The Traffic Signal

I see him every day in the same traffic junction. Running from car to car with a dirty rag in his small hands. His clothes always the same. The shirt may have been white in its heydays but now the colour is undecipherable. Everything about him is always the same. Even the smile on his face. The smile that tries to hide a thousand woes and can, in an instant, transform into one of pain and despair.

The lady in the car had her windows rolled down. It had rained in the morning and she was taking in the petrichor. She herself may be wearing an expensive fragrance. I presume, a Chopard or a Burberry. The fragrance couldn't reach me and the petrichor was overbearing.

The boy walks up to her car and starts to clean the windscreen. The driver did not have the time to clean the car. The raindrops settling on the Gurgaon dust gave the car a pockmarked look. Only the windscreen looked clean and the boy made sure that it is. He moves to her rolled down window with his little hand extended and a look of desperate anticipation on his face. He was proud that he was not begging and he deserved a reward for his labour.

The lady stared at him with a forbearing frown on her face and started to roll up her window. Suddenly she stopped. She looked at him and said: When did you last bathe? You will fall sick if you do not keep yourself clean.

He smiled and replied: When I had my last full meal. I heard that if you bathe on a full stomach, the food remains in longer.

The lights turned green. The lady rolled up her window and the car drove off. He stood there watching. His palms remained empty. 

Waiting for the light to turn green again, he hoped he would be able to afford a bath tonight.

Illustration courtesy: Pranjal Bhuyan [portfolio]