life in a metro

This is neither an article nor an experience. It just consists of the confessions of a hypocritical mind. 

The metro coach was all empty, after all it was a saturday evening, people had better options to opt for than to travel back to Hauz khas from Vaishali at the peak of a chilly evening. The effect of gravity was showing up on a sleep deprived soul. Finally she rested her head against the side pillar and as the wave of life hit her, the moving objects began to turn blurred before her eyes. Life was surely in a motion. Just then the metro stopped at a station and a boy entered the coach. Now there were just the two of them. Instead of staring out into the vacuum, the girl found it rather interesting to examine the boy. And in a minute, she was glued, the boy caught her attention.

He must have been a boy of around 14. He dawned a simple amber checked full shirt which blushed of its dirty state. The green lined trousers were exactly sufficient to be called quarter pants. To add to this vivid pattern, he was wearing sky blue slippers. He was a boy of a dark complexion with oily and rough hair. His big eyes were staring at something that was placed above the girls head. His lips were parted and an expression of awe and inhibitions rules his entire face. He seemed to read something. The girl tunred back and saw a poster. The boy was really trying hard to may be read it. It was a poster regarding the free primary education policy by the government. 

The girl smiled suddenly, for she was the one who was always running away from the word 'education'. Bored of the monotomous environment, the girl closed her eyes. But she wanted to observe the new intruder in the coach and she began staring him again. This time, he was looking at the list of the metro stations that were still to come. His soiled hands were trembling gently and his little toes of those cement covered feet wriggled in apprehension. Suddenly, a tear drop rolled down his big black and beautiful eyes. 

The girl was confused. It was her first longest travel in a metro and she had made a promise to herself to not to talk to strangers and specially of these kind - with dirty clothes - as they may be goons, thugs or serial killers! "MAY BE"

But then, suddenly she realised that a wave of love hit her. The boy suddnly resembled to her brother and she couldn't see her brother cry. She got up from her seat and sat next to him. 

That was when the boy finally spoke up - 'Is this the train which id going to Dwarka?'

The girl laughed at this question and showed him the route chart. That was the only thing he was staring at since the past 20 minutes. 'Yes offcourse! It is all written there.'

And suddenly another tear rolled down from the boy's eye when he said these words - Didi, I don't know how to read, I was too embarassed to ask you. My employer got me a ticket to Dwarka from Vaishali station. He asked me to get down there. I work as a domestic help. This is the first time I am travelling by a metro. I don't belong to Delhi, but nanded, a small town in Maharashtra. I don't want to get lost in  such a big city. Please help me!' And he continued to cry.

The empty coach echoed with his faint whimpers and the empty seats stared blankly to me as if waiting for me to say something in response. And the box yelled - Next station is Rajiv Chowk. The doors will open to the right. Mind the Gap. Change here for the blue line. 

Before the girl could react, her senses asked her to leave the coach and catch the yellow line for the Hauz Khas metro. She got off the coach and turned back to see him for the last time - a boy who was helpless, a boy who didn't want to be another brick in the wall, a boy who was scared. Their eyes met for a short duration. Before she could say something and retrack her steps, the door closed right on her face and the metro moved on. The nexux ended then and there as the coach with the lone boy disappeared in the deep darkness of the tunnel prving that life moves on in a METRO.

This has an underlying message. Please stop child labour. Those tiny hands are not meant to bear the brunt of the family responsibility but those are meant to hold colourful pencils and paint the world with their imaginations. Please stop reckless wastage of money and donate atleast some part of it for the education of Indian children. Please don't buy your kids automatic gadgets and latest gizmos, but buy them the feelings and the values of humanity. Buy them back those tears which would make them feel that they still are human and have a responsiblity to change the facade of the helpless and poor people.