an evening samosa...

It was as usual a lazy weekend evening. feeling bored sitting alone doing nothing the whole day, I decided to have a walk. As soon I reached the nearby road junction, I saw the nukkad tea shop and the tempting samosas on display. Having nothing much to do and not wanting to go back to my dark tunnel so soon, I decided to have a seat and enjoy the delicious looking samosas with a cup of tea. It was late evening and dinner was still a few good hours. My empty stomach was telling me how much I will appreciate those welcoming samosa. I stepped into the shop and sat down the empty seat at the corner adjacent to the road. Soon chotu came and took my order and not much after I was served. Ahh... I jumped on to the samosas and started eating them hungrily. Well, people who know me...very much know how comicly I eat. To add more to it, the hunger and nice smell of samosas, didn't help much. Surely I got some quizzing stares from people nearby. As usual, after taking a few bites...I was again in another world, just observing the surroundings around me. Observing people around me. Observing their expressions and trying to decipher what they must be thinking at that moment. My gazing must have continued for over 10-15 minutes, with me leisurely savouring my tea sips. In between I was also thinking how impossible it would have been to eat so calmly, had I been with my friend. All the time I get reprimanded for the way I eat, its not I hate that, I enjoy that thoroughly, but I like eating this calmly too. I know, I know its getting quizzical, lets not digress. So coming back to chai table, I was feeling heavenly only till I saw him. Just by having a look on his face, all my feeling of happiness vanished.

His body so frill, he was hardly able to stand. A muddy white dhoti wrapped around him. A similar color kurta and as a surprise an old and wrinkled, but clean white towel wrapped around his upper body. Even in the almost darkness of the late evening, his dark skin tone was distinguishing. His old, wrinkled face, was mostly covered with long, thick white beard. Though his head was almost bald, whatever hair he had were pearl white. A long bamboo stick and dirty jhola were two of his accessories completing his attire. He was standing at the side of road and begging for his livelihood.

Huh, so whats so new...we see a lot of beggars on Indian roads each day. To many this may be overly common, but there was something extra to his face, to his persona, that I just could not take my eyes off him. I had forgotten the tea and samosas and my gaze was now fixed only on him. His eyes were staring at each passerby, each passing car, each scooter; trying to find a kind person. His gaze expectantly lighting up with each passing person only ending in dismay and dejection. In between his eyes used to get back to his empty palms and turning more dark and gloomy. One after another people passed besides him, completely ignoring his presence as if in this milieu of people he was a ghost invisible to all of them. Some went past him chatting with friends, some talking on phone and some others lost in their own world. Then a guy passed him smoking a cigarrette, and I wondered what was five rupees to that guy, just some poisonous smoke filling his lungs and making him a future cancer patient. But to this old chap, it could be his one meal. Yeah not a wholesome meal but definitely a satisfying experience.

And suddenly a sense guilt overcast me. Yes today I noticed this old man, but more often, I too would have ignored him like others. Suddenly I realized I was no different from the people I was just now hating the most. For me also, ten rupees would mean a drink of cola, a small ice-cream or just a pan. Suddenly I started hating myself for being so mean, for being so selfish, for being so cold, DAMN!!! and even before I knew, my hands went to my wallet and I noticed myself picking out a fifty rupee note and handing over to this old man. The old guy took the note, carefully put in his pocket and then graciously bowed over to me. He put his bag aside and with much effort knelt before me, still balancing himself with his bamboo stick. His folded hands over to his face, he wanted to thank me but appeared to be at loss of words. To him I may be a kind man, but at that moment I felt myself so small and so helpless. The old man stood up, picked his bag, and once again started his routine.

After he left, I realized I still had half a cup of tea and one samosa left, but now I could not eat anymore, I felt so full, I could not eat a single piece. I quietly stood up, paid for my bill and slowly walked back...