My seven year-old nephew watches the Cartoon Network with as much patience as he watches NDTV or Times Now. He asks many interesting questions but refuses to accept the usual It is just so answers. You must make sense to him or he will dismiss your intelligence permanently. Any self-respecting man must rise to the level that he aspires to.
One fated day, while his parents were out playing squash, I was assigned the task of taking our little Information & Broadcasting minister to a birthday party across town.
In peak hour Mumbai traffic I drove nervously, expecting him to ask a difficult question. But my nephew just stared at me through the rear view mirror; in his hand was an Indian flag made of cheap paper from school Republic Day celebrations. His eyebrows were slowly taking a quizzical shape.
I pretended not to notice, but long minutes passed and he didn't give.
I was getting nervous, beads of sweat inching from under my hairline. I shot a by-the-way glance at him and was arrested by two painfully honest eyes, now with fully formed question marks over them. What is it?' I hissed, aware that I had now opened a never-ending conversation channel.
Mama? Why did you give the constable fifty rupees?
The beads finally broke into an embarrassed sweat. I thought my nephew was going to point out that the going rate for breaking a traffic light was only 20 rupees.
It was a fine for breaking a red signal. We must never break red signals. I looked at his nose while I lied, really close to the eyes, but not into his eyes.
But the constable said the fine for breaking a signal was 1000 rupees? Why did you give him only fifty rupees?'
Because I am a corrupt man, because he is a corrupt man, because everybody does it, because....! I thought of several answers that I could look straight at his nose and give him. But the responsibility of giving good advice to a trusting child can bear heavily on the soul.
I told him it was my first mistake, and he can see that I'm a good driver, so he saved me some money. I smiled a feeble smile and saw my nephew's quizzical eyebrows stir uncomfortably. He fixed the Indian flag on the dashboard, unknowingly making it worse for me.
Under the young mans penetrative gaze, I drove remarkably well and stopped at least ten feet before the next signal turned red. Two cars behind us honked violently until I conceded to move onto the zebra crossing.
A little beggar girl came to my window holding uncomfortably a smiling infant with a large confused head and yellow tinted eyes. The girl tapped continually on my shoulder making an eating action with her hand. Her face showed no emotion while the large-headed baby dribbled onto her arm.
Go away! I shooed the girl, but she didn't budge, tapping getting more forceful, eating actions more animated. Go!! She shuddered slightly as I yelled at her. Instantly, I felt the penetrating gaze of my nephew boring a hole into my head.
Mama?? I knew it was coming. I was trapped
Yes? I said, concentrating my energies on the red light, hoping that some form Reiki might work and let me pass.
Why are you not giving her any money?
Because you're never supposed to give beggars money. I said confidently dispensing advice that somebody once gave me. I added They should be working for a living.
I knew instantly that I had gotten carried away. My nephew stared wide-eyed at the girl, barely his own age, with the infant precariously dangling off an arm. He asked in a surprised voice Children should work?
The girl, meanwhile, wiped her nose and continued to tap my shoulder. I quickly rolled up the window, praying that she wouldn't stick the baby's head in the way.
Some bad people will take the money from her, give her little food and make her work even harder. I was talking to my nephew but trying to convince myself Don't worry, beta, these kids are happy with what they have. Look how they are playing.
As
signal turned green, the beggar girl desperately ran along side my car,
'happy' baby dribbling upside down onto the road. She had sensed the
concern on my nephews face and was not going to let her investment go to
waste.I couldn't watch; I sped away. My nephew stared at them till they were far out of sight.
Now that you didn't give her any money, will the bad people give her food?
I could see on his face that he was hoping I'd say yes. I wanted to say that the government looks after the poor and that no one will starve. A feeble whimper came out instead. I don't know if the bad people will feed her.
My nephew processed this information carefully, while I looked away from him. On my window were warm stains of five dirty fingers, that just moment ago, had demanded two rupees. I choked as I felt in my throat the reverberations of a yell so uncalled for.
I drove silently until we neared our destination, a South Bombay address. On one side of this street is the mysterious Arabian Sea and on the other, plush buildings with majestic facades.
Before my nephew disembarked for his party, he delivered his final assault. He counted laboriously on his fingers. You saved...He lost count and started again, determined to get the math right... You saved Nine hundred and Fifty rupees from the havaldar...
Without even looking at me, he hopped out of the car and entered big gates decked in expensive fairy lights. A huge back-lit hoarding read 'Happy Birthday Akshay.'
I parked the car and embarked on a little self-loathing man's walk around the upper class neighborhood.
Underneath the sky scraping marvels of the booming Indian economy, I saw roadside vendors trying to sell their food within clouds of vehicular exhaust. I saw a young man tossing plastic bags filled with garbage into the ocean as he whistled a Bollywood tune, I saw a pot-bellied traffic cop squirt his pan on a bus stop with FCUK branding; I saw an old man with a stiff and slow body trying to cross the road alone, suspicious of speeding cars.
I heard the DJ play Psy's Gangnam Style from the 15th floor apartment where my nephew was. The children cheered loudly. I looked up to see balloons flying out of the window, and thought of my nephew and his little friends, wondering what parents must think when they bring babies into this world.
--By Apurva Asrani
(This piece originally appeared in the Hindustan Times)
