Wednesday 27 January 2016
Thursday 21 January 2016
CONTRAST...
Sitting in her opulent air conditioned car, Isha chortled as
she watched her favourite comedy show on her iPad. She then glanced at the
exorbitant diamond ring that her husband had gifted her the previous day, she smiled.
After a while she kept the tab aside, instructed her chauffeur to put on the FM
and adjust the AC, as it was getting too cold inside. She was on her way back
to her palatial apartment, after having spent two long hours in a posh,
overpriced salon, in the heart of the city. She held a hand mirror and looked
at the reflection of her fair face and was caught up in self-admiration. Barely
did she realize that it was money that gave her beauty and with it, false
pride.
As the car drew up at the signal, a fairly young, gaunt woman
knocked the glass of the window, trying to sell a few long pens. Her face was
blacked by the soot and smoke around, her uncombed hair dropping down to her
face. She had draped a grubby, frayed saree. Rani, was her name. Tied to her with a
seemingly old cloth, was a child, hardly a few months old. Rani was bent,
burdened…
Initially Isha paid no heed, until again this woman knocked
the window and began pleading her, in a vernacular language, to buy at least
one of those weird looking, long pens. On Rani’s right was another child of
hers, in tattered clothes, cadaverous and undernourished. He played with one of those pens, trying to
draw something on his muddy hand. He had a winsome smile on his sooty face.
Rani admonished him and snatched the long pen from his tiny hands. The poor boy
began to snivel, looking sad and stunned.
Isha, drew down her window, looked at the small boy and for
a moment, sympathized with their predicament. She asked Rani to give her two
pens. Rani’s face lit up and she immediately handed over two of those long pens
to Isha. She asked Rani how much did it cost. Rani said it was twelve rupees. Giving
her ten Isha said, “That should be enough!”.
Rani became disillusioned, and begged Isha for two more
rupees. Her request was simply spurned by Isha. Isha, casually replied that she
had no change and that ten was more than enough for those tawdry pens.
The traffic light turned green and the driver swiftly drove
away the car, with other cars. Over the glass windows of gliding cars, could be
seen the reflection of Rani’s disconsolate, dusty face, lost in cogitation.
It was not just Rani, but many men and women, who all day
long hovered around the traffic signal, in a desperate effort to sell toys,
umbrellas and sundries. All of them were slum dwellers. Behind the selling of
such products, was a syndicate. People like Rani, had to report every evening
to a head, who collected all the money from them, giving them a very meagre
share.
Isha, on her way home instructed the driver to stop at the
High Street Phoenix Mall, a five minute drive from the preceding signal, as she
‘felt’ like shopping.
Rani, waited for the red signal and as soon as the
automobiles halted, she rushed towards them, for selling her pens. She went from
one car to another, yearning for somebody to buy her pens. A very few people
did buy a few pens, because of its fancy design but most people in their
cars were glued to their smartphones and did not even take the trouble of
looking out of their windows. Rani was exasperated by the
evening. She felt extremely hungry. Downcast, she left with the
day’s earnings to their local head, who collected the money, giving her just
modicum of the money, merely fourteen rupees. Rani’s husband was missing from
the past one week. Nobody knew where he went.
Isha, after three hours of shopping and spending a hefty
twenty thousand, had a sense of gratification. Her driver drove her, to her
prodigious house. Taking the lift to the fourth floor, she walked in high heels
towards the aesthetically designed door of her house. As she rang the doorbell,
one of her five servants opened the door for her. Another servant offered her a
glass of water. The house looked picture-perfect. She sat on her comfy couch. On
one side of the designer walls was a colossal painting worth five lakh rupees that
she had bought the previous week from an art exhibition. The interior designing
of her house was done by renowned architects from London. Isha’s husband had
just left, a few hours ago for a business meeting in New York. Both her
children were in a high class boarding school, in Shimla.
Rani, with fourteen rupees in hand, went with her children
to a small shop. She could buy only a small packet of milk powder and two
slices of bread. The milk powder costed her ten and each slice of bread, two
rupees. Now, that was the value of the two rupees, Isha had refused to pay! Not having had anything since morning, both
her children were screeching. Rani’s old slippers broke midway and she headed barefoot
towards her home, located in the most impoverished area of the city- the slums.
The overcrowded housing conditions were sordid. It was getting colder. Rani’s
home was made of a few bamboo sticks, bricks and tarpaulin. As she entered,
there was darkness all around. Darkness was usual now…
Isha’s servants served her an appetizing Italian dinner, as
per her orders. She then had a delectable dessert. Her servants completed all
the work and left.
Rani mixed the milk powder with a bit of water and fed her
young one. She then gave the two slices of bread to her elder son, who was
still sobbing due to hunger. He had the two slices hastily, leaving nothing for
Rani to have. Rani just gulped in a tumbler of water. On the floor laid an old
bedsheet, without a mattress. She sung a lullaby for her children and patted
them. They soon fell asleep. She covered them with old jute sacks to protect
them from cold. Tears rolled down her dispirited face. Her life had become a
dessert…
As Isha lay on her soft and warm bed, she reminisced about
the day’s happenings. She felt a sense of pity over the predicament of people
like Rani. After a while, she fell asleep…
- Pranjal
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