Hanging Strands of Puerility

Left inactive on the Stalk, All its Purple fled

Revolution shakes it for, Test if it be dead.

It was the day of temporary salvation. People in this Well Known Institute in Western India would instantly tell you that I am referring to the term break. I was finally going to be with my parents for the new year. Its one of those parts of the year when you travel air conditioned to Delhi just to keep yourself tolerably warm (Try explaining that to my 8 year old cousin and he would ask you if he could dry his clothes in the refrigerator in winter. Well, there are some things you cannot explain over the dining table). On my brisk walk towards the metro station, entertaining my imaginations on spending time for the next three days (Yes, you heard it right, its 72 hours of continuous leisure and we term it a vacation … do not dare to think otherwise), I was surprised to find this short little girl following me deftly. Initially, with a typical urban mentality of cold insensitivity, I tried not to notice her and tuned to my CD player. But, music was not in store for me that morning.

Following transformed to accompanying. She had a schoolbag on her, but was not in any sort of uniform. She sported a curious look on her innocent face, her hair slightly disheveled by the dryness of the day, and was wearing a green frock with one of those Made in USA lines embossed in red (Forget the crashing of the Quota Regime; Uncle Sam is now targeting the low end apparel market in India, especially in Central Delhi). I would be overestimating her age if I estimated her to be 12 years old. I took off my earphones, stopped, took her to the side and asked her politely who she was and what she wanted. She blinked for a moment, and appeared to think hard as to how to frame her question probably. With a feeble voice, she enquired

Kya yeh safedh relgadi dilli ke us paar jaayegi ? (Would this white train go to the other end of Delhi)

I stared at her momentarily and nodded in the affirmative. I came to understand that her destination was two stations before my stop. Then she picked up a crumpled 20 rupee note and innocuously asked if it would suffice, waving it like a flag. It did not require a Sherlock to figure out that this was all she had. I asked her to accompany me, if she wanted to and told her that the stations we needed to alight were not very far from each other. You could see the relief in her face. I bet it was her first trip on the city’s showpiece.

When I purchased two tickets, I was in for a breather. She demanded to know why I failed in my duty to consult her before paying up for her. A law abiding and a peace loving citizen that I am (yes, sometimes you do not have any choice but to trust me), I apologized to her and offered to accept her share of the ticket price. Now, I did not have the change for twenty bucks and somehow convinced her to appreciate this unforgivable gesture of mine one time over. Merciful as she was, she relented finally. Ummpphh, I now can see where all the problems in life originate from ……. The train was nearly empty and before even I could take my bags, this gracious female runs like there is no tomorrow and sits in the first coach, first seat. I barely managed to get in the train before those automatic doors close in on you. And then the best part. She hollers at the top of her voice

Bhaiyya, rel mein log andar kya dekhenge? khidki peeche kyon rakha hai ?

(She was referring to this longitudinal arrangement of seats, with two columns facing one another, as opposed to the normal pairwise seats in other trains). I had to admit she had me stumped there beyond recovery. After about ten seconds of silence, I managed to convince her to look through the opposite side windows. Phewww…

Suddenly, I recollected something called basic manners which my English teacher had taught me in …hmm….yes…. 3^rd grade. I asked her what her name was. Chotu, came her prompt reply. I asked her if she went to school. “No, but I am planning to”, was her analytical and thought out reply. She also told me that she collects, ties and sells jasmine flowers in Connaught Place in the weekends and works as a maid in a house at Rohini. She even had a few packets of tied up jasmine flowers in her bag (The ones meant for women to adorn their heads I guess) and offered to sell it to me. I turned the offer down with a cherubic smile and asked her what her parents were doing. Then came the second bouncer….. she asked me to give her a valid reason why I would not use personal information about her family to cause her harm. Suddenly I could understand the significance of the Right to Privacy and the Right to Information acts battling in the Legislature. A middle aged person, hearing all the tamasha sitting near us started laughing uncontrollably and continued eating his banana. Well…I started it and it is only right that I own up to all the showdowns today with this esteemed company I had got.

It was a half an hour journey. Defining my boundaries very clearly, and staying off the personal frontiers, our conversation gradually veered round to the way she looked at life and what she wanted to become on growing up(sometimes people do grow up). Though she was not very comfortable with entertaining the thoughts of her future, she gradually opened up. She confessed how it was difficult for her to understand all the events that go on around her. She still could not help but wonder why cigarettes were available in shops in India. Well, all I could tell her was that I was gravely unqualified to even attempt to answer that question on anybody’s behalf. Then I nonchalantly asked her what she wanted to become on becoming a big lady one day.

PradhAn Mantri, came a brisk reply.

I was all the while fiddling with this Reynolds pen of mine (has become quite a dangerous addiction these days). I stopped instinctively and looked into her eyes. I could see the glitter in her eyes and a calm, innocent smile.

We both were silent for at least five minutes. Before I could talk to her about her thoughts, she was back at her curious best. She threw this seemingly straight question,

Aap kya karte ho bhaiyya?(What do you do bro)

In retrospect, I recall that this has always been the most contentious and complicated of all questions that Man had managed to conceive in his mind. Given the critical annihilation that any answer of mine would be subject to, I told her that I was learning how business works and understand how people make money. (Hooooohaaaaaa… How on Mother Earth could I even imagine that this temerity of mine would go unpunished?)

Then I could see her face turn morose. She stood up on her seat, facing the window and pointed at the thousand hawkers on the street that the superstructure was overlooking. She asked me if knowing to sell things to people would help them become rich. I couldn’t answer her. She felt that all the children in this world should try to become politicians and that way there would be no shortage of money. The first thing she wanted to do after getting elected was to print a lot of money and distribute it in all shops (Shit...I am born 50 years too early). She meant it. Her eyes did not show pretension. I could sense that.

And there it arrived. This has been my fastest journey on the metro. Time had flown. She gestured me to come closer and whispered into my ears, with her fists tightly closed and pumped.

Paawar, tabhi log sunte hain. Tata Bhaiyya (Power, that’s when people hear you)

By this time, I had totally lost my ability to converse freely. I couldn’t even mutter a bubbye to her. I just looked at her with deference.

And then she got down and disappeared gradually into the milling crowd. A gust of cold wind started blowing on my face from the direction of the doors. She had dropped a jasmine bud on her seat. I took it and had a very close look at it. Within the beautiful closed white petals was a stain of red blood. And then the train started. So did my temporarily interrupted mental journey.