The Hundred Rupee Note

The only luxury that he had ever had in his short life was a pair of sneakers that he had found abandoned near a garbage dump.  And even that didn’t come by so easily. Of all the people who were passing by from there at that time, street dogs barked at him and chased him. Even they had a sense of whom to pick. His indigence and vulnerability were equally apparent to animals as to human beings.

Mind at birth is a blank slate. What becomes of a man is the outcome of what is written on that slate in the formative years by people known and unknown and what is etched on the slate by the incidents to which voluntarily or involuntarily he becomes a party. Fortunately for the boy, the writings on his slate were honourable. He had remained unknown to deceit and deception.  He wanted to make an honest living. But earning a livelihood in that small town was not all that easy. Many of the men like his father were forced to go to the city leaving their family behind. Sometimes months passed by without family hearing any news from their boys and men.

From the center of the town passed a highway. Some shops had sprung up along it. Most of them catered to the travellers which passed by in buses, jeeps and trucks. This had actually become an economy in itself. Not far from these shops was the village Mandi. The vegetables and fruits which were brought from nearby villages or towns were sold there.

Few months ago, the boy got a job in one of the shops. His task was to sell water bottles to the passengers in the buses which stopped there. The more bottles he sold, the more commission he would get. Other shopkeepers had also employed boys of his age. Whenever a bus would stop, all the boys would start hovering around it, shouting at the top of their voices, looking into the eyes of the people sitting inside.

There were all kinds of people to deal with. Some of them would just ask for the price. Some other would even try to negotiate it. Some did it out of habit while others did it for fun. Some people would return the bottle saying it wasn’t cold while some other would still purchase it while cursing him. Sometimes the driver would start the bus before he received a payment and then he would run along with the bus to get it. Once a man acted like paying him but ditched him at the end seeing that he would not be able to catch the bus. One other time, the person just dropped the money out of the window.

But in all these months he never entered a bus. On his first day he had seen a boy being shouted at by the driver. That event had set uneasiness in him which he was not able to overcome. All other boys would enter the bus but he would not.

One evening when a bus stopped and while he was busy shouting, he saw something dropped from the bag of a man who was entering the bus. He picked it up and found that it was a purse. Immediately, as though driven by an impulse, he entered the bus for the first time looking for the man. He reached out to him and returned him his purse. He was given a hundred rupee note by the person as a reward for his honesty. But what the boy remembered most was the reaction of the people inside the bus as he returned the purse. That made him happy. That evening another incident was scribbled on his slate.

The boy had never possessed that much money in his life and that is why he was very careful to guard his newfound treasure. He kept that note with him all the time. In his free time, he made plans on how to spend that money. He once thought to give it to his mother but was soon overcome by his own desires. For once in his life, he wanted to pamper himself.

He had always thought about watching the movie in the only theatre that their town had. But he didn’t like the idea of paying all that money for a movie. After all he could watch them sometimes on the TV in the shop. He had always had a desire to taste a chocolate. He felt that it would give him a new taste, something different from any other taste that he had had or would possibly have. He thought of deciding what to do with the rest of the money after eating a chocolate.

So he went to the shop and asked his master for a chocolate. Before his master could say anything he put forward his note eagerly. The master knew that there was no way the boy could have got that much money. He thought that the boy had stolen that money from his shop. So he snatched the note from the boy and slapped him. Indifferent to the wailings and explanations, he scolded him, hurled abuses at him and told him never to come back.

The boy stood there for some time crying silently all the while. He found other boys looking at him. So he went back to his home to his mother. Another incident was scribbled on his slate.

The Old Storyteller

Every time the bus hit a pit, he could sense every nut and bolt vibrating. The whole structure just looked so fragile as if it could come down crumbling at any moment. All those years of journeying on the road had really taken a toll on the machine which had embraced it from its birth. Time and again, there would form a cloud of dust through which it would come out triumphant.

Inside, he sat restlessly counting every second. The smoke, sweat and dust had concocted to give a stifling ambiance. Every now and then, he kept licking his lips. The water in his bottle was hot and just couldn't quench his thirst. There was not even a single bird or animal to be seen outside. All that could be seen were some shrubs by the road side. And then there were these milestones.

"These summers can sometimes get onto your nerves. Drink some water."

