What Did You Order For Lunch Today ?

Here is a short story written by a Techie.

 

 

I got out of the shopping mall after spending few thousands. After cautious sashays with three large shopping bags I stepped out on the road. As usual I had to bargain with rickshawallah. Finally I managed to mollify him and came at an agreement that I would give him twenty rupees extra for dropping me four hundred meters away from my home. I had no other choice as I had already noticed that people around me noticing this friction. Moreover, I would not mind swaggering that little distance as I could display my shopping flings to my dearest neighbor Bindya. The glossy polythenes in my hand boasted about the extravaganza I had at the shopping mall. Anybody who must have seen my friction with the driver would have poked fun on me for bargaining for these twenty rupees over my lavishness. I cursed myself for not owning a four wheeler of my own and hopped into the auto. Not that I do not know driving, my diffidence in driving in Bangalore traffic, and my habit of being preoccupied in even minutest stress of no reason contributed to this. I possess a driving license which dates a decade back. Betwixt its use dwindled just for an address proof or a photo proof.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I wanted to reach home as early as possible.  I wanted to try my new sneakers once again. I was little dissatisfied by the green kurta, but wanted earnest opinion from Bindya.  She her self is a big show off, and if she concurs with my pick, invariably, I would never have to exchange it.  I had picked two beautiful saris, one for my sister and one for my mom. I had picked a set cutlery, a table linen, a flower vase only because there were flat few percentages off on all the items at the shop. I palpated my purse, and I knew I could afford them. Moreover the excuse I gave myself was that I would never get these items this cheap. I was never a blotto, so I made my spirits up by a little shopping every month.

 The traffic signal on the road was just few meters away. There were hardly any other vehicle on the road, and very few people on the sidewalks. I was confounded by these thoughts when suddenly I felt a bodily form jumping in front of the rickshaw. The rickshawallah braked the wheels quickly. My reflexes worked well. I held firmly on the metal casting which held the drivers back rest. We both were safe. Two people ran towards the front of the vehicle. I was scared to look at the bodily figure which was hit by the vehicle. The rickshawallah was cursing loudly in local language. I understood it was the mistake of the apparition which I just saw. There was a passive look on everybody’s face. I knew everything was fine and that comforted me. But the sudden jerk put the engine on halt. The rickshawallah opened the window behind the vehicle for checking some engine part. I was trying to figure out the bodily form by stretching out myself from the side window.

 The tiny figure rose to her feet. She wore a torn loose blouse which extended to her hip and a skirt patched at multiple places. The clothes were dirty and I could not make out the original color as both were dusty brown. She was blond haired and malnourished. She looked as if she belonged to some slum. The girl and her clothes seemed like, had not seen water for last many months. She pushed back her tangled hair and picked up a small bag. She also picked up a small green color toy. She checked for the functioning of the toy and put it inside the bag. Her right elbow was injured badly. Her lachrymal glands have started their job and saline water wiped away the dust from her face tracing a narrow pathway on her cheeks. Nobody bothered to help her. She wiped her tears and looked at her wound. She looked around and saw a small tap on the other side of the road. I could read her mind. She would wash the wound now.  Though I wanted to help her, my inflated pride held me back. But I kept watching her. She walked towards the divider that separated the road and sat there. The abrupt and seemingly uncontrolled happenings would have scared her, as any other five or six year old would have. How could her parents leave this little child on the busy roads of Bangalore or were she an orphan?  

The rickshawallah finished his work and came back to his driving position. He saw the girl sitting on the road divider and yelled in local language for jumping in front of his vehicle and creating all the mayhem. He showed no sympathy for her wound. I heard a woman crying from other side of the road. She was speaking in crude Hindi but was much graspable for me than the local language in which the rickshawallah spoke. I understood the woman owned the child. She walked towards our vehicle. She too looked a slum dweller or could be a road side resident. The driver started the vehicle. She stood crossing the vehicle and started demanding money for injuring the girl and her medical expenses. The driver who was already in a combatant mood started talking in loud voice about what happened. I wanted to avoid a fray and though inexperienced in handling such a situation had a subdued whisper to driver that, I would offer some money to the girl. He in turn dissented asking me not to spend a paisa. He said these people purposely throw their kids in front of vehicles for injuring them and then for demanding money. He admonished the woman that he would hand over them to police. Suddenly the woman eased and the peace was established. She turned towards me and started begging money for the girl. The vehicle picked up speed and the driver parked the vehicle some fifty meters ahead of the scene as the signal was red at the junction.

