480) Leisure Time Short Stories (1): Friends at the Crossroads:
(This short story first appeared in our blog fabhobbies.blogspot.com. It is being placed here for wider coverage)
When I was posted in Hyderabad during my assignment there with a Bank, I was staying in Somajiguda. Every evening on my way back home from the Bank Branch where I was posted, I used to stop at a busy cross-roads traffic signal.
(This short story first appeared in our blog fabhobbies.blogspot.com. It is being placed here for wider coverage)
When I was posted in Hyderabad during my assignment there with a Bank, I was staying in Somajiguda. Every evening on my way back home from the Bank Branch where I was posted, I used to stop at a busy cross-roads traffic signal.
As
my little red Maruti 800 would vend its way through the traffic snarl which
would invariably build up, I noticed a little girl dressed in rags trying to sell
an evening newspaper to all the cars that had stopped by. After making futile
attempts with four drivers ahead of me, it was my turn. “Sir, newspaper, only
two rupees” she said and proceeded to drop one copy into my lap. “Hey, what am
I going to do with it, it is in Telugu, and I don’t even know the language”.
The
traffic light had turned green and I wanted to get back home as quickly as
possible and the motorists behind my car were honking away for me to drive on. She
signaled to me that she did not know any other language than Telugu and a just
a smattering of English. Perforce, I had to fish out a two rupee coin and give
it to her.
The
next evening while driving back from office, as usual, there was the inevitable, rather long, red
traffic signal and the moment she saw me her eyes lit up in the hope of a
confirmed newspaper sale but this time I was prepared for her. I fished out a
handful of toffees and chocolates from the gloves compartment of the car and
pushed them into her hand.
She
forgot about the newspaper sale, immediately pushed one toffee into her mouth
and pocketed the rest , perhaps for later or perhaps to share with her little
brother and sister or even her friends. A shy smile was followed by a muttered
‘thanks’ and a wave of the hand when I drove by on the Green traffic light.
The
next day two of her little friends had joined her. There was also a physically
challenged lady and a 16 year boy whom I
later learned was called Jehangir because he was the only one who could speak
Urdu, a language I could converse in and who made a living selling car and
feather dusters (the others could only understand Telugu which I was still in
the process of learning). But a few words all of us understood like “Chocolates”?
‘‘Toffees?” “Biscuits” and “thanks” the last one with very pleased grins all-round.
Then it became a routine. Apart from toffees, chocolates, biscuits, small toys
etc. whatever I could remember to carry every evening after my busy office
routine ,or more like, whatever my Branch Steno and my messenger could lay hands on upon my instructions,
would be distributed among this motley crowd of children which kept growing in
numbers as the months passed by.
The
moment my car would stop at the red light my ‘friends’ would drop whatever they
were doing and make a beeline for the red Maruti . Sometimes, on account of
office pressures, I would forget to keep the handouts in the car’s gloves compartment,
and I would say, “there is nothing for you today”. There would be
disappointment all-round but no protests!!
The
little red car was easily the most recognized car at the traffic signal. So
much so that whenever I would go in any other car, no one would recognize me
till I had to virtually hang out of the car to give out the chocolates. My
accompanying junior officers would often caution me “Sir, you should not
encourage these beggars, they are upto no good". But I knew differently. They
were just trying to make a living within their small means compelled by their
circumstances and the toffees/chocolates etc. were just one of the highlights
of the day for them.
On New Year’s Day, I carried Telugu calendars
for them. Jehangir was particularly pleased with his Urdu one. I had even
ordered a few extra packets at the customary office lunch on New Years day,
which I gave out to my ‘friends’ at the traffic signal.
Jehangir
knew that I did not much care for the yellow dusters that he would sell to me
occasionally, so he managed to find pink, blue, brown, red and other colour
dusters for me. Some of them looked hideous, but because he had gone to great
lengths to procure them, I would always buy them off him pretending to like the
colour very much.
Then,
one day I broke the news to them. I had applied for early retirement and would
be leaving Hyderabad for Pune in a week’s time. I carried extra chocolates and
toffees for them. The last time that I saw the little girl, I gave her a big
packet of biscuits and through sign language indicated to her and her friends,
that I would not be traveling on that road anymore. She had understood. I still
remember seeing them in the rear view mirror, and in particular the little girl
standing with her bunch of newspapers
looking at my car speeding by, oblivious to the traffic going around her. I
wonder if she made a sale that day. I still do not know her and her friend’s
names.
An
evening earlier, my wife and I were
passing by after an office party and we saw Jehangir at the cross-roads still
selling his cloth and feather dusters. My wife showed an interest in the
feather duster. “How much do I pay you” I asked. He replied “You are leaving
Hyderabad, Sir. For you, it is free. It is a gift from all of us.” I knew he
used to sell them for Sixty rupees, so I pushed that amount into his hand. He
returned thirty rupees immediately, insisting that he would only collect half
the price. The duster is still in use even after all these years at our house.
I saw a similar one in a Pune Shopping Mall costing one hundred and twenty five
rupees!!
About
a year later while taking a turn at the North Main Street at Koregaon Park
crossing, near the Osho Ashram in Pune,
we saw a little underprivileged girl knocking at the windows of cars stopped at
the traffic signal. It had been a long time since I had given toffees to
children at the crossroads. My wife reached out and checked in the Gloves
compartment of the car. Yes, there were a few toffees. I rolled down the window
and called the little girl over. There was a quizzical look on her face.
Perhaps she expected some money. The look immediately turned to that of a
pleasant surprise as she saw the toffees.
She
immediately popped one in her mouth and pocketed the others, perhaps to
share with a little brother/ sister later. There was a grin on her face. The
tense look of harassment of one trying to make a living on the streets had
vanished and she had become a child again. She continued waving out to us till
we had sped away.
She
seemed an intelligent and smart child condemned by circumstances to waste her life
on the streets; nevertheless her grateful smile had made our day, and most of
all there was a new friend at a new crossroad!!
(The above short story has been written by Rajeev Prasad)
Links to some other short stories on this Blog by Rajeev Prasad:
Links to some other short stories on this Blog by Rajeev Prasad:
6)
Leisure Time Short Stories: Remembering Uncle Paul Haegar: A German
Army Officer in World War II, who became an exemplary Horticulturist and
transformed/landscaped the gardens of the Aligarh Muslim University
(AMU) into examples of beauty and excellence
7) Leisure Time Short Stories : Connecting through several lifetimes: The Story of the "Panditji" (Priest) of the Hanuman Temple at Chandrasekhar Azad University, Kanpur
7) Leisure Time Short Stories : Connecting through several lifetimes: The Story of the "Panditji" (Priest) of the Hanuman Temple at Chandrasekhar Azad University, Kanpur
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