He shifted his gaze from the window to look at the old man sitting beside him who had just offered him some water. The first thing he noticed about the man were his hard yellow nails. Had it not been for the water droplets which were sticking tenaciously to the surface of the container, he might have humbly denied the offer. He didn't like to familiarize with the strangers. But .the thirst got the better of him. As he drank he could feel every gulp of water going down his throat.

His thanks was greeted by a smile. A smile so genuine that it overshadowed the redness of tobacco and the cracked lips through which it emerged. The white hair, wrinkled skin and the eyes delivered a kind and gentle visage. It was his eyes that had beguiled him. The eyes of an old man.The eyes that had aged with him. Even his eyelids could not hide the world that those eyes had seen.

The happiness that he was exuding belied his appearance. He was not a man of great wealth but he looked as satisfied as the wealthiest. The summer heat had not had any effect on him. He was a man of this desert.

As they travelled  he told him about the terrain. And about the anecdotes peculiar to the desert. In his rustic vernacular he told him about the tree with the strings tied to its every branch. And about the temple with the orange flag on a distant hill, about the well which never dries. Even the time had stopped to hear him speak, reminiscing the past to which it was witness.

It was remarkable how that seemingly common man had etched his existence in his memory. After sometime his stop came and he stepped down.  And ahead he went towards his destination to meet some more strangers, to build another memory.

Another chance

For a man with such a humble beginning, what he had achieved was really commendable. But all this while, life roughed him up, worn him out, made him weak. To an onlooker, he could have been a success story. Not a glorious rags to riches story which could have found a place in a tabloid. But one which was occasionally and casually mentioned by his acquaintances. But they could not see the turmoil behind the personna. They could not see the frustration that he sometimes felt. He felt that he had fallen a victim to the circumstances. That he no longer had any say in deciding the course of his life. That he had given away this right much earlier. That his familial duties dictated his purpose of existence. Not that he wanted to run away from them. But he hated being entirely consumed by them.

He had tried to fathom the purpose of existence of a human being. He wanted to know why people do things that they do and are they right in doing them. He wondered whether or not, a life which has not improved the life of another human being, which has not created any impact in the society, a waste. He wanted to know how significant a work should be to create that impact. He wanted to know whether or not his life has served his purpose by at least improving the living standards of his family.

He was terrified by the fragility of the life. He had seen people die just like that. He was also terrified by the madness these riots have brought. It bewildered him to see people ready to sacrifice their life for their religion. He felt sorry for those who had devalued their life and have allowed themselves to get manipulated for petty interests of few individuals. He often wondered is this cheap a life is ?

He had once seen a dead beggar lying on a road side on a chilled winter morning. He was depressed by the apathy of the people who were just riding by. He himself didn't stop. He had more important matters at hand that time. But he did spare some thoughts for that begger who had otherwise gone unnoticed. He wondered what change could this man have brought in the world with his limited means. Can survival itself be the purpose of existence ?

But he himself was a man of means. And that is why when he saw the boy on the other side of the street, he felt an impulse to go down there and bring him to his house. Not that he didn't think about the attackers who may be possibly wandering on the streets. But he felt that this is his chance to make that impact. He came out of his house and then with a sudden rush, went to the other side of the street and brought that child back.

The clothes of that child were splashed with blood. But he was still breathing. He knew that the child would survive. He would see to it that he survives. May be that was one of the puposes of his existence.

The girl on the station -- A short story

A sudden rumbling sound woke him up. He raised himself to look outside the window. The train was now passing over the bridge. The river underneath was shallow and calm. He could see some washer men at the distance engaged in their daily chores. There were also some children playing, busy in their own world. The sound changed, the speed of the train increased. It was the morning time and there was a cool gentle breeze flowing outside. He found himself shivering. There was an urge to close the window but he didn't. He enjoyed the feeling of wind brushing against his face. His eyes were misty, his hair were flowing.

It was around 7 in the morning. He sat up. His station was about to come. He was finally going back to his home. It had been 4 months since he last went back. The semester turned out to be pretty hectic. He was totally consumed in the projects and assignments. No more mess food now, he thought. Suddenly he remembered about the last night. He remembered the waiting room, he remembered himself glancing here and there, he remembered her. She was sitting right in front of him, at the other side of the waiting room, resting against the wall, book in her hands, backpack against her legs, her hair unkempt, half asleep and half awake. At first he found her shabby. But there was something about her that captivated his attention. He looked at her again. No, she wasn't shabby. She was just laid back, casual, carefree, unaware of the happenings of the world. She had found a nice comfortable place in that chair.

