The Happiness Interlude

Till Sancheti Hospital Chowk. Then the traffic light turns red. I drum my fingers impatiently on the handle of the scooter and prepare for what seems to be an interminable wait. The sun is blazing overhead and my temper seems to be rising with the temperature.

Then, suddenly, they appear as if from nowhere, this group of urchins. Young boys, barely 10 years old, from the nearby slums. They are little monkeys that have descendedfrom a tree that seems to have magically sprouted at that moment, throwing a cool shade right in the middle of the road.

Dirty, unkempt, their clothes in tatters, they knock on car windows, grab hold of the scooterists8217; hands, make faces at those who dare to look them in the eye, and then they are gone. They are not there to beg. Life has already taught them not to expect too much out of anything. They are mostly there for for a lark, to tell you they don8217;t care for your swanky car or expensive clothes. If you want to give them something, keep it ready, they are not going to wait.

No, I am not overcome by pity. I don8217;t wonder at the miserable lives they are forced to lead, whether they have enough to eat, why they cannot go to school. At that moment, all I can feel is envy. Envy at the easy confidence with which they approach complete strangers, the free movement of their tiny limbs, the spring in their step, the energy they radiate. Then I am compelled to look at their dirty naked feet. I can see amongthose a pair of tiny feet that loved to run naked and climb trees, several eternities ago.

I have no intention to break the rule and smile. But in that one unguarded moment, it sneaks past the barriers of my heart, seeps into my eyes and spills over onto my lips. Then lingers there for a brief while. On some days, the little ones are in an especially wicked mood. They suddenly creep up and shout quot;whaaaa8230;quot; close to the ear. Once an expert in the art of whaaaing myself, this comes as a welcome surprise. Then I surprise them by not getting startled. And on those special days when I am feeling a little less inhibited than usual, I return the compliment. quot;Whaaaa8230;.quot;

Sometimes a tempo loaded with sugarcane rolls up just as the light is about to turn green and I pray hard that the little imps have time enough to pull out a stalk or two and get away. Once in a while they do, and it is as if it is I who have achieved something. After all, the little one with tiny feet that loved to climb trees had tiny handsthat sometimes plucked a guava from the neighbour8217;s garden. And although the tree in her own backyard was heavy with fruit, it never tasted as sweet as that which grew on the neighbour8217;s side.

At this point, the smile sneaks past once again.

Then the light turns green. The tree disappears, the children melt away, it8217;s 38 degrees again. I put a lid on my emotions, rearrange my features into my best trying-to-look-important face, raise the accelerator and am off.

The Happiness Interlude is over.