Tulsi
A walk along bandstand is always a peaceful experience with the sea breeze blowing through your hair, the salt air gently caressing your cheek, and the clean, clutter-free walkway, maintained that way by vigilant guards who won’t let you ignore the rules of no smoking and no eating there.
A few weeks ago, I was walking down bandstand with my cousin, taking advantage of my new flat, which is bang on the sea. We were walking along, deep in conversation, oblivious of the various other people walking alongside and past us, when I heard a little voice.
“Didi! Beautiful didi!”
We turned to see a small, pretty little girl, about 10 years old, carrying another child who was about 2 years old. She was obviously begging, and flattery, as we know, will get us everywhere. I looked down at her, and my heart warmed to see her full, open smile. As a rule, I generally don’t encourage beggars, so I ruffled her hair, recoiled at the dirty, oily texture, at once felt ashamed of my bourgeoisie reaction, and told her, “You are also very beautiful.” I tried to keep walking, but she persisted and after she called me beautiful a few more times and my cousin handsome, we laughed and decided to buy her something to eat. We took her to a sandwich stall and asked her what sort of sandwich she would like. She took an earnest look at what was on offer and said, “Saada.” While the sandwich maker was layering the bread with butter and chopping vegetables to put in it, I climbed up on the bandstand wall, and made conversation with the little girl. My cousin was curious about her, so I started by asking her her name.
Me: Tumhara naam kya hai?
Her: Tulsi.
Me: Aur uska? (pointing to the little child she was carrying.)
Her: Neha.
Me: Tumne English kahan seekha?
Her: Hum school jaate hai. Pehle English medium mein jaate the, ab Gujarati medium mein jaate hai.
Me: Idhar kya kar rahe ho?
She looked away shyly.
Me: Tumhare mummy-papa kahan hai?
Her: Papa nahin hai, mummy ghar pe hai.
Me: Woh kya karti hai?
Her: Khana banati hai…. (Then, as an afterthought) Humme sambhalti hai….
Me: Tum idhar kya karti ho? (Hoping for a response this time.)
Her: Paise kamati hoon.
Me: Achha? Paise kaise kamati ho?
Her: Hum didi ko bolte hai bahut beautiful ho. (with the shy, guilty smile of a child who’s been caught by an indulgent adult with her hand in the cookie jar.)
I laughed.
Her: Waise hum phool bhi bechte hai.
I stroked her head again, this time fully aware of what it was going to feel like.
By this time, her sandwich was ready and the cart owner handed it to her in a paper plate, asked her if she wanted ketchup, and in response to the small nodding head, poured ketchup liberally over the sandwich. As we paid the sandwich waala, the little girl saw that it had cost us 12 rupees. She shifted her focus from the food to us and said “Barah rupay. Mehenga hai.” I grinned at the cart owner and said “Dekho bhaiyya, mehenga hai.” He chuckled, and we started walking off. I couldn’t help noticing that the girl was feeding her little sister before herself, and making sure that the little one ate.
We walked off, but I couldn’t resist turning back for one last glance at the two girls perched on the wall, huddled over a little plate of bread, tomatoes, cucumbers and onions.
My cousin was quite affected by the little girl and her way of life. He spent the next hour thanking his stars for his good fortune, and realising how we, of affluent backgrounds have no right to ask for the many things we do. Gratitude for all he had was foremost in his mind.
I, on the other hand, being me, found myself besieged with questions. I couldn’t help wonder what it was about their lives that ensured they grew up before their time, yet maintained that childlike curiosity and innocence that it vital in every child. Why is it that these people, who have so little, don’t feel the need to protect themselves with shells and walls and barriers? They are open, straightforward and completely natural. The little girl made me happy- she was all grown up in a way, and heart-wrenchingly innocent in another.
She touched me- I have not forgotten her, and always look for her when I’m at bandstand.
A few weeks ago, I was walking down bandstand with my cousin, taking advantage of my new flat, which is bang on the sea. We were walking along, deep in conversation, oblivious of the various other people walking alongside and past us, when I heard a little voice.
