SHORT OF CHANGE

This is an extract from my college magazine-THE SMITSIONIAN

Yesterday, I was on my way to Nehru palace .Excited and happy, because of many reasons. Finding an auto driver who agreed to charge according to meter was one of the reasons. The weather had taken a smooth turn and it was more or less cloudy which gave my burnt skin a salving respite from Delhi’s charring heat. After a short-siesta summer and a shorter lunch those fluffy clouds played the role of dessert.

The auto driver was exercising his racing skills and it added to the fun since the not so warm wind was kissing my bearded cheeks all throughout. The speedometer was touching the likes of nineties and I was feeling that the auto driver had some ulterior motives of setting some speed record or testing the agility of the tires, until my body started experiencing the sudden forces of inertia. Yes the auto was decelerating. The image of a red pixelated disk of the traffic light managed to cross my spectacles to finally paint my retina. The image was clear enough to furnish my curious mind with the reason behind the sudden advent of inertia.

The auto decelerated at a decelerating rate and it was not until the auto driver was completely convinced that his tyres had passed the agility test that he stopped. My cheek encountered a sudden disappearance of its lover but soon somebody else took the place and gave it a wet sensation. The tickly wet sensation catapulted since the flood of sweat made its way downwards on my cheeks.

‘Tak-tak’. A knock buzzed my ears. I looked out of the auto. There was nobody. My eyes roved around & then the gravity pulled it downwards. A lathi (wooden-stick) was approaching my field of view. The lathi proceeded ahead in front of my eyes to bring out its master all the while; the painfully slow advent of man behind the lathi did a subtle job of sparking immense curiosity in me.

Moments later, upon seeing the lathi with its master, I became a bit shocked after not being able to find a hand catching hold of its top end. There was no hand at all. Instead it was just the arm –pit of his right hand that held that lathi; while the left hand, which was physically alright was holding a stained plastic mug in the hope of getting some alms.

‘I don’t have any change. Go ahead’. These words came out of my tongue unconsciously. My conscience tried to scold me for lying, but my logical and unkind mind subdued that faint inner-voice.

He looked at my eyes and oscillated his plastic mug in front of my eyes. It contained not more than six to seven rupees.

‘Go ahead. You won’t get anything here’. I rebuked him. I could see his rags, each of those shreds contained in itself untold stories about his life. His life – which had no importance for me.

Why should it even be important? He was frail and old – someone who would be counting his days to get liberated from his dreadful world. Just at the moment he crossed the auto – driver, the auto driver stopped him by holding his left hand.

‘Babaji, take this. Get yourself something to eat.’

The auto – driver said handing over two coins of two rupees each to the master of the lathi. I could see a divine smile on that old man’s face which seemed to be reassuring the auto – driver that this act of kindness would be remembered forever.

I was dumbstruck and embarrassed at the same time. I was feeling poor in front of that speedster. Something seemed weird to me. My engineering mind tried to find a reason. But it failed miserably. Meanwhile, the red painting on my retina was transformed to green and my long – lost lover was back on action.

‘Bhaiya, you embarrassed me! Why did you give money to the beggar? I mean…there are so many beggars in India… if you keep giving alms at every red – signal, how you would sustain yourself’ I asked.

‘Sahib, I don’t give money to each beggar that happens to cross my eyes. This man’s condition was too bad. Have you ever thought how difficult it would have been to carry ourselves if we just had one hand? Plus he was old, under nourished and hungry. I just could not resist’.

‘Half of India is hungry. You can’t go and feed each of them’. I said irritated.

Half of India is hungry. You can’t go and feed each of them. But you can at least help one who is really in need’. He said.

I didn’t like his logic. My ego just didn’t want to take lessons from an auto – driver. I choose to be quiet. The auto paced back to the nineties and my quietness remained my companion for the next ten minutes.

I reached Nehru palace. Fortunately, no more red lights hindered my cruise with the wind.

‘Sahib, it is 57 rupees on the meter. Do you have any change?’

‘Yes, I’ve change’, I said with pride and extended my right hand to offer him the fare, and simultaneously said, ‘I am never short of change’. He smiled and offered his left hand to collect the money. I didn’t quite like it, as in India, it is customary to give or accept money with the right hand – the righteous hand.

‘Bhaiya, at least extend your right hand’. I said. He extended his right hand and I poured down a 50 rupees note with seven lustrous coins which when struck his palms gave a sonorous sound. It drew my attention towards it. The fibre fabricated single coloured palm with no lifelines at all and the plastic fingers unable to catch hold of the seven metal disks made a shiver of shock run through my whole body. I looked up at him. Those eyes showed conviction and there was an unrealistically beautiful smile on his face. In that short moment, his heart touched mine.

He looked into my eyes and said,

“Sahib, I wish that you’re never short of change!”  and moved back to his auto to set a new speed  record once again.