Proud Survival

It was one of those mornings when i nicely slept through all those healthy abuses that my mom lovingly hurls at me when i dont get up on time. After acting as a loyal companion for 12 long hours, sleep finally disowned me at 12.55 but it was too late.....i was late for college again.

Skipped a bath and marinated myself in perfume to avoid causing a class genocide before rushing downstairs. Just when i thought that i might be able to make it for the lecture on time i glanced at the road which was practically empty. After running a good mile to the railway station, thanks to unavailability of autos ( nothing new there), i finally managed to jump into the 1.20 local. On seeing me slip into the prized fourth seat, the other three ladies didnt seem too happy. More so, when i asked them to shift... what the heck i wanted to sleep people.

But naah...the wonderful fruitsellers in the train didnt want me to miss out on any action in the train so they happily kept appearing from left, right and centre, forcing me to change my position from time to time to allow their movement. I made a mental note to ask my professor who taught us 'Reporting' if there was a legal act which restricted the entry of these annoying hawkers in the train because I for one wasn't exactly enjoying their presence. More so because it forced me into the fat woman sitting next to me twice .....For goodness sake, I definitely didnt deserve that disapproving expression she dished out at me on those wonderful occasions.

I looked around for some source of entertainment...damn nobody was fighting that day. What had struck these ladies suddenly? I was thinking about this boring inaction when I happened to see a charming kid in the train with lovely eyes and a naughty smile ...

One look at him and a big smile lit up my face too. He was selling a stack of notebooks. He kept screaming “das ka ek das ka ek”. After flashing one of those ‘See I have the best book in the world’ types look he tried to bribe me with that extra sweet smile of his. Though I proudly claim that I am not one of those softies whose heart melts at a wink, I think I had falsified my own claim that day. Never been the kind to shell out money from my own pocket to buy something which can be even remotely useful yet, I couldn’t help buying one of those notebooks, which the boy carried as if it were treasure.

It was only a moment later that it struck me that in a way the books were his treasure. After all he didnt have to live at the mercy of others or even beg for that matter, only because of the heavy bundle that he carefully balanced between his tender hands.

At that very instant the amusement that I initially felt changed into respect for the child. I felt good all of a sudden, here was a mortal who was capable of taking care of himself, his young age not being a deterrent, his poverty was his biggest shield because in a way it helped him in becoming self-dependent.

I looked at myself, I had everything that the child could only dream of, a home to call my own, parents who take care of me selflessly, good health, education and much more than the basic necessities of life. Yet I keep cribbing all the time.

But with a quick glance at the beaming child infront of me, I decided, Cribbing –not any more.