written by - SHIVESH BHATIA, Sardar Patel Vidyalaya
blog- http://shivesh-writerspoint.blogspot.in
The hot evening silence was broken by the creaking sound of an old rusty gate. A lady of about sixty stepped out and tied her hair in an untidy bun. She looked to the sky, the sun melted a part of her neck into sweat which she wiped off with her handkerchief.
She was lucky that day, a rickshaw stood right in front of her house. She pushed up her golden rimmed glasses up her nose bone and woke the dark rickshaw waala, who was surprisingly basking under the ridiculously hot sun.
“Bhiya, A.P market chaloge”
“Betho” he replied in an uninterested voice.
“kitne loge”
“25 lagenge”
And this, predictably led to an argument that lasted forever, but then the old woman gave up. Holding the nicely painted red rod, she managed to climb up the rickshaw with a great difficulty.
The hot loo hit her wrinkled face as the rickshaw waala peddled as slowly as he could. Twenty five rupees was not reasonable at all and she was not someone who would not care. She was certainly angry, a cold frown on her criss-crossed face drip disgruntlement.
The rickshaw stopped at her destination. The lady slowly brought her thin feet down to the ground. She turned to the Rickshaw waala and handed him two notes, of ten rupees each.
He looked at them and then her, his eyes were enough to tell her that he wanted five more rupees. For the lady, it was not just about money, it was about what was moral. Like every elderly person, she had a lot “good things” to tell the rickshaw walaa, which she did but then the whole thing ended with a five rupee coin!
She looked around the market to find ‘Sharma Dental Clinic’ where she had an appointment for a root canal.
While the dentist did his job, the clouds outside wrapped the sun in them and a cool breeze set out for a walk.
The lady came out of the market to look for a rickshaw. For it was a lucky day, she spotted one near the nariyal pani waala. She raised her arm to call him but then she suddenly stooped.
She re fixed her spectacles. That man’s head had a Taqiyah, his chin was covered with a bushy beard. He was a Muslim! By no means was the old lady going to travel in a rickshaw of a Muslim!
For fifteen minutes she waited for another rickshaw to come and then she spotted one on the other side of the road. To catch it before another lady walking towards it, she tried to walk a little faster but the poor old lady twisted her ankle!
And now she had no option. She buried her ego and strict anti- Muslim sentiments deep inside her and quietly took a seat. He looked at her and asked where she wanted to go. She pursed her lips and precisely told him. Not a word more than that! How could she talk to a Muslim? She started planning a good bath and a prayer after she reaches home to get rid of all the ‘impurities’. She fished out twenty five rupees out of her little purse. She did not want to argue with a Muslim for five rupees!
When her house was in sight she asked him to stop, she got down and in haste handed him the money from a distance. She turned around to pace towards her house when a decent voice stopped her. It was the rickshaw waala. Her feet stopped but she did not turn.
“Aapne 5 rupe zyaada de die”
She was stumped. She turned around and within that span of two seconds, all her negative opinions about Muslims ascended out of her into the endless skies. She was too moved to say anything. Taking that little coin, which transformed a strong headed woman, she walked away.
This time, the old rusty gate stood there to welcome a new lady, who had just realized that-
We all have a soul and a heart, we just look different. We all believe in a supreme power, we have just given it different names. We all love, live, smile and cry, we just have different names.
