My lil' neighbour..

Today, I passed on a 10 rupee note to a lil' boy at the crossing today.

I felt ashamed that I only passed on ten rupees. Very very ashamed.

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As I am typing this away, I am sitting in the cosy recluse of my home provided by my parents. He lives, less than 5 minutes away from me. Maybe he qualifies to be called a neighbour. I don't know his name but I know his home is that hard, tiled, rocky and cold footpath, under the flyover, at the crossing that I stop by on my way back home every evening.

Nine out of times, I brake at that red light. Ten out of ten times, I wonder about him and his family.

I maybe talking over the phone or listening to some loud music. At times they even find me crying. At times, they find me laughing by myself. But as I watch their faces everyday and stare at them, I always look for something. A story. An expression. Any expression. I never find it.

Their faces are always mute. Just always.

In my mind, I think of what I always think about. That I must not turn my face away from them. That I must, face the reality. Not their's, but mine. The fact that I don't know what I have done in this lifetime to deserve a warm enough home and a computer in front of me.. and the leisure and a platform where I could type away my thoughts like I am doing now. And what has my lil' neighbour under the flyover done to not deserve it. Just what?

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I was born in a middle class family. My entire clan belongs to those of civil servants. So not much money, but a standing neverthless, made of good values, good books, good taste in literatue, drama, music, at times bad govt. flats, but life made colourful by multilingual neighbours, mean kids for friends, best friends for kids, deadlines at home, worried parents, old grandparents, fighting aunts & uncles, adolescent cousins.. and in the midst of all the conflict.. some love..

It took me lot of time to decide to buy myself a new car. Am yet to get myself an SLR camera. These days, it keeps gnawing at me. The thought of playing with a lens. Today, when I stopped at the crossing, I had thought, a lil' ashamedly, but nevertheless - 'what a shot it would make.. if I had a cam, I might just get down, go near that homeless famly sitting huddled together, and without a word, just click away. Let them stare at me. No issues. Let them look into the camera. No issues. Will they feel offended and drive me away? I would take my chances. Will they feel hurt to be made a subject of? I would..still.. take my chances.'

'I maybe helpless in providing them with a home. But I might make great pictures of them .. and maybe hold a photo exhibition one day. I will walk the streets of Delhi, in the cold, but find out their reality, and put it up for the others to see...'

Until, the reality walked upto me.

It was a nine or ten year-ed frame.. or maybe slightly older. Am bad at guessing ages and the kids on Delhi's streets are malnoursihed. I have always wondered what they eat for dinner. Do they buy the chhole kulche off the street vendors? I think you get at least one plate for a ten rupee note. I am sure they earn that much a day at least, selling newspapers, magazines, roses of all colours - red, yellow, pink.. toys, balloons, Christmas masks this week. Its common enough to be bugged by these roadside salespersons. Lil' kids, begging away to give them a rupee.

At times, its a young mother holding an infant or a baby, tied to her body with a ragged cloth. You almost wonder how on earth and where on earth could she have given birth to a child! I mean, most look much younger than me. Doesn't she know, one doesn't have to have kids, if one doesn't want to. Doesn't she know, one doesn't have to have kids if one can't afford to. She only seems to know that she has to keep hr babies with her after they are born. Like some instinct. The young mother always look tired. And ready to faint. But she drags herself to your car window. You give her a rupee, she has the same expression. She gives you a salaam. You pass on a 10 rupee note, she has the same expresssion. She gives you a salaam. Nothing makes a difference. She leaves the responsibilty of making a difference on you. She just holds her lil' baby, that clings to her bony body. And she just gives you a salaam.

With time though, her babies grow into lil' kids who beg. With time, these lil' kids grow into slightly bigger kids, start holding a steel katori or a container, pick up a small picture of a devi maa, put it in there, and beg of you in the name of god. When they grow tall enough, they start to start clean the windsheild of your car with a dirty cloth and insist for a rupee or two. These days, they even shove their hands into the window, trying to touch you. You shout at them and threaten them that you'd get them thrown into the jail. They don't care. They just giggle and scoot off. Its a very common thing. Very common and very irritating. If you are a Delhite, you'd know.

They generally bring in a lot of innvovation to their business. A lot of determination, lot of grit, lots of dedication that they show the whole year long. But they give it up in the cold Delhi winters. They lose to its cruel chill. They huddle together around a small fire they make. I automatically remember that its harmful for the environment to burn those dry leaves. But I shut my mouth up till such a time, that I am able to show them a way to a warm shelter. Education can happen later.

This is Delhi's reality. Delhites like me, have grown up with it. Are used to it.

But the grown up reality that walked towards me today.. I couln't watch it.

A boy of nine or ten, holding a sack like thing over his shoulder, got up off the tiled foothpath and walked towards me, as soon as I braked at the regular crossing on my way way back.. for home. I realised a second or two later, that it was a lil' baby in his hands. His family was huddled up around a very small flame. I peeked to see but couldn't make out if it was enough to keep them warm. But they didn't notice that. They never looked up. But the lil' boy holding the lil' baby snug, walked up to the other side of my car window. I was used to watching lil' girls taking care of the lil' ones in their family after their mothers, who are either working to earn some dinner, or who knows, even dead. But this lil' boy, something about him, stuck me today.

It was the way he held the baby. Snug. The way he comfortably got up, without stumbling. And the ease with which he walked towards me. My car, I mean. The way, nothing seemed out of the place for him. Like it was allright. Yes, he was suffering. Yes it was very cold outside. He looked hungry. He looked depressed. His irises weren't really clear, his dead soul reflected there. Its a tough world out there for him. Everything about him spoke to me of that. But he would stick by the lil' one, no matter what. Like he had accepted that he was just meant to. Like he was never meant for anything else. He had already grown up. His reposnsiblity was the lil' one in his hands. He, himself, never had a childhood. It meant nothing to him. Worse, his eyes spoke no complaints. He was just tired and cold and hungry. Everything else was allright.

I immediately lowered the left window, stretched out my hand and passed on a ten rupee note. He took it. I don't know what he felt. I don't know what he'd thought. But there was no change in the expression. And I knew I wasn't doing enough. When he looked at me, I couldn't meet his eyes.

He walked back, to his footpath.

I went home.

Does he have a name? I wonder.

Courtesy: While I am still saving up to buy myself a good camera, a photographer friend has kindly lent me images from his lens: To check out more stuff by my favourite picture man… jz click at the above pic.

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