It was
impossible not to cry. Tears that had filled until the brim, threatening to overflow,
flowed gently down my cheeks. I couldn’t quite say if I was happy or sad.
Retrospectively though, I know that I was both happy and sad.
About a
year and a half ago, I had undergone a rather minor laser eye surgery to stop
the fluid inside my eye from overflowing through a cut which had developed when
a football had struck my right eye from close range. I had frequent eye
checkups since then at the same hospital, a hospital which was close to my
house. A fifteen minute walk would suffice to cover the distance.
After
one of my check-ups on one sunny afternoon, walking back home through one of
the quieter cross roads, I saw a bunch of kids near a construction site. They
were children of the workers there, clothed by dusty, ill-fitting clothes.
There were about five or six of them, all playing around, running and hopping. The
eldest was a girl, no older than six or seven and the rest were all younger
than her by at least a couple of years. The youngest of the lot was the one held
by the girl on her hip and he was barely two. Like most kids their age, they
looked like a happy lot, with no responsibilities and indeed even without an
understanding of what responsibility might mean.
These
kids, I thought, will never have a childhood like most. Their childhood will be
filled with extreme sacrifices made by their parents to just earn a day’s meal.
And being in an environment where most of their wants possibly will not be
satisfied, they might also outgrow their innocence soon. The sight of these
children playing, having fun, oblivious to what life had dealt them, put me in
a pensive state of mind. I made up my mind to make just one of their days
special in a small way and walked over to one of the elders in the group. I
asked if I could take them to a nearby bakery and buy them what they asked for.
The man agreed without any hesitation and called out to the girl and explained
that she was to accompany me to the bakery.
I asked
her to tell the other kids that she would bring all the stuff for them and that
they were to stay put in her absence. She did so, and came along with me, still
holding the boy at her hip. As we walked to the bakery, I made conversation
with her, asking her name and the place they were from (neither of which I can
remember now). I held her hand and crossed the main road, across which was the
bakery. At the bakery, I told her that she was free to order anything she liked
and also to keep in mind what the kids we left behind would like. She took a
few minutes to think of everything they’d want and once done, all her orders
cost me lesser than Rs.200. I held the plastic bag with all the snacks in one
hand, her hand in the other, as we crossed the road again and went back to the
construction site.
She
took the cover from me once we reached and thanked me for the snacks. That was
one of the moments where I profoundly felt how unfair life was. For her, these
snacks worth 200 were a luxury, while for me, I wouldn’t think twice about
paying Rs.100 just to play football for an hour. And what I had done was in no
way going to bridge this gap between me and her. However, I hoped that my small
gesture would make her feel like life was being unfair in her favour, for a
small while at least. These thoughts predominantly occupied my mind as I made
my way home.
Many
weeks later, I had another consultation and was walking home via the same
route. I saw some of those children from that day, again playing on the street.
I had almost reached the end of the road, where I’d turn, when I spotted that
big girl in the group. Her face lit up in an instant when she saw me and waved
her hand wildly at me. Glee was written on her face; her wide smile the
letters. Those were smiles and waves of a happy recollection, of recognition.
