Today is probably the coldest day of
the season in Jabalpur.As I approached one of its main commercial hubs,
Gorakhpur, for a household errand I saw a small boy 7-8 years of age wearing a
headgear-and loaded with a local two page evening newspaper-must be carrying at
least 100,so much that he was almost getting crushed under their weight.I was a
bit irritable –usual reaction after an average day in office-then he accosted
me with a pleading look-Üncle paper loge kya’’-I gestured impatiently to the
shop I had to go to,muttering under my breath and started walking off.He ran
behind me-‘’Uncle ,laut kar loge kya’’-inspite of myself a small smile started
to make its way from my heart to my lips.I walked off,silently.Did my
errand,the humble brown bread-and
started climbing down the stairs of the shopping complex-there he
was-again-this time with hope in his voice’’Uncle’’ he started to speak.I said ‘’kyon,aaj
newspaper bikey nahi’’-‘’not even one’’-he replied.I said-‘’okay.kitne ka hai’’.’’do
rupiya’’-he replied.I said-‘’achcha,de do’’.I fished in my purse but I had only
a five rupee coin-I gave that to him.He looked at it and said-‘’çhillar nahi
hai’’.I said’’theek hai beta,rakh lo’’.A smile spread across his face-‘’thank
you uncle’’-he said.
I walked to my car,the irritation all
gone,my faith reaffirmed in triumph of human spirit over destined adversities,smiling
inspite of life’s irritants-.This young boy,uneducated in finer nuances of
philosophy,struggling-maybe for his family-for that elusive good meal-that shoe
he coveted-that school he dreamt of.And still-braving the chilly winds and
insensitive people.I felt tiny in front of him the whole 6 foot plus frame of
mine.We are in a mad rush-that corner office,the swanky cellphone,the fur
coat,that promotion,-and in contrast there he was-all existence centered around
a badly printed two page newspaper.
BUT THE REAL WORTH AND DEFINITION OF
HUMAN LIFE I LEARNT FROM MY UNINTENDING LITTLE NEWSPAPER BOY TEACHER-this
spirit is what human life is all about.The real story of our life is in these
small human transactions.Value them.
As for my little newspaper boy-I
intend to buy that newspaper I will probably never read-every single chilly
evening I buy that brown bread.
