Tale of Two Cities

“Riding in a taxi one afternoon between very tall buildings under a mauve and rosy sky; I began to bawl because I had everything I wanted and knew I would never be so happy again.” - F. Scott Fitzgerald


This morning this was how I felt, well, almost. Only differences were- it was morning and I was not riding a taxi. But feelings were same and I did not know how to hide my tears when it was just perfect to feel happy and giggly and a smile was just the apt thing on my face.

I wake up pretty early (that’s a norm of sorts) and I start for work when many would be in their beds. Mornings are nice (I like mornings..umm and late evenings!), especially when it is this time of the year, when winter is just knocking at the gate. My route to work is a lovely stretch, especially from my side of the town. I cross the river, it’s a beautiful view, and I feel nice cold wind caressing my unruly locks. It feels so heavenly. I almost forget all the agonies of traveling in this city. And at that very moment I just got oh-so emotional and I could feel that awkward sensation when you get those lumps forming in your throat, just before your eyes start to get moist.

It was really a funny thing. On one hand I was happy, that I slept well, woke up on time, had a nice hot shower, and ate a wholesome breakfast before setting for work, cooked and packed a very nice satvik lunch. And that I also could manage to throw in a li’l bit of practice session with a 2 KM walk (hmm, I planned to run half marathon and I ‘was’ training for that. But I will have to give this run thingy a miss with a bad knee injury. Well, that’s another story!) and here I was in all tears.

Well, I just feel I am so grateful for what I am today, for where I am today and for what all I have today. I really felt so humbled at the sight of those four young girls singing for the passengers in that wee hours. I felt helpless as my giving them money would amount to giving them alms. And at the same time I was so overwhelmed and so overpowered with emotion that I failed to make an eye contact with them when they came to collect money. I just felt they should not see my tears. I just did not know what to say and before I could gather my wits I saw four of them disembarking at a major traffic junction.

I sure know these girls are told which all places to hover around so that they can make business. Bhajans always sell, especially, in a country where religion has a huge commercial (and sentimental) value. So, singing bhajans praising the goddess will always fetch moolah. It does not matter even when one can make out these girls do not follow what they singing; even when one can make out they are made to sing in a language which is very well not their mother tongue.I just wonder aloud here who are these people who train these young girls, who are these people who utilize someone’s poor economic status and lure young girls when you surely know its risky for four young girls to go about in this city in public transport?

May be its really complicated, here I remember what I heard eons ago (in Bengali) which roughly translates to “poverty does not know any distinction between prose and poem”. Hmmmm……….