The streetlights cast their pale glow on the pavement; the bitterly cold wind swept the fallen leaves along on its path; people walked briskly up and down - hands tucked deep inside their pockets, chin buried within the folds of the mufflers; head ducked against the cold wind. Traffic was thinning out slowly as everybody hurried home to be cocooned in the warmth of family comfort.
A little boy was weaving his way through the rows of cars standing at the traffic lights. A heavy basket was slung from the crook of his elbow; the tattered hem of his shorts flapped in the cutting breeze around his knees. Pulling together the open ends of his threadbare cardigan around his chest the little boy let out a plaintive cry of "Chanaaa Garammm" in his shrill and quivering voice. The young eyes darted left and right to see if any of the window glasses were rolled down.
"Damn", he muttered under his breath, disappointment written large on his face, "this evening is turning out to be worse than the previous evenings". The hunted look in his eyes betrayed the sense of despair in the teenaged heart.
A little boy was weaving his way through the rows of cars standing at the traffic lights. A heavy basket was slung from the crook of his elbow; the tattered hem of his shorts flapped in the cutting breeze around his knees. Pulling together the open ends of his threadbare cardigan around his chest the little boy let out a plaintive cry of "Chanaaa Garammm" in his shrill and quivering voice. The young eyes darted left and right to see if any of the window glasses were rolled down.
"Damn", he muttered under his breath, disappointment written large on his face, "this evening is turning out to be worse than the previous evenings". The hunted look in his eyes betrayed the sense of despair in the teenaged heart.
"Sala kamina", he yelped in surprise and jumped back on the pavement as a swank car wheezed past him barely missing his basket as the lights turned green.
The blaring of horns of impatient drivers drowned his plaintive cry of "Chana Garammm" as the boy started to walk down the pavement stopping momentarily to shift the heavy basket from one arm to another.
Standing under a tree out of the boundary of the jaundiced yellow glow of the streetlights he surreptitiously dug into his basket and brought out a handful of chana. Looking left and right to see if anybody was watching, he stuffed the handful in his mouth and started to chew slowly.
He was afraid of his dad; he was afraid that today's thrashing will be worse than yesterday's. He has not been able to sell a single paisa worth of chana for the last two days and he was scared of his father's temper.
But then he never felt so hungry as he felt now.
Some distance away a small crowd of motley people have gathered round a fire on the edge of the pavement. The sight of the warm glow on the faces of the people around the fire made him shiver violently.
Walking briskly with the heavy basket in his arms he came the edge of the human circle around the fire and setting the basket on the ground he thrust his frail hands forward to soak in the warmth.
"This feels so wonderful!"
His reverie was broken by the sharp sounds of shouts and heavy thuds of running boots.
"Bhago, poolicewalla!", was all that registered in his mind as the sharp crack of a stick on his back made him yelp in pain. Lunging quickly to grab the basket, he could only watch helplessly as it went spinning as a result of a resounding kick, the contents all lying strewn on the pavement.
Mouthing words which are never found in any dictionary, but which he had been hearing since he learned to speak, he started to run blindly with the instinct of self-preservation foremost in his mind.
Gradually the sounds of footsteps running behind him faded as he ran into a narrow dark alleyway between two rows of buildings. He huddled in the darkness, heart thumping. He decided that he will not go back home. Two consecutive nights without any earning and now the basket had gone too, "I will be murdered by Dad", he thought.
Down the end of the alley he could see the brightly lit window of a cake shop. His eyes glistened brightly but he was afraid of the police, afraid to leave the comfort of the darkness. As the throbbing of his heart eased a new tremor of uncontrollable shivering overtook the frail little body. Digging deep in his pockets he fished out a matchbox. Fumbling around in the darkness he gathered some bits and pieces of paper and lit a tiny fire. Then drawing up his knees to his chins and wrapping the cardigan tight around himself he laid down on the cold concrete alley staring intently at the sputtering flames.
Gazing into the dying embers he thought of the days long ago. During those cold nights he used to lie on a tattered mat similarly huddled up with his palms covering his ears; cringing in fear as his father shouted at his mother in a drunken rage. He used to shiver violently as he heard the metallic clanking of utensils being thrown on the ground and sometimes the screams and then thuds as his father went on a rampage. And then he would wake up in the middle of the night to find a himself covered with a worn out shawl and his mother laying beside him facing away. He had questioned his Ma in the mornings. She never replied but always gave him a smile which he thought was very sad. And then one day they took Ma to the hospital.
But those were quite some time ago.
Now laying on the concrete he thought he could hear footsteps. Slowly he opened his eyes.
Isn't it Ma ?
He rubbed his eyes and focused again
Yes! Ma was walking towards him. Her eyes were full of compassion. The red bindi on her forehead had a warm glow; very much like the warm glow of the now-dead fire. Suddenly tears welled up in his eyes. No amount of thrashing by his dad would make him shed a single drop of tear but now he was crying.
What took you so long Ma ?
