Part And Parcel of Life

It was 10 in the night and I was returning home from a friends place. I caught a local train and stood at its entrance enjoying the cool breeze flowing in. Being a Sunday, the train was empty and was speeding down the track. A few people got down upon its reaching a station and I stood lazily praying that the train would reach my destination soon. All of a sudden, as if from nowhere, a polio affected kid in a tattered shirt, crawling as fast as he could, reached the entrance of the train and held on to the median pole trying to pull himself up. The train started to move slowly and the kid got frantic in his efforts to get in. I promptly caught hold of his shirt in an attempt to pull him up. The shirt began to tear and I shrieked with fright as the train started to gather speed. The kid showed no signs of letting the pole go. I got hold of his hand in a desperate attempt to save him and pulled him up. The kid lay inside exhausted and gasping for breath with his head facing the floor of the train. He looked up slowly as I began to shout angrily. Gazing silently through his watery eyes, he stretched his palm out. I froze realizing that he was begging for alms. The kid virtually remained oblivious to all the tension that had surrounded him just a few minutes back. He started tugging at the bottom of my pants embarrassing me further. I gave him a few coins and got off at the next station to board a different compartment.

I reminisced over all that had happened upon getting back home that night. Somewhere down, I felt disgusted to myself for having done so little. I had let indifference devour me. Had I really saved the kid's life? Why did I do no more than drop a few coins? Why did I not do anything to ensure he wouldn't face a similar situation again? I wondered what the boy would remember of his childhood when he grew up. Would nostalgia ever bring back pleasant memories to him? These questions kept bothering me as I lay on my bed. Was he hungry? Where was his mother? Did he have any friends? He would probably spend the night at the corner of some station, and here I lay sleeping cosily in the comfort of my bed.

Do we as a people really care about these things in the 21^st century or are they just what we have come to call ‘A part and parcel of life’. How nicer it would be if someone started a campaign called “I Am Mother Teresa”. There certainly is a need for us as a society to get progressive rather than letting philanthropic work stay in the hands of an enlightened few.