Bringing her hands behind her back and under the bag, she gave it a hoist and took a determined step up the bridge. That hurdle
overcome she settled into a comfortable rhythm - left then right, left-right. Her mind took over, events of the day crowding out the sheer drudge of
walking up, then down that bridge
Her mind
was on Sandeep. She had known for weeks their relationship wasn’t working.
This must
end, she had thought. But how?
It had
been surprisingly easy. They’d broken up at the end of the day. ‘It’s not
working for me, Vaishu,’ he’d said regretfully.
There it
was. The inevitable. It still came as a shock. She had a momentary panic
attack. What would she do without having a nice, strong, dependable arm to lean
on? Or a partner to take her to the movies? Should she pretend not to
understand what he was talking about?
NO. That
would be cowardly. And unfair to them both.
Without admitting it wasn't working for her either, she had quietly agreed.
Were they
making a huge mistake? Was it her imagination or had he held on to her hand a
moment longer than necessary? Her heart full of doubt she’d watched him turn
away, before walking out those huge college gates herself.
Right now, on her
way back home, she admitted to herself that it was a blow to her ego. And
inconvenient. Nothing more. Half way up Tilak Bridge she acknowledged the
guilty sense of relief that was beginning to suffuse her being.
I'll
survive, she thought, a sudden spring in her step, knowing she shouldn't feel
so ridiculously happy. If only I didn't have to face those pitying looks from
the others, she thought, her feet slowing down. I know, she thought, perking up again. I won't tell them. Not yet..
They’d
been together for two years. It had crept upon her gradually that there were
certain things about him she didn’t like. Where once she couldn’t wait to get
to college simply to be at the receiving end of that lazy smile through, oh
those heavenly, even white teeth, she had started seeing past that.
Why
couldn’t she ignore the little things he did? Like laughing at just about
everyone and expecting her to laugh with him? She felt a twinge of embarrassment every time
he did that and her gaze became shifty. When the animated conversations about
life, their hopes, their dreams gave way to gossip, that’s when she should have
ended it. Somedays when they were by themselves, she found herself surreptitiously checking her mobile to see
if there were texts from friends. Anyone. Even her mum, for goodness’ sake.
It was difficult for Sandeep not to be admired. The result was inevitab...
Vaishali
jumped, coming back to the present with a fright. Was that a creepy crawly
that had brushed against her leg? A cockroach? She shuddered. She hated
cockroaches. With a half-strangled sound, she bent down to flick wildly at her
leg. She stopped herself just in time as she saw a tiny hand, the tiniest she'd
ever seen, withdraw in fright. It belonged to a child beggar. He'd barely
brushed it against her leg to catch her attention.
For a second, reacting to the fright he'd given her she had this urge to yell
at the little boy. Sanity restored, she looked at him again. He was a boy of
about three or four. Exhaling on a shaky breath she would’ve continued on her
way - such things happened on Mumbai roads all the time - but he had such a
quality of vulnerability that without realising what she was doing, she
stopped. She looked at the child beggar, not knowing what to do.
This was
a gut reaction. It wasn't the face she'd trained herself to present to beggars.
However persistently they invaded her space, however much they touched her with
their dirty, grubby hands she kept walking, never looking at them, her face
carefully blank, her pace neither quickening nor slowing. After about five
minutes of this - their insistent touching as they tried to force her to look
at them, and her determination not to, they ran off to harass another, more
likely victim. They never realised how close she came to caving in.
In the
eighties she used to give money to the few beggars on Bombay roads. But, almost
overnight, their numbers had increased. Begging had become a whole new
industry - that of gangs organising poor and deprived kids into a beggar's
brigade. There were too many and they had started using tactics of
harassment to get her to cough up. She would recoil wherever she felt a beggars’
army of persistent hands on her person but she’d decided she was better off
holding on grimly to her lost-in-thought demeanour and measured walk.
Today was
different. After that one touch, the little child did not touch her again. He
sat there, frozen, except for his huge eyes, not beseeching - the look these
beggars normally assumed - but slightly fearful, slightly curious and very
hopeful - a look that somehow pulled at her heartstrings.
Vaishali
knew so many reasons why she ought not to shell out to this beautiful,
dirt-streaked baby and yet, she was driven to. She wanted to wipe the sadness
and fear off the little upturned face, the obvious hunger. He still hadn't
acquired the streetwise cunning she knew would mar his face before long - a
beseeching face for people like her and a knowing, sideways glance for his
beggar friends.
As she
went for her purse, she realised there was probably a gang of other kids
watching out for suckers just like her.
She
suddenly knew what she must do. She clamped shut her coin purse and marched across to
one of the street vendors standing not too far away. She bought a batata
wada. She cautioned the vendor not to put any chutney in the bread. After
her tiff with Sandeep, the two hadn't ended up at the canteen for a coffee and
she luckily had some pocket money to spare. She picked out the visible chillies
from the vada with her fingers, went back to the child and
handed it to him. He accepted it with excited eyes and a beaming smile. She
stood there watching over him while he ate – quick, tiny little bites. One of
the other beggars tried to approach her. She stopped him with a fierce look.
There was something so formidable about her blazing eyes that he did not dare.
