Uh ...sirr.? Is it dinner or snacks? The attendants too peculiar reaction on our Arrival in his little safe haven “Gossips” finally made us hardcracks conscious about our outfit. Aditya had a reason, he just burnt his leg by a vehicles silencer, for being in shorts, while I had no better reason but my own slothfulness, also with my zeal to spread the shirk bug I convinced him to tag along in those home tattered sandals which he was insisting to change at home.
As we made our way through too extravagant mahogany furniture to find a suitable place, preferably under an a.c vent, some distinguished guests already there, puckered up their snobbish faces and muttered under their breath “Man the standard nowadays , just keeps going down.”
Of course, I oblivious to all this was just getting cozy in the seat when Aditya startled me by saying “don’t you think, we overdid it this time?”
“What… What r u talking about?”
Cant u see…..look at us? M in these shorts with this loose collared t-shirt and theses tattered sandals, n u…wow what a spectacle! A baboon in an oversized shirt with goan print, wearing a brown Bermuda whose original color was white, and those u r wearing are not even sandals they are carpet sleepers man.”
Now, I knew he was pissed off, and I would love to erase the look he gave, from my memory, when I asked him “So, Big Deal! What are you driving at?”
“you are just unbelievable man cant u simply see that we are too underdressed for this place. You said its just a small coffee joint in MP nagar.” I could see the rage and frustration on his face.
I had no choice but to agree to what he said to get out of the situation but still gave few last blows of argument ,
“well, Haven’t we been in more distinguished restaurants in more a ragged condition than this ,and at that time u atoned it to yours having too many breakups in such a short period and me being such a failure as of having no relation to speak of yet, for this utter disrespect of personal appearances and we laughed it off there. But yeah you are right, we should be careful next time, of the place and our attire. Hey look there.” Initially I said it to divert his mind from the current topic and to some extent I succeeded because he looked in the direction I was pointing and we saw a kid not more than 10 trying to fish out cherry lying at the bottom of his mocktail.
We both looked at our mocktails and our lips curled up in a mischievous smile as we remembered our long forgotten game. The person who fishes out the cherry first is the winner. And we dived into it head long. His mocktail was served in a long and narrow glass while mine was in a short and broad glass, so we were even. First we started with our stirrers, but to no success then suddenly I remembered the old trick I grabbed the straw, put it in the liquid, sucked on the open end keeping the other end on the cherry at the bottom, creating vacuum, and now the slow hoisting of it with loads of concentration started. I was stuck with my cherry on the brink of the glass just when I heard a shout. “ Yess!! I did it!. Stop there.. its over. I won.. I won!” Aditya had his cherry stuck in the stirrer and was brandishing it like a victory sword, above his head. I was too disappointed to even congratulate him. I mean c’mon this Is the game I was champ at and now look what being grown up has done to me.
Just then the waiter came up to our table, interrupting my sulking and his jubilation and asked “sir, anything else would you like to order?”. I waved irritatingly and said “No, we will call you when we want something.” While backing off he nervously looked at the other people dining there, I followed his gaze and found each and every person in the restaurant staring at us , most of them with disgust and few with curiosity including that kid who pushed us into this situation. I made faces at him, getting response in real time as he stuck his tongue out. We finished our drinks and ran out of the joint, still feeling angry stairs on our back.
On my numerous journeys I came across many kids. In the general compartment, in buses, on roadside dhabas,on platforms, in remote areas of town where even cellular networks are not available u can have child labors. These are grown up kids, Who can fish out cherry for you from any mocktail only if u remunerate them for the job.
And this one is for the kids whom I still remember meeting. They all have the same name “chotu” and “chutki.”
gaziabaad की किसी भट्टी से
गरम चूडिया निकालते,
धौंकनी सी चलती सांसो के बीच
वह इसी कशमकश मैं है क़ि,
कुछ माँ के लिए चुरा ली तो
पाप तो न होगा?
किसी पप्पू के ढाबे पे,
आज पूर्णिमा के दिन भी,
महताब के दीदार का नहीं,
मोरी पर बैठे बर्तन धोते हुए
उसे बस इंतज़ार है
आखरी कस्टमर के जाने का.
शफक के दबे पाँव
रोशन दान से आने के पहले
जी.बी रोड के एक घर मैं
वह उठ जाती है,
उलझे बालो के साथ
दूध का पतीला लिए. तैयार .
पिछले हफ्ते का बचा तेल,
एक फोटो और कुछ सिक्के
कटोरे मैं डाल के
चल पड़ा है वो
चौराहे क़ि तरफ
आज शनिवार जो है.
पाले की एक सुबह को
अपने फटे स्वेटर
और बनियान के बीच वह
कागज लगा रहा है.
आज भी तो जाना है पेपर बांटने.
इन सबके बीच बचपन मुझे फिर भी मिल जाता है,
जब मंदिर के पास वो मुस्कुराते हुए आती है
और कहती है “ओ भिया एल्लो आपकी दूब १ रुपये मैं ,
पर मीना को मत बताना (अपनी दूब बेचती दूसरी सहेली की तरफ इशारा करते हुए )
नि तो वो मुझसे कट्टी हो जागि न.”
PS: My father always argument against the authorities involved in rescuing child laborers who just rescue them and get over with their responsibilities without even giving a fleeting thought to their rehabilitation. He thinks that these children are better than me when it comes to street smartness and somewhere i agree to it.
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