Smile

The queue for the railway ticket at Andheri station was as long as the train on Platform No. 1... I was in no particular hurry to reach my destination and so my mind was left idle to wander. This was not the first time that I had been to the station. In fact, I am such a frequent visitor to the juice-wala at the corner of the booking office that he recognizes me by face and often awaits my arrival with one kokum juice ready for me. But I had never bothered to notice the whitewashed walls which had turned cream on top and a bright brown and maroon on the lower areas or the number of pamphlets stuck on the walls (hiding the creamness), calling for young talented actors and actresses of all age or the vacancy for a paying guest who ‘must be single male’. I had barely noticed the stench of dirt mixed with dried spit and betel juice that permeated the place and least of all the beggar children right under the counter. We usually turn our face in the opposite direction when we see one of these children coming our way begging for alms and completely ignore the existence of the ones that don’t obstruct our way. But this one child had my rapt attention for the 15 minutes that I waited in the queue.

The girl must have been barely 10 years old and had a little infant of probably 5 or 6 months in her hand. She wore a ragged frock with frills. Her dirty brown hair was tied in a bun at the back of her head and her complexion was the testimony to the fact that she had spent all her life on the street. But her face seemed to have a strange sort of serenity; A silent radiance of a child who has been trusted with responsibility and is ably doing it. She walked past the long queues silently making sure a torn little blanket covered the infant sufficiently. When she reached the counter she spread another little rag on the floor with one hand and carefully lowered herself over it. She placed the baby on her lap and made sure it was comfortable. She then looked at the numerous people around her. I sensed a feeling of longing in her eyes as she passed her eyes over the people. She then looked down at the baby and looked up again. But as she looked up this time, her face was contorted in to a frown and her mouth was wide open, as she droned on a rehearsed set of lines and looked up at the men and women passing by, with impassive eyes and outstretched hand.

Suddenly all the serenity and radiance was gone from her face. She became just another beggar girl who is intolerably loud and screechy. I could still not take my eyes off her. Barely anyone heeded her pleas for alms. But it did not matter. She went on with her pleas and I continued looking at her. She would stop every 2 minutes for breath and in those 2 minutes her face would return to the serenity that first attracted my attention. I was amazed at the change in her facial features as her face moved from serene calm to contortion and back. Begging for alms was a daily job that she did without passion, for the sake of survival. There was no fun in it or any skill or talent required, but it did not matter. This was what she has been conditioned to do since the time she was born. Fun and play were words that found no place in her dictionary. I did not realize it but there was a look of concern on my face. The child noticed me and glared at me as though she was offended by the attention. I quickly looked away but my eyes returned to her as she returned to her pleas for alms.

I was only 4 passengers away from the counter, when an older girl of about 16 stomped her way to the little girl, scolded in a language I did not understand and forcefully snatched the baby from her and walked away. The little girl just sat there and screamed and tried to call the other girl back. But to no avail. She curled up against the wall, hugged her knees and began to sob quietly. I looked around for the other girl and found her sitting at the opposite corner nursing the baby. I presumed the older girl was its mother. I looked back at the girl who was still sulking like her favorite toy was snatched away from her. It was not as if she will never see the baby again but the grief of having something so dear being snatched away from a person is deep. There could have been several explanations to what had just happened. But it did not matter.

About half a minute later, the child looked up and wiped her tears. I was now only one person away from the counter. The girl looked around her, the feeling of longing again in her eyes. Her eyes locked with mine and I was transfixed. The thread was broken when the man behind urged me to buy my ticket fast. I bought my ticket and began to walk back. Suddenly I remembered there was a bar of chocolate inside my bag. I looked back to find the child still looking at me. I took the chocolate out and gave it to her and smiled. There was nothing she could do but to take the chocolate. She then looked at it and the ends of her mouth curled upwards in to the most fascinating smile I have ever seen.