She was
aware that the other pedestrians had started noticing her. Some looked at
her with interest, but most had cynicism writ large on their faces. What a
foolish young woman, those faces seemed to say. Perhaps she thinks she can
change the world.
Vaishali
reached home on a high. She was happier than she'd been in a long time. Not
only was she rid of Sandeep, she had watched a young child finish half a vada and
put away the other half for later. For the first time in a long while, he
would've been too full to finish what was on his plate.
*****
Jeevan, for that was the young child's name, didn’t remember feeling so full
and content. He slept. Waking up at around 6 pm, he fished out the other
half vada and hiding it in his beggar’s cloth which was normally
spread out before him to collect coins flicked down by one or two passers-by,
ate it. He knew his minder would come around dusk to take him away and he
didn't want to have to share even a crumb with anyone.
So that's how batata vadas
tasted. He had always smelt them but this was the first time he'd had one. It
was delicious. His minders only gave him watery daal. He normally
went to bed hungry. But not tonight. In fact, he couldn't have eaten a morsel
of that daal, so full was he.
The young lady came every day after that. She was careful never to give him
money but always brought him a slice of bread or roti with a dry sabzi in
it. It was packed in newspaper. It was half her lunch. She liked to think he
looked forward to their little tryst as much as she did. Within a couple of
days, she thought she saw a change in him. His pallid face now looked like it
had a bit of colour and his eyes were definitely brighter. Whenever he saw her,
he stood up in anticipation and pleasure. They exchanged smiles. With
tenderness in her eyes, she gave him the packet she'd lovingly prepared for
him.
The other
beggars kept away. It wasn’t food their minder was interested in. It was money.
And she had none to spare.
Vaishali
watched as the little boy opened the packet and peeked inside. With a shy smile
at her he bit into his little wrap, his beedi-bati. She waited patiently as without looking up
again, he finished it. Bending down, she patted his head. A spring in her step she went on her way.
Vaishali
knew she wanted to do much more for this child but didn't know what else
she could do or who she could approach. These were the seventies, well before the internet revolution. Her wish remained locked away in
her heart, pushed to the back of her mind the minute she reached college.
Over the weekend,
with so much on her mind, Vaishali forgot the child. She didn't remember the
little boy until the weekend was gone. Her mind on what she would tell her best
friend about her break up, she started out for college on Monday.
I can't
keep it a secret much longer, she thought. I'll have to tell.
As she
reached the bridge, she knew she'd forgotten something. With a sinking heart
she remembered what it was. She hurried back home, picked a sheet of newspaper
and hurried out again. Out of sight of her house but still within the
boundaries of her housing colony, she opened her lunch box with fingers that
shook and rolled some of the sabzi into one roti for
the little child. Her heart hammering, she wondered how she could have
forgotten the boy. She tried to imagine his reaction. He would've felt so let
down. Perhaps, she thought without hope, he didn't beg over the weekend.
Thoughts of Sandeep had all but flown. Her breath escaping on a sob she
thought, to have given someone so young, hope, and then to let him down so
badly.
She
hurried back to the bridge. With an anxious heart she rushed to the spot where
he normally sat. He wasn't there.
She
traced her steps back. He wasn't there.
He is so
tiny he's easy to miss, she thought, not wanting to give up hope. Eyes beginning to fill with tears she crossed the bridge, uncaring of the squeal of brakes and angry honking from a car that almost ran her over. Of course he wasn't there.
I'll be late for my lecture. He must be on the other side. That's where we've always had out evening trysts. Trysts!
She laughed, aware that she was drawing attention to herself. It had been what? Four whole five-minute encounters? No, meetings? No, definitely trysts. Minutes full of love. And concern. Vague fears at the back of her mind for when she had to leave him every day. She rubbed hard at the solitary tear that had run down her cheek unnoticed, but was now tickling her nose. Those minutes spent with the tiny boy had impacted her more than two whole years spent with Sandeep.
I'll find him on our side. I'm sure I will. Just further down the bridge. I'll spot his dear little face searching the crowds for me, and when he sees me his eyes will light up with hope and excitement. I'll scold him for not being at our usual place. Then I'll laugh to show everything is fine.
With fear deep in the pit of her stomach she crossed over. He wasn't there.
She reached college on feet that felt like lead. Her friend, who'd heard Sandeep talk about his break up with Vaishali, took one look at her pain ravaged face and knew with a sinking heart it was all true.
***
The child sat on the new road his minder told him was much better than the old bridge. His stomach hurt with hunger. He knew he would get his daal only if he earned his keep. With desperate and beseeching eyes he touched the feet of a passerby. The woman expertly twisted her legs to avoid his grubby little fingers and having succeeded, triumphantly walked on
***
This story was written as far back as 2012. It is easy to give a coin and feel good about ourselves. Life is busy and it is harder to prepare a newspaper puda of something to eat and give that instead. Who knows, if the idea goes viral, it might bust the Dickensian gangs that exploit these young, vulnerable kids.
Here's an article in The Hindu to help you decide if sometimes you'd like to make an exception.
Vaishali's face: Thank you Brooke Cagle at Unsplash.com
Child Beggar: (Help me find and acknowledge this photographer, someone)
Photograph of Tilak Bridge: The Asian Age.