on the ground, begging. We have all seen them before. If you have spent 30 seconds in any South Asian country outside of the airport, you have seen them. Dreamy eyes, no longer moist with tears, but a trail of leftover brine running down and over the cheeks, most of the water from the tears long since evaporated. Snot-stained lips. Tattered clothes. Thin strands of hair - the colour of dust - falling over the face to cover rust-coloured teeth.
Allow me to tug at your heart strings a wee bit harder - a slightly longer look made me realise she was not on the ground. She was on what can only be described as a skateboard. Except that she was not skating. She used it to slide her torso along, because her legs were uselessly bent at awkward angles. She used that skate-board just to move, pushing with her hands, dragging her legs like we drag those fancy shopping bags behind us on the mall floor.
Ok, that's a gloomy enough picture. Poverty, disability, heat, humidity - it's all there. But would you stop to help this child? Come on now, be honest! We see them so often, that if we were to stop every time, we would never get anywhere. God-forsaken or not, I still want to get to that damned training institute before I evaporate!
Well, just the fact that I am here, asking this question to strangers reading my blog, means that I did stop. No, I am not a better human than you are. Oh God no, definitely not!
My natural instinct would be to act like an ostrich. Ostriches and I have more than just long legs and bad hair in common! If things get awkward, I prefer to bury my head in the sand and hope that things are better when I resurface. So that is what I did. Turned my chin up, intending to walk right past. No plans to chance a sidelong glance. Even pushed my legs farther ahead to cover more distance. She had other plans though!
"Aey bhaiya, kya chikna dikh raha hai aaj!"
Oh come on now, kid! Why would you do that to me! And I know it was me she spoke to - I am not exactly pretty, but the others were all mostly ugly, remember? So I obliged her with a look, and what I saw made me stop. She was gorgeous!
The same tear-stained cheeks - but this time with a dimple in one of them. Eyes not at all dreamy but full of mischief. Those rust-coloured teeth, all pointing in different directions, grinning stupidly. Lips, still snot-stained, but shaped in a smile wider than Sonam Kapoor's. I honestly don't remember anymore, but I like to believe that the tattered frock she was wearing had smileys printed on it. I grinned right back at her. How could I not! She laughed, out loud. With me? Maybe. Probably at me.
Of course, I walked on. I had a reasonably good day at the institute, was cheerfully chatty most of the day. I did not really give the girl much thought all day, until evening. On the way back to the station, I bought two vada pavs for her. Not much, but I hoped she would like it. Maybe she would like it enough to forgive me for the chin-up-stride-past routine I thought fools everyone. Unfortunately, it did not go as planned.
I could not find her this time, so I took the next Andheri local. Found a seat, unwrapped the newspaper packing I was holding, and ate those vada pavs myself. Not a bad meal, but I still wish I had found her.
Why, after all these years, do I need to write about her? Because it is people like her, deprived of so much that we take for granted, who prove to us that happiness is but a choice.
Image Credits: Chirodeep Chaudhury/ Forbes India https://www.forbesindia.com/aperture/slideshow/frozen-in-time-a-photo-tour-of-bombay039s-public-clocks/57611/2
The "before-and-after" type description of the little girl instantly brings a smile on my face. Brilliant piece of writing!
ReplyDeleteTo more such compliments for the author from strangers on the street! :)
True.. Happiness is but a choice
ReplyDelete