Inability....
I think writing is one way of expressing your inability to do things which you earnestly wanted to do. A writer's best works are those in which he gives vent to all his shortcomings. This is one such post. In the past two months , i have quite often realised that being a 20 year old, educated girl , i am unable to do certain trival things which i had ,so far, imagined to be simple. So this post is the outcome of a month-long anger on myself for being so incapable and dumb.
It was a sunny evening and i was on my way home from college. I had boarded a crowded bus and was standing. The bus was filled with people who were going to some rural area which was far beyond mine. An old , illiterate lady was seated near the place where i was standing. An elderly man entered the bus and started questioning the lady, he called himself a police constable. After few minutes he was literally abusing her and the entire bus was watching this scene (including me). There were few educated men but they didnt even raise a question. I wanted to tell the man to mind his business, but i was sure that he was drunk and so kept quiet. Suddenly people said that another bus had come and it would start immediately, everybody got off this bus and went to the other one. I didnt know what to do,many big burly men were just watching the scene. I felt that i could'nt do anything and uttered a silent prayer for that lady and got off the bus. When i told this to my mom, she suggested that i could have reported it to some lady pc in the bus stand and then come home. I could not forgive myself for such a cowardly act. Whats the use in me debating about "Liberty of women" , when i just let a poor lady to be abused right in front of me. It still pricks when i think of it.
The other day i had got down from my college bus and was waiting for my father. A little girl came to me asking for alms. The girl would'nt be more than four, she thought begging was some sort of a game. She didnt even look at me, her hands were outstretched for alms and she was looking elsewhere but she kept on murmuring something, probably few lines she must have memorised. I was just looking at her and when her murmuring was over , she bent down and touched my feet. I was completely shocked. Till then, she didnt even look at me n ask for alms. She did it as if it was some routine procedure, murmuring few lines and then touching the feet. Before I could rummage my bag for few coins, she spotted a car and ran after it. She just pressed her nose into the car window and ran from there as well. It was so pathetic. Though in dirty clothes and matted hair, she was a little kid who wanted to run in the streets, play with butterflies and gaze at the stars. I felt she was robbed off her childhood. There are many such kids in the streets and this girl left an indeliable memory.
I still clearly remember an incident in a restaurant when I was twelve.The cleaner there, a boy of ten, was wearing a torn shirt. I asked my dad to get my brother's shirts and give it to this boy. My father replied that he would be chucked off his job if we gave him something. He said its better that he gets three square meals a day. At that time the boy's mom had come to see him. She had left him in the restaurant few days back and since this was all new to him, she had come to visit him. But the boy was worried about his duty and replied her precisely. It was such a pitiable sight.I almost cried there. And even now, eight years later, whenever i see any child labourer only that boy comes to my mind. We wanted to help him but could'nt, even then our little help would'nt have solved his problem.
Whenever i think of all these incidents, it makes me realise that i ve got miles to go before i sleep. My schooling has instilled a deep sense of social responsibility and love for fellow beings. Though such incidents make me feel im incapable of helping my brethren in trouble, they also strengthen my conviction to make a difference. I sincerely hope that in future that i ll definitely make a difference ,in my own little way, to the lives of such little kids.