The voice of the vendor disturbed his chain of thoughts. The vendor was selling the sandwiches. He thought against eating them. How was the pantry ? How was the cleanliness ? How was the cooking material? He hadn't even brushed his teeth. But he was too hungry to give any consideration to his thoughts. And more than that, he trusted his Indian stomach. It had digested many indigestibles in the past and it could surely digest these petty sandwiches. He ate the sandwiches and felt pretty contented. He felt at ease and next he found himself thinking about the happenings of the last night.

He was reading some classic written during the British Raj in India. He didn't like the book that much. But he had already finished half of it. So he was in a dilemma as to whether strain himself reading the other half or let the time that he had spent reading this half go into a drain. He had a lot of time to spare before the train would arrive and he had nothing to do. It was then that he spotted her. And after some time he was staring at her. When you keep looking at something, your perceptions just change from time to time. She had turned from shabby to laid-back to pretty. He was trying to figure out what she liked about her. And the next when he saw her, she was awake. He was engaged in his thoughts and he had not noticed that. She gave him a strange look and in the haste, he just gazed in the book. Had she seen him staring at her ? Or was that the look she gave to every stranger ? How she could have seen him ? But girls know you are staring at them before you know that they know. They really have this sixth sense or something.

The train had halted on a station. It was the station just before his station. He would probably reach his station in next 5-10 mins. It was not a regular stoppage. The train would have stopped for a crossing. How he hated these crossings. He always felt that the train in which he was travelling is made to stop. What would it take the government to build double tracks through out. If that could be done, then no train would ever get late. People would stop calling IST as Indian Station Time. And one would not have to wait in those crowded waiting rooms. But those waiting rooms can become an interesting place sometimes. Atleast on the last night, he didn't complain of those waiting rooms.

He looked above at the fan. He looked at the entrance. He looked at the bunch of kids playing around. And every time he did so, he tried to catch a glimpse of her. He didn't want to look straight at her again. He didn't want that glance again. But he could not resist. She was now combing her hair. Was she getting ready to move ? His train was also about to come. Could she be going in the same train ? Wouldn't it be great if that could happen ? And then she again looked back at him. But this time, his eyes didn't waver. He looked back at her straight into her eyes. He again got a look. And he liked it this time. It was a gentler look. Apparently she had not taken any offence this time. And then she looked away. Did she smile ? He thought she smiled and then he smiled at that prospect. He again started reading the book. But he didn't remember what he had last read. He turned some pages back. He then looked ahead and found her leaving the waiting room. He decided to follow her but he had his backpack all opened up. He tied it up quickly and got out. He looked here and there but couldn't find her. Announcement of his train was made. He decided to go to the designated platform.

The train arrived. And suddenly the platform was crowded. There were people hurtling towards the general coach. There were these porters looking out for some potential customers. There were these vendors selling their items, shouting in their highest pitch. There were people who were struggling to find their right coach, inquiring the people sitting on the window. There are never any signs distinguishing one sleeper coach from other. And then there were people coming in and out of the train. The concentration of the people was more on the doors of the coaches. People could really do with a little more patience. All of them wanted to be the first one to enter as if otherwise they would lose their seat. He waited for a while and just when he was about to enter he thought that he saw her. He looked sideways and there she was. But there was this overwhelming screaming at the back that he had no other option but to move on.

The passing train stirred him up. There was this sudden gush of air hitting him on his face. He could see the windows and the doors. He envied the people sitting inside the other train. After few minutes his train started to move. He started putting all his belongings in his bag. He wished that he could see her again. The rush at the end didn't allow him that last look. He wished to see her one last time so that he could preserve her image in his mind. So that he could narrate her to his friends. So that he could savour those moments as and when he like. The train slowed down as his station came. He stepped down and started to move towards the gate of the station. The train had already started to move. He stopped for a while to look back. But then he realized that he didn't want that last look. He preferred the haze, for sometimes the reality is not as beautiful as one has anticipated. He was contented with his image of that shabby girl. And so, he moved on.