There I was, enjoying my favorite flavored milk and snacks in my favorite cafe when I heard the cars screech to a halt. A beggar, apparently blind, who was crossing the busy Velachery main road had just got another chance to live. "It must have been his 'n'th chance", I gibed. I was busy devouring, till I noticed him entering the cafe, as if he had heard me. Tattered, filthy clothes, cloth bag around his shoulder, his eyes blinking, he stood still. "May be he is hungry, and is going to ask for something to eat", I thought. I was wrong. He gauged the location of cash counter using his 'sixth sense' and went towards it. "So he wants money, all beggars are the same.", my mind was gushing thoughts. He went to the cash counter, not far from me and said something in Tamil. He then, took out a packet of incense sticks (agarbatti) and showed it to the counter in-charge. He pointed it towards the coffee machine, which proved he was actually blind. Out of what he said, I could make out the words "Nalla (good) quality batti, Sir", which he repeated many times, eyes still flickering. He had proved me wrong - on three accounts. He was not a beggar and he didn't ask for food or money.
I watched him, ashamed, puff still in my mouth, as if it was waiting for direction to be gulped. I thought that the shop keeper might shoo him away saying 'this is not a departmental store'. But he was more compassionate than I thought. He took a packet of 'batti', and gave him a 20 rupee note. The blind salesman took it graciously, and kept in his cloth bag. He said "Nandri(thankyou) Sir", and walked his way out. There was no way he could check whether he was paid the right amount, but I was sure he was. People in this part of the country have integrity. And I was left there, gulping down grub worth Rs 50. I was amazed to see his dedication to earn his living, jeopardizing his life. He could come under the wheels anytime. The option to beg was always open for him. Or he could go to some temple and live on free food. But here he was, earning his bread. I couldn't judge if the amount he earned by selling 'battis' was enough to feed him for the day, let alone his dependents, if any.
There was a lump in my throat which had blocked the way to my alimentary canal. And I really regretted what I'd previously thought of him. "I need to buy some incense sticks, too", I mumbled. I finished, paid and left. I looked for him, on the road outside the cafe. He wasn't visible anywhere. Perhaps he had gone into another shop. I frantically peeped inside all shops nearby, to which he might have gone tottering, in such a short time. He was nowhere.
The remorse was to linger and melt me from within.
While you read this, he wanders on the roadside, in the cafes, eyes flickering as if trying in vain to see the world outside. If I see him again, I'll plead him to stop blinking, is it worth working so hard to see such a crooked world ?
I watched him, ashamed, puff still in my mouth, as if it was waiting for direction to be gulped. I thought that the shop keeper might shoo him away saying 'this is not a departmental store'. But he was more compassionate than I thought. He took a packet of 'batti', and gave him a 20 rupee note. The blind salesman took it graciously, and kept in his cloth bag. He said "Nandri(thankyou) Sir", and walked his way out. There was no way he could check whether he was paid the right amount, but I was sure he was. People in this part of the country have integrity. And I was left there, gulping down grub worth Rs 50. I was amazed to see his dedication to earn his living, jeopardizing his life. He could come under the wheels anytime. The option to beg was always open for him. Or he could go to some temple and live on free food. But here he was, earning his bread. I couldn't judge if the amount he earned by selling 'battis' was enough to feed him for the day, let alone his dependents, if any.
There was a lump in my throat which had blocked the way to my alimentary canal. And I really regretted what I'd previously thought of him. "I need to buy some incense sticks, too", I mumbled. I finished, paid and left. I looked for him, on the road outside the cafe. He wasn't visible anywhere. Perhaps he had gone into another shop. I frantically peeped inside all shops nearby, to which he might have gone tottering, in such a short time. He was nowhere.
The remorse was to linger and melt me from within.
While you read this, he wanders on the roadside, in the cafes, eyes flickering as if trying in vain to see the world outside. If I see him again, I'll plead him to stop blinking, is it worth working so hard to see such a crooked world ?
Very well written. This moved me too. By the way, you could change "shop person" to "shop keeper".
ReplyDeleteThis reminds me of the Book, "The Blink", occasionally our rapid cognition leads to a wrong decision. True physically disabled persons never beg [neither for food nor money]. It is those lazy guys, who started enjoying [habituated you can say] this are still continuing this
ReplyDeleteVery touching ...you have the rare quality of narrating an incident with all the emotions of the situation intact. Looking forward to reading more of such stuff..
ReplyDelete