Every morning at 7:30 am I used to catch my school bus for the school and after rounds of picking up students, lots of chitter - chatter, bus rivalry talks, grabbing the window seat turn wise and giving a seating place to my younger sister, we would reach school at 8.30 am.
I used to enjoy every bit of that journey, except when the bus used to pass a lane before reaching school. There was nothing scary about the lane in the literal sense. It wasn't dark at all and there was hardly anyone that could be seen that time. But I used to feel uncomfortable in that lane, only in the super cold Delhi winters. Reason for that was an old man.
An old man used to be in that area around that time at a fixed point with a big box by his side. He was a cobbler. Sometimes I had seen him carrying it on his head , while other times sitting at a fixed place.
One day our school bus broke down and I saw his whole routine , while waiting for our backup bus to arrive. I noticed how he meticulously spread the tools out of his box, on a neat piece of cloth. He arranged his tools and few pairs of shoes. He did a small prayer with incense sticks and sat tight waiting in anticipation for people to stop and avail his services.
Each day, especially during winters, I used to feel saddened to see him that he is working so hard in the early hours of the morning, may be to feed his family the basic meals. Or to get his daughters married, which is a herculean task in India, especially for poor people. Or to get medicines for his ailing family. Don't know which thought of mine was the right one, but they all flashed through my mind each time I saw him. Each one making me sad further.
Back to my present schedule in Delhi, I still leave at 7.30 am in the morning to catch my cab for office starting at 8.30 am. My route has changed and all my activities have converged into one activity of keeping silent. No thrill of catching the window seat and definitely no good feeling of giving seat to my younger sister, but one thing has remained constant. I can see many old men like that one, struggling in the winter mornings to start their work, walking on the road with heavy burdens.
Though I do not get sad after seeing them now. Either my emotions have died or now I do not care about such things, or may be I have realized the hard facts of a day to day living...
I used to enjoy every bit of that journey, except when the bus used to pass a lane before reaching school. There was nothing scary about the lane in the literal sense. It wasn't dark at all and there was hardly anyone that could be seen that time. But I used to feel uncomfortable in that lane, only in the super cold Delhi winters. Reason for that was an old man.
An old man used to be in that area around that time at a fixed point with a big box by his side. He was a cobbler. Sometimes I had seen him carrying it on his head , while other times sitting at a fixed place.
One day our school bus broke down and I saw his whole routine , while waiting for our backup bus to arrive. I noticed how he meticulously spread the tools out of his box, on a neat piece of cloth. He arranged his tools and few pairs of shoes. He did a small prayer with incense sticks and sat tight waiting in anticipation for people to stop and avail his services.
Each day, especially during winters, I used to feel saddened to see him that he is working so hard in the early hours of the morning, may be to feed his family the basic meals. Or to get his daughters married, which is a herculean task in India, especially for poor people. Or to get medicines for his ailing family. Don't know which thought of mine was the right one, but they all flashed through my mind each time I saw him. Each one making me sad further.
Back to my present schedule in Delhi, I still leave at 7.30 am in the morning to catch my cab for office starting at 8.30 am. My route has changed and all my activities have converged into one activity of keeping silent. No thrill of catching the window seat and definitely no good feeling of giving seat to my younger sister, but one thing has remained constant. I can see many old men like that one, struggling in the winter mornings to start their work, walking on the road with heavy burdens.
Though I do not get sad after seeing them now. Either my emotions have died or now I do not care about such things, or may be I have realized the hard facts of a day to day living...
