I feel SORRY !
Its not a story !
Its not exactly even a real life incident.
Its not a nightmare !
Its not also day dream !
Its nothing but reality that pinches me every now and then just to see me wincing in pain !
I live in a city swamped with small food joints and road side stalls.
As a pretty good number of colleges are booming in the small city, such food joints serves as the best mean to grab a quick snack in economic price in day to day affair. Students also find soothe to savor something way better than hostel food, let how tasty it be.
Every evening when the lights fill the darkness of the city links, the rabble swarms in the lanes and by lanes of the place to enjoy hot snacks and munch the warmth to beat the bitterness of winter nights.
I was no different. After office I too preferred to nibble on some hot and spicy food on my way back home almost everyday. Today I was all covered in my newly bought cardigan and also made sure that I am done up from head to toe to beat the cold winter breezes.
I was in mood for some "chaat" today. The saucy and spicy recipe is something that I simply can not ignore. Its just so tempting. It solaces my active taste buds. Its just the best when I want something to warm me up. As I am not much of a soup person, so chaat is something I find easily settling with.
As I ordered for a plate, the vendor shouted, "Chotu, clean the plates. Costumers are waiting. And do it properly". He smiled at me as he finished the line. I returned to my game of candy crush and geared up to complete the level as I had the last life.
Suddenly a sound came that just disturbed the ambiance and the people were looking at some direction. I lost the game and sliding the phone to my purse I looked at the same direction. There I saw reality, struggle and a murder.
A murder of innocence. There I saw chotu, a boy of 7-8 with picking up the plates scattered on the ground he was carrying to the vendor all wet after washing them. As he could not manage the heap of plates piled over his tiny hands, the plates just slipped and dropped on the road. The vendor angrily pulled his ears and he was drawing back in pain. As I stopped the vendor to do so, he let go of Chotu and asked him to do the cleaning again, carefully with a glare.
I could notice the boy was in pain. His body was shaking in fear and grimace. He was sobbing silently. Drinking your tears is not an easy task and that to at such a tender age. He was trembling in cold. His wet vest and half pant were dabbed in water. The cool breezes were not helping either. Somehow in between wiping his tears and listen to the curt words of his boss, he carried the plates to the vendor and then gave the plated food to the costumers.
As he walked up to me with a plateful of chaat, I smiled at him. He smiled in return. I could still trace the tears that died on his skin merely few seconds before. How I wished to naive like him. I thanked him holding the plate in my hand and he said, “You are welcome.” Almost instantly I smiled. I wanted to talk to him. I do not know why. I asked him to sit next to me and he sat. I asked about his family, how he ended up at this place, whether he is studying or not, why he had to work. All he answered was a little more tear that welled up at the corner of his eye and a helpless smile that indicated that he is just not allowed to talk that much with a customer.
He moved back to his work, but I could not do the same with my food. I asked the vendor to pack it as the clog in my throat was getting bigger with time. Handling the vendor the money, I looked at Chotu one more time. He was back to cleaning some more plates. I waved at him and he smiled back. Such a poor kid. I wish I could do something for him, to help him anyway. His forced smile was etching me inside. I could not take it anymore and rushed back home.
Reaching home, I looked at me in mirror who is unable to take a bath or wash her face without geyser, hot water this winter at the age of 24, and here is a kid who is battling and struggling to be paid off for his basic needs half naked, soaked, glared and bashed.
I feel Sorry.
- Elora
Its not exactly even a real life incident.
Its not a nightmare !
Its not also day dream !
Its nothing but reality that pinches me every now and then just to see me wincing in pain !
I live in a city swamped with small food joints and road side stalls.
As a pretty good number of colleges are booming in the small city, such food joints serves as the best mean to grab a quick snack in economic price in day to day affair. Students also find soothe to savor something way better than hostel food, let how tasty it be.
Every evening when the lights fill the darkness of the city links, the rabble swarms in the lanes and by lanes of the place to enjoy hot snacks and munch the warmth to beat the bitterness of winter nights.
I was no different. After office I too preferred to nibble on some hot and spicy food on my way back home almost everyday. Today I was all covered in my newly bought cardigan and also made sure that I am done up from head to toe to beat the cold winter breezes.
I was in mood for some "chaat" today. The saucy and spicy recipe is something that I simply can not ignore. Its just so tempting. It solaces my active taste buds. Its just the best when I want something to warm me up. As I am not much of a soup person, so chaat is something I find easily settling with.
As I ordered for a plate, the vendor shouted, "Chotu, clean the plates. Costumers are waiting. And do it properly". He smiled at me as he finished the line. I returned to my game of candy crush and geared up to complete the level as I had the last life.
Suddenly a sound came that just disturbed the ambiance and the people were looking at some direction. I lost the game and sliding the phone to my purse I looked at the same direction. There I saw reality, struggle and a murder.
A murder of innocence. There I saw chotu, a boy of 7-8 with picking up the plates scattered on the ground he was carrying to the vendor all wet after washing them. As he could not manage the heap of plates piled over his tiny hands, the plates just slipped and dropped on the road. The vendor angrily pulled his ears and he was drawing back in pain. As I stopped the vendor to do so, he let go of Chotu and asked him to do the cleaning again, carefully with a glare.
I could notice the boy was in pain. His body was shaking in fear and grimace. He was sobbing silently. Drinking your tears is not an easy task and that to at such a tender age. He was trembling in cold. His wet vest and half pant were dabbed in water. The cool breezes were not helping either. Somehow in between wiping his tears and listen to the curt words of his boss, he carried the plates to the vendor and then gave the plated food to the costumers.
As he walked up to me with a plateful of chaat, I smiled at him. He smiled in return. I could still trace the tears that died on his skin merely few seconds before. How I wished to naive like him. I thanked him holding the plate in my hand and he said, “You are welcome.” Almost instantly I smiled. I wanted to talk to him. I do not know why. I asked him to sit next to me and he sat. I asked about his family, how he ended up at this place, whether he is studying or not, why he had to work. All he answered was a little more tear that welled up at the corner of his eye and a helpless smile that indicated that he is just not allowed to talk that much with a customer.
He moved back to his work, but I could not do the same with my food. I asked the vendor to pack it as the clog in my throat was getting bigger with time. Handling the vendor the money, I looked at Chotu one more time. He was back to cleaning some more plates. I waved at him and he smiled back. Such a poor kid. I wish I could do something for him, to help him anyway. His forced smile was etching me inside. I could not take it anymore and rushed back home.
Reaching home, I looked at me in mirror who is unable to take a bath or wash her face without geyser, hot water this winter at the age of 24, and here is a kid who is battling and struggling to be paid off for his basic needs half naked, soaked, glared and bashed.
I feel Sorry.
- Elora
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