He wept uncontrollably as Ma hugged him closely wrapping him in her warmth. Slowly his sobs died down. He was feeling intensely happy. He looked up from the comfort of Ma's lap.
The blaring of horns of impatient drivers drowned his plaintive cry of "Chana Garammm" as the boy started to walk down the pavement stopping momentarily to shift the heavy basket from one arm to another.
Standing under a tree out of the boundary of the jaundiced yellow glow of the streetlights he surreptitiously dug into his basket and brought out a handful of chana. Looking left and right to see if anybody was watching, he stuffed the handful in his mouth and started to chew slowly.
He was afraid of his dad; he was afraid that today's thrashing will be worse than yesterday's. He has not been able to sell a single paisa worth of chana for the last two days and he was scared of his father's temper.
But then he never felt so hungry as he felt now.
Some distance away a small crowd of motley people have gathered round a fire on the edge of the pavement. The sight of the warm glow on the faces of the people around the fire made him shiver violently.
Walking briskly with the heavy basket in his arms he came the edge of the human circle around the fire and setting the basket on the ground he thrust his frail hands forward to soak in the warmth.
"This feels so wonderful!"
His reverie was broken by the sharp sounds of shouts and heavy thuds of running boots.
"Bhago, poolicewalla!", was all that registered in his mind as the sharp crack of a stick on his back made him yelp in pain. Lunging quickly to grab the basket, he could only watch helplessly as it went spinning as a result of a resounding kick, the contents all lying strewn on the pavement.
Mouthing words which are never found in any dictionary, but which he had been hearing since he learned to speak, he started to run blindly with the instinct of self-preservation foremost in his mind.
Gradually the sounds of footsteps running behind him faded as he ran into a narrow dark alleyway between two rows of buildings. He huddled in the darkness, heart thumping. He decided that he will not go back home. Two consecutive nights without any earning and now the basket had gone too, "I will be murdered by Dad", he thought.
Down the end of the alley he could see the brightly lit window of a cake shop. His eyes glistened brightly but he was afraid of the police, afraid to leave the comfort of the darkness. As the throbbing of his heart eased a new tremor of uncontrollable shivering overtook the frail little body. Digging deep in his pockets he fished out a matchbox. Fumbling around in the darkness he gathered some bits and pieces of paper and lit a tiny fire. Then drawing up his knees to his chins and wrapping the cardigan tight around himself he laid down on the cold concrete alley staring intently at the sputtering flames.
Gazing into the dying embers he thought of the days long ago. During those cold nights he used to lie on a tattered mat similarly huddled up with his palms covering his ears; cringing in fear as his father shouted at his mother in a drunken rage. He used to shiver violently as he heard the metallic clanking of utensils being thrown on the ground and sometimes the screams and then thuds as his father went on a rampage. And then he would wake up in the middle of the night to find a himself covered with a worn out shawl and his mother laying beside him facing away. He had questioned his Ma in the mornings. She never replied but always gave him a smile which he thought was very sad. And then one day they took Ma to the hospital.
But those were quite some time ago.
Now laying on the concrete he thought he could hear footsteps. Slowly he opened his eyes.
Isn't it Ma ?
He rubbed his eyes and focused again
Yes! Ma was walking towards him. Her eyes were full of compassion. The red bindi on her forehead had a warm glow; very much like the warm glow of the now-dead fire. Suddenly tears welled up in his eyes. No amount of thrashing by his dad would make him shed a single drop of tear but now he was crying.
What took you so long Ma ?
He wept uncontrollably as Ma hugged him closely wrapping him in her warmth. Slowly his sobs died down. He was feeling intensely happy. He looked up from the comfort of Ma's lap.
Ma was smiling at him.
It was a foggy and cold morning. A few people had gathered in the alley. A portly gentleman polishing his spectacles with a spotless white handkerchief was speaking in a very important tone with an accent which sounded like a cross between a Wall street banker and a village headman.
"This is a shame for our society", he said, "we now have kids dying at our doorsteps. The government should come forward with more aid schemes for the poor". He grunted and put back the immaculately polished glasses back on his nose.
"Bechara! Must have died in the cold. This is why I always donate warm clothes every winter to the welfare organizations. But I wonder what do they do with those", quipped another.
"The body must be removed at once or else the whole area will start to stink", commented somebody else and everybody applauded the third speaker for his brilliant common sense.
It was a foggy and cold morning. A few people had gathered in the alley. A portly gentleman polishing his spectacles with a spotless white handkerchief was speaking in a very important tone with an accent which sounded like a cross between a Wall street banker and a village headman.
"This is a shame for our society", he said, "we now have kids dying at our doorsteps. The government should come forward with more aid schemes for the poor". He grunted and put back the immaculately polished glasses back on his nose.
"Bechara! Must have died in the cold. This is why I always donate warm clothes every winter to the welfare organizations. But I wonder what do they do with those", quipped another.
"The body must be removed at once or else the whole area will start to stink", commented somebody else and everybody applauded the third speaker for his brilliant common sense.
