00516--The Little Girl in the Rain

The Little Girl in the Rain

It was a rainy morning.  For me there is nothing better than to hope for a rain.  In Ahmedabad anything that hides the sun is always welcome.  It was a relief from the heat.  I was on my way to the highway where the university bus would stop for the employees and the students.

There were a few huts on one side of the road.  The first one in the line almost touched the road.  The rain was not harsh, but still it was doing justice to the monsoon season.  The street was almost empty though it was 8 a.m.

Each house seemed like an introvert.

They held back their thoughts.

It was peaceful.

The road was full of gutters and I had to be cautious at each my step.  I also had to be careful about the vehicles that occasionally passed by.  They could shower you with muddy water.

It was then I saw a little girl squatting on the tar road.  She was facing opposite to me.  I could see utensils around her.  The door of her house was closed. No one was around.

 I passed her by, and I looked back. 

She was just seven or eight years old.  I suddenly had an urge to capture that image.  I had recently bought a camera.  But it was at home.  If I went back I could miss both my bus and the girl in the rain.  My mobile had an inbuilt camera.  I was about to take out my mobile but then I couldn't.

I stood there still.

She didn’t even look at me.

She was lost in some thoughts, and was mechanically doing the dishes.  The rain drops that fell on her head were rolling down her face.

She wasn’t crying.  But indeed the childhood in her was crying.

Was she imagining the utensils as toys? Was she enjoying the rain?

I couldn’t see any spark of joy in her eyes.  Her bending figure was a silent request to let her back to the warmth of home. 

It would be possible to capture a seven year old girl who was washing the utensils, but it was impossible to capture the stillness I saw on her face.  The cloudy sky above, the muddy earth below, the sad music of the rain and the little girl and myself couldn’t be caught in a still frame.

I captured her image in my mind, and turned and walked away so that I wouldn’t miss the bus.

As long as that little girl was in the rain, I knew, my country would be fine and prosperous.  Things should remain the same.  Humanity, I thought, at least in my country is subjected to vasectomy; thus no possibility of the girl entering back home; no possibility of a revolution that would right the wrong.

 

I was to take a class on Ethics and Values for engineering students that very morning.  In the class I asked them to come up with an ethical issue that bothered them.  When they were searching for one I narrowed down the range and asked them specifically about an ethical issue that they came across in the very campus they study.  One student came up with the issue: ‘prohibition of the use of mobile phones in the class room’.

I couldn't wait.  I asked them about a girl of 12 or 13 who works as a sweeper in the university canteen.  All of them must have seen her there.   Is her being there an ethical issue?

Where is she supposed to be? I asked.

In school.

The soft answer came from a student who was sitting in the front row.  I could see a change of expression on everyone’s face.  Obviously they have never thought of that girl being in the canteen sweeping and cleaning as an ethical issue.

Yes, it is an ethical issue.  Their silence agreed with me.

Before moving to the moral philosophy of Immanuel Kant I wondered what that little girl in the rain might be doing at that moment.

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00506--An Evening of Respect

An Evening of Respect

I couldn’t recognize K when he stood there and greeted me good evening.  

It is natural to forget the faces and names.  Now busy days are felt busier because the very being busy is for a shallow cause – often to make profit.  Profit making is not a sin but pretending that one is doing a holy act while working just for money is nothing but being a fraud.  When doctor shows concern for the patient’s health one might wonder that if the patient had no money to pay the consulting fee he woudn’t  be able sit in front of the doctor.  The problem comes when the doctor pretends that his primary concern is the health of people. 

So when K stood there I didn’t recognize him.  Obviously I was doing a job where my primary concern was the salary I drew every month.  Human relations were only secondary.  I would rather remember things that could other ways cause me an increment than remember a face that might not practically be of any use to me.

I offered him a seat. 

He said he didn’t expect me there because last time I had told him that I would resign and leave the place for something better.    

There was no chair on the other side of the table.  It was kept beside my chair.

He sat down.

Then he introduced me to a children’s magazine.  But that didn’t last as I didn’t have any kids, and as I asked him about his job.  He  is paid well.  Then the talk gradually shifted to education.  He was not happy about the way some well educated people treated him.

Formal education has nothing to do with manners.  We concluded.

Whenever I went to a new class I would have to send the students back to the door so that they ask permission before entering the class. 

Money is the new master.  All are but servants to that master.  This generation students realise it in a pretty early stage. 

When money becomes the means and end everything else becomes secondary.

K told me he was not happy with his job.  That he would resign and join for PhD.  I wished him all the best.

K then started to talk about his life.  His mom was duff and dumb.  His father lost his life in 1985 Gujarat riot when K was just 6 months old.  His school (where his mother worked as a peon) threw him out because they thought he was too dull to study.  His mother got him admission in the Municipality school.  It was better.  Government gave grant to poor students there.  That helped K’s family’s financial condition. 

 

His mother couldn’t teach him in a traditional way as she couldn't speak or hear, instead she gave him exercises on Maths and English. He was to simply copy them as many times as he could.  She had passed her SSC examination and was qualified to teach her son.  K filled in hundreds of papers with excercises on various subjects. 

 

K did well in school.

K would ride his bicycle for 15 kilometers to Satellite to learn Spoken English.  He spends one hour before the mirror practicing English speaking. 

  

His journey has been wonderful.

I didn’t tell him my story.

 

Everyone has a story to tell.

While he was leaving I stood up and shook his hand.

It was not because his story was great but because he lit my soul with positive energy.

He forgot to sell me books.

But he did give me a leaf from the book of life. For free.

                                                  END