It was one of those days. College had ended a few hours early. For a dedicated engineer like myself living the great Indian dream, that’s about as common as the sighting of Haley’s comet. Most of my friends had already made plans to catch the lunchtime movie at the mall. I decided to back out though; one of my sporadic mood swings. A couple of days earlier I had decided to cut down on my expenses. It was one of my peculiar and yet signature moments of retrospection when I looked back at the last 20 years and analysed where I had gone wrong. Fewer expenses meant I would have to cut down on my alcohol and fast food consumption and also drop all ideas of buying myself a new pair of football cleats. Painful ... isn’t it?
So there I was, walking down the highway in the scorching Delhi heat. For some reason I wasn’t able to find a single Rickshaw-wala anywhere. Sweat was pouring down the back of my neck and soaking my brand new Reebok T-shirt. I was pissed off. I didn’t like coming home from college reeking of stale mushrooms. Fortunately enough, I stumbled across a rickshaw-wala riding the opposite way. He stopped right next to me.
“Haan bhaiya, kahan jaoge?” (Yes brother, where do you want to go?)
For a second I was blank. The kid looked like he was 12 years old. I didn’t know whether to call him Bhaiya (brother) or beta (son). I settled upon the former and using whatever little hindi I knew, asked him to take me to sector 41.
“Theek hai, Bhaiya”. (Ok, brother)
“Kitne loge?” (How much will you take?)
“Pachhis” (25 rupees)
Most rickshaw-walas would take atleast 30-40 bucks. However, since I was trying to save every paisa possible, I decided to go with it. It was a 25 minute ride full of annoying speed breakers that popped up when you least expected them and the constant blaring of horns from the frustrated bus driver who has been behind the wheel from atleast an hour before I woke up. The smell of hot pakodas soaked in oil lingered in the air. I wondered why anyone would want to eat boiling hot pakodas at 2.30 in the afternoon. It struck me much later that the production cost of Pakodas was bare minimum. So the man behind the pan with the torn vest and tanned skin could nearly make a 100% profit. It was good marketing.
Eventually, we left the noisy and dusty highway and entered the colony. It would still take another 15 mins before I finally reached my house. I was bored; so I decided to engage in some light conversation with the kid.
“Aaj bahut garmi hai na?” (It’s very hot today, isn’t it?)
Without looking behind he replied, “Haan bhaiya” (Yes, brother)
“Tumhare umra kya hai?” (How old are you?)
Again, without a stutter, “Terah” (13)
“Tum school kyoon nahin jaate ho”? (Why don’t you go to school?)
For the first time, he stopped peddling for a few seconds and let the momentum of the Rickshaw pull us along for the next few metres. His reply was a relatively long one and my paltry hindi skills only served to get the gist of what he said.
He told me that his father had died a year ago in a car accident. He had a mother, a younger brother and an older sister to feed. There was simply no time for him to attend school. He added that his father used to drive “tum jaise badhe log” (big people like yourself) to work every day. For over a year now, he has had to bear the weight of his entire family on his tender 13 year old shoulders.
I looked back at when I was 13 years old. I had recently joined a boarding school in Ooty while my parents still lived in Singapore. This meant that, during the holidays I had to first catch a train to Chennai and then a flight to Singapore. I was too scared to fly on my own so my father would spend thousands of rupees only to fly down to Chennai and pick me up. Ofcourse back then, I didn’t care. This meant that I could have Pizza for lunch and a relaxing nap before catching an air-conditioned cab to the airport in the evening. Life was sweet.
I then asked the kid how much he made in a day. Without thinking for a second, he replied, “teen sow” (300).
We finally reached my house. The sight of big 2-3 storied bungalows didn’t seem to bother him. I assumed he was accustomed to riding big spoilt kids like myself around. My wallet contained exactly 300 rupees. I gave him a hundred rupee note. He immediately dug into his torn shirt pocket in search of change. I told him I was in a hurry and that he could keep the change. Without another word, he spun his rickshaw around and rode away.
What exactly did I hope to achieve by giving him hundred rupees? Will it bring his entire family 3 square meals? Will it bring his father back? Nope, it would at most serve to buy his sick mother a day’s worth of medication and probably a bottle of water. His old bottle looked yellow with age. If you ask me what the moral of the story is, I would say there is none. Telling myself that I’ve done my good deed of the day might seem comforting for the next few hours but it does not change the harsh reality.
I am currently in my third year of engineering. Well not exactly. I still have a few papers pending from my previous semesters. My college charges 2.2 lakhs (220’000 rupees) a year for tuition alone. My living expenses go up to more than a lakh (100’000). That kid earns 9000 rupees in a month. Just a few days back I withdrew precisely that amount in order to pay my rent and electricity bill.
Everyday, I come back home from college, turn on the air-conditioner and sulk about the problems I have in my life. I complain about my college and swear at myself for choosing to pursue engineering. Yes, I find it too “stressful” to study about micro processors in a centrally air-conditioned building with high speed wireless internet, reclining soft chairs and sturdy wooden desks. I listen to songs on my ipod that speak of teenage angst, failed relationships and so on. I try and relate to these lyrics to make myself feel that “I’m not alone.”
For that kid however, time is money. He doesn’t have the luxury of staring into space and thinking of ways to make his life better. He most certainly can’t afford an ipod even if he and his entire family decided to fast for a week.
Now, I’m not saying that we must all stop complaining about our lives only because there are some who are less fortunate. We all have problems of varying degrees that seem significant to us. There is absolutely nothing wrong with that. I am not saying that we must each pay 100 rupees to every food vendor/rickshaw-wala/sweeper we come across. Some of us are fortunate to be born to wealthy families. These people have every right to flaunt their wealth the way they like. They have no moral obligation to give back to the needy. They are wealthy because their ancestors were not. Their parents/grandparents toiled under the hot sun so that their sons and daughters need not do the same.
However, it is a fact that there are people in this world who would like to make a difference. The only problem is that personal interests often stand in their way; and quite rightly so. In today’s world, it is nearly impossible to be successful and happy without being a tad selfish somewhere along the line. We must put our interests ahead of others at some stages. It is impractical to say that one must devote his/her entire life to enriching those of others. We all have one shot at life. It is only natural to want to spend every second of it on oneself.
That said, there are some people who derive immense satisfaction at being able to have an impact on someone else’s life. They want to make a difference. The problem is, there is very little that they can individually do. We all hear people telling us that it doesn’t matter how small our contribution is but at the end of the day it is significant. We can only ‘give back’ if we have something to give. For that we must work. We must slog it out for the next couple of years and attain a status of wealth and power.
If you ask me if I’m going to change myself completely after the day’s incident, I would say no. In a couple of days I might probably forget this incident completely and go back to my teenage angst and “my life sucks” attitude. Not all of us have what it takes to make a big difference. As for the ones who do, I most sincerely hope that you realise it soon enough.
Howard Pyle portrays Robin Hood as an archer who robs from the rich and gives to the poor. My interpretation of the tale is slightly different. I believe that Robin Hood represents every wealthy man’s conscience and his desire to make a difference. It is this desire that enables him to part with his hard earned wealth and give it to the needy.
There is a Robin Hood in most of us. But finding him is not easy. How many of us have the strength and determination to ignite that fire in the belly and venture into the forests of Nottingham in a quest to find Robin and his band of merry men?