 

I could hear the woman berating the small girl. The red signal was on and she was supposed to sell some playthings at the traffic signal. Few seconds later I saw the girl just near my vehicle. She wanted me to buy a small helicopter. It was green in color and you pull a thread the fan blades would rotate and the wheels will circumvolve. The toy was not peculiar and it did arouse any curiosity in me. She told it was for twenty rupees. I was reluctant to buy. I was checking her wound which was still bleeding and her eyes were tearful. I was sure that the woman did not let her wash the wound and instead asked her to sell the toy at the signal. I said I don’t want the toy but being sympathetic I offered her a ten rupee note. She asked me to buy the helicopter instead. She said she was famished and deprived of food for last two days. She said she fainted while crossing road. My ten rupee note did not distract her from her goal of selling a helicopter. She pleaded to me again and made a face which motivated more compassion in me. She said she would not get her meal if she did not sell few toys.

 

The signal turned green and the rickshaw geared and started achieving speed. I searched for another ten rupee note inside my wallet to buy the toy. I could not find any, not even coins to add up to ten rupee. The girl was looking innocently at my purse and hoped for the ten rupee note to come out. I told her that I did not have change and passed the only ten rupee I had into to her hands. The auto moved away. She stood near the divider looking at the ten rupee note disappointed. I was wondering why she was unhappy at the money. I peeked from my auto up until I could see the last glances of the girl. The woman whom I thought owned the girl was walking towards her. Would the woman take away the money from the girl? Would she still be deprived of the meal that day also? Or would she buy and eat something with that money? Suddenly these thoughts rammed into my mind. I felt my heart seized beating for a while. I cursed myself not buying two of her helicopters with next higher note of fifty in my wallet and would have given the extra ten for buying medicines for her injury just to help her. Fifty rupees is nothing when compared to the money I waste otherwise buying things which I really don’t require and dump at my home. There was an anxious uneasiness.

 

I looked at my picks that day. The cutlery, the table linen, the flower vase all had lost its grace and glory in front of a dirty ravenous slum girl. My prance in front of Binyda’s house felt meaningless. My mom and my sister had so many clothes stacked in their shelves and these were just additions to them. The saris did not look beautiful for me now. The driver dropped me near my home. When I handed over the extra twenty rupees to the driver, the innocent look of the starved girl came into my mind. I walked reclusive towards my home. I prayed at the unopen temple on the way to my home. Deep inside my heart I wished that at least for that day the girl should not sleep hungrily.

 

That evening the picture of the girl occupied my mind. Her sincerity towards her work or her innocence or may be the fear of owning a ten rupee of her own or another rebuke from the woman or another meal less night shook my mind. The girl was just four or five year old. The poverty and poignant hunger impinging her rights to school or to play around or of a happy childhood, contradictorily she was selling toys for children at her age. A bundle of questions whirled through my mind. Nothing can satisfy an appetite than food. I read somewhere almost one in every two children in India is hungry. Hundreds of thousands of people come to cities in search of jobs and they end up in more poor living conditions. This could be due to lack of skill perhaps. If they don’t have work what do they do other than begging? I remember I used to refrain from giving alms to children who beg. I used to tell others that this will encourage them to beg and not to work in future. Children who are begging earn more sympathy than their parents. So elders might use them for begging. Some kids do road side circus or wipe the front glass of car or sell news papers or do so some work and then solicit money. This was more acceptable for me than former, though I do not stand for child labor. Child labor a cliche has lost its gravity. Every statement is belie when it’s hunger that drives one to that.  Empty-bellied children might work or beg to earn a days meal. These destitute are victimized by people.

 

When we introspect, think of the sumptuousness the so called IT Professionals own. It’s true not everybody can work for a social cause. May be we could just do few simple things in our daily lives. I have seen many people ordering large quantity of food during lunch and wasting much of it. Think of somebody dying for not having a handful of meal a day. Think before indulging in recklessly wasteful shoppings. Support some NGOs working towards a social cause. When our kids indulge with a costly video game or a toy or on a grand scale ice cream, put some effort to explain to them how princely they live. Millions of kids around them are hungry and are not blessed as they are. Help them to develop compassion within. I remember my mother scolding me for wasting food when I was a kid. I have carried forward her teachings till date and I have not hesitated passing the message. If each one of us spend a minute thinking what small difference can we make to this world, then life would be more beautiful and worth living.

 – Amitha M Das (you can reach the author at [email protected] )