As we traveled to the dentist this afternoon, I saw a small, poor boy on the road walking alongside our vehicle. He was pushing his crippled dad's small hand driven cycle rickshaw with his left hand.. The little fellow held onto a big, blue plastic bag filled with something..maybe his stuff to sell.. with his free hand.
As he walked with brisk steps in his threadbare chappals...in the sweltering heat, my heart went out to him.
I began to imagine. Maybe he had a tough evening ahead of him. He'd cross the busy road. Then maybe park his dad's tiny 'car' under a tree.
Maybe he'd then wipe his sweaty brow with his dirty hands.
Then maybe extricate the folded chappatis from a small ragged bundle. He might just squat onto the pavement and share his roti with his hungry dad. Maybe throw a stray morsel at the mongrel staring openmouthed..drooling.
Half full as usual, he would take some little rest. Gazing at the cars passing by. And perhaps escape into his little world of daydreams.
A world where he rode in mercedes to school. His dad in suit and tie ..beaming at his smart looking son.
A world where he had plenty to eat...plenty to wear. With a gang load of friends. Maybe..just maybe find a good looking girl to marry.
A thin smile would form on his unwashed lips. She'd look just as in the movies. Long hair, big eyes...
A shrill whistle suddenly would jolt him back to reality. The hefty, tummy protruding policeman. He'd then quickly pack his meager belongings and move on.
To find a place to sleep. Under the open sky. In company of twinkling stars.
I looked behind at my son. Pointed to the small guy.
In an instant our own pain, we thought was incredible, disappeared.
