I saw him for the first time. His
eyes,
reflection of his truth; filled with
emotions yet completely alive. I
was touched by his innocence
and
his extreme presence. I kept
looking
at his fingers; nails that were
uncut,
filthy and full of dirt. I could
sense
how he was completely
engrossed
in counting the coins in his palms.
With every coin that he counted,
his
smile would widen.
‘Can you please let me sit here?’
he
asked in his innocent voice.
A boy who seemed around 13
year
old hopped into the train from
the
restricted side of the train station.
Managing some space at the
edge
near the train door, he sat down.
The trains were crowded.
‘ Who is sitting there?’ someone
screamed from behind.
He looked up and what he could
see
were my eyes on him. He spoke
without really knowing who
screamed,
‘Can you please let me sit for a
while? I will stand before the
next
station comes. ’
‘Please take care,’ I asked the
boy
as he sat at the brim of the
compartment ’s door.
‘Don’t worry. I will not fall. Now
it’s a
habbit!’
I gently smiled looking at him.
He started counting the coins
ones
again.
‘ So, where do you live?’
‘mmmm actually I don’t know
the
address but I certainly know the
destination; I know the way. I
live
on the road. And all roads seems
alike. Only the way is different. ’
The play had already begun for
me
and I was enjoying his presence
more and more.
‘ Do you know,’ he looked up and
then he looked at his coins and
said,
‘ For the first time, I could make
100
rupees in a day.’ He gasped with
relief.
I was observing him, observing
every little act that he played
live in
front of me.
‘ I am out since morning today,
sweeping trains and I guess I
cleaned almost 8 trains today.’
‘You must be tired?’ I asked
gently.
‘ Yes, I was tired little while ago
until
I unloaded my pockets and
loaded
my mind with each coin that I
counted. I am so happy. ’
I smiled at every word that he
spoke; very gently and
truthfully.
‘ So, do you go to school?’
‘Well, I studied till fourth grade
and
then I dropped out of the school.’
‘My father died in a train accident
while I was 8. And my mother is
dying out of TB. So, I left studies
and
I did not know what to do?
However, since then I sweep in
the
trains from the same shirt that I
am
wearing right now and earn a
little
bit this way. ’
I was getting pulled in the play of
life. Completely mesmerised by
his
story yet could clearly see a
sense
of spiritual detachment in his
eyes.
‘ So, what is your dream?’ I asked
him.
There was a long pause before
he
answered that,
‘ Well, about the dream! Once I’d
dreamt to collect 100rupees in a
day, which got fulfilled today !’
He
said this and looked outside
happily
at the tracks which seemed to be
moving constantly. Constantly
with
the train. It is like the tracks are
always there however its
existence
surfaces only with the moving
train
on it.
I was realising that beneath
every
change, there is one thing that
keeps the change alive, that
which is
constant, that which brings the
change into life and that is
nothing
else than our own being; our
sheer
existence.
‘ Is there a note-book seller in this
compartment? I could hear his
voice, ’ he asked me to buy a
book
since I was standing behind him
and
the crowd seemed huge and
unmoved.
Great to have vendor in the
locals!
A sort of connection was building
up
between me and that little boy.
May
be he representing some part of
me.
Our world is our own creation, our
own manifestation. The play was
teaching me a lot. The train ride
was
turning more interesting.
I gave the book in his hands and
he
certainly did read my eyes.
‘ Oh, this book is not for me but
for
my mother. My mother always
dreamt to have written her
name
with my hands. She always
wanted
to at least learn to write her
name.
She wanted me to teach her that.
Although I studied till fourth
grade,
but it has taught me to do
something great- to write my
mother ’s name.’
‘So today, we shall party. I will
teach
her to write her name. I will
teach
her to write my name, to write
my
father ’s name. She would be
very
happy.’
‘Before she dies, I wish to make
her
life. Make her life worth living
even
though it may be just for a
moment,
just for a second. ’
I was stuck. Stuck with his voice
in
my ears. I could sense nothing
but
the crawling goose-bumps in me.
Everything around me seemed
to
cease, seemed invisible. All the
characters in my mind froze.
Characters that chattered,
characters
that played games. I was
freezing. I
was seeing no play but I was
being
a play. The play of mind was
clearing and that of life was that
which I was experiencing.
Silence broken with a huge push
of
crowd. We were approaching the
station. The little boy made
efforts
to get up while I held his book in
my
hand.
‘ Now, I will carry this book
everyday. Each day, I will teach
at
least one person who is like my
mother to write their names.
Help
them live their dream even for a
moment. And each day I will
keep
filling this book. ’
‘May be this will give me an
encouragement to wake up in
the
morning to come and sweep in
the
trains. ’
I stood speechless; mesmerised.
The
train reached at the station. I
kept
looking at him and tears melted
at
the eyelids.
It was his last look into my eyes
before I could break down
completely-
‘ This train is going very far but I
have reached my station. Good-
Bye !’
The tears rolled. A silent
accolades
from my heart. Curtains down.
And the play begins now …..
Come…The life’s auditorium is
empty! Fill the show!
… .sadiyaa…
*The little boy was someone who
I
met in the locals of Mumbai.
Realised that angels don ’t
always
fly, they do travel in trains!