“Didi! Beautiful didi!”
We turned to see a small, pretty little girl, about 10 years old, carrying another child who was about 2 years old. She was obviously begging, and flattery, as we know, will get us everywhere. I looked down at her, and my heart warmed to see her full, open smile. As a rule, I generally don’t encourage beggars, so I ruffled her hair, recoiled at the dirty, oily texture, at once felt ashamed of my bourgeoisie reaction, and told her, “You are also very beautiful.” I tried to keep walking, but she persisted and after she called me beautiful a few more times and my cousin handsome, we laughed and decided to buy her something to eat. We took her to a sandwich stall and asked her what sort of sandwich she would like. She took an earnest look at what was on offer and said, “Saada.” While the sandwich maker was layering the bread with butter and chopping vegetables to put in it, I climbed up on the bandstand wall, and made conversation with the little girl. My cousin was curious about her, so I started by asking her her name.
Me: Tumhara naam kya hai?
Her: Tulsi.
Me: Aur uska? (pointing to the little child she was carrying.)
Her: Neha.
Me: Tumne English kahan seekha?
Her: Hum school jaate hai. Pehle English medium mein jaate the, ab Gujarati medium mein jaate hai.
Me: Idhar kya kar rahe ho?
She looked away shyly.
Me: Tumhare mummy-papa kahan hai?
Her: Papa nahin hai, mummy ghar pe hai.
Me: Woh kya karti hai?
Her: Khana banati hai…. (Then, as an afterthought) Humme sambhalti hai….
Me: Tum idhar kya karti ho? (Hoping for a response this time.)
Her: Paise kamati hoon.
Me: Achha? Paise kaise kamati ho?
Her: Hum didi ko bolte hai bahut beautiful ho. (with the shy, guilty smile of a child who’s been caught by an indulgent adult with her hand in the cookie jar.)
I laughed.
Her: Waise hum phool bhi bechte hai.
I stroked her head again, this time fully aware of what it was going to feel like.
By this time, her sandwich was ready and the cart owner handed it to her in a paper plate, asked her if she wanted ketchup, and in response to the small nodding head, poured ketchup liberally over the sandwich. As we paid the sandwich waala, the little girl saw that it had cost us 12 rupees. She shifted her focus from the food to us and said “Barah rupay. Mehenga hai.” I grinned at the cart owner and said “Dekho bhaiyya, mehenga hai.” He chuckled, and we started walking off. I couldn’t help noticing that the girl was feeding her little sister before herself, and making sure that the little one ate.
We walked off, but I couldn’t resist turning back for one last glance at the two girls perched on the wall, huddled over a little plate of bread, tomatoes, cucumbers and onions.
My cousin was quite affected by the little girl and her way of life. He spent the next hour thanking his stars for his good fortune, and realising how we, of affluent backgrounds have no right to ask for the many things we do. Gratitude for all he had was foremost in his mind.
I, on the other hand, being me, found myself besieged with questions. I couldn’t help wonder what it was about their lives that ensured they grew up before their time, yet maintained that childlike curiosity and innocence that it vital in every child. Why is it that these people, who have so little, don’t feel the need to protect themselves with shells and walls and barriers? They are open, straightforward and completely natural. The little girl made me happy- she was all grown up in a way, and heart-wrenchingly innocent in another.
She touched me- I have not forgotten her, and always look for her when I’m at bandstand.
posted by Mojo | 3:34 PM
7 Comments:
Insi is writing, I am reading
Kind deed indeed on your part in perceiving things beyond the usual pity to finger-pointing to I-can't-care-less attitude.
Compassion is the key.
Well done...
I love you for a reason :)
Really well put! It surely is these kinds of incidents that tell us how well off we are...
wow... ntn more, ntn less...
WOW
Thank you :)
I am in complete awe. Great analysation and even more wonderful description. All i can say is that an ugly side of the truth depicted in a very simple straightforward way and nothing too lackluster; thats the beauty of it. Well done; good depiction.
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