Happiness in fifty Paise

As the ‘Guwahati Express’ chugs on at 7:30 AM tomorrow, I am destined to witness facets of inequalities the world has got to offer. The need of guts to travel in the train, especially, if you are one in the Sleeper Class is disturbingly not an exaggeration, at least to me.

We get to see so many disheartening things going on around the world. Do you think begging is oldest profession on earth? Most of us would be affirmatively toned. All kinds of beggars whose period of begging spans from five minutes to years can be seen within the bogies of the train. One can’t help wondering if they are beggar by choice. The answer seems too mysterious to comprehend.

Blind men playing melodious flute through his nose, the elderly, the disabled, the Lepers and Destitute having graduated to this profession, Lamed traversing the compartments on his shrunken butt who always wishes for the limbs, Amputees heart-renderingly appealing to the passengers with is innocent eyes, Juvenile as young as five mopping the floors to whom parenting seem too alien, eunuchs who rule the train setting the minimum from each Rs. 10 which leave travelers disgruntled enough to complain ‘that is quite a loot’, etc, etc, etc.

While, for some, begging seems the only option, some are admittedly suspicious and deceptive though. They are everywhere- on trains, at traffic signals, peering into taxi windows, bedraggled, haggard and breaking into a sudden smile when a few coins are dropped into their palms. A fifty paise contribution on our part makes the unfortunates smile revealing their never ever brushed ‘once in a while got edible particles tainted’ on their teeth. This is their happiness in fifty paise.

The journeys ensue leaving so much of helplessness firmly rooted in its depth within me. Nothing much can be done than accepting, lamenting, and realizing the harsh realties dovetailed in the form of inequalities. I have already hoarded the coins and I will contribute bit of it to each of them. Hundreds of them, before I wrap up my destination, are for sure to come by. Come what may, I can’t afford to turn them away.

 In between, I am too fragile that every such journey leaves me wounded somehow sometime, finding myself shackled by the memories of the miseries those unfortunates I encountered are writhing through.