“There’s no doubt about it; this is a country that breaks your heart in a new way every day, fractures you in ways that you didn’t even realize you could be broken.”
Sanjeev Bhaskar, in his book- India.
It was nine thirty at night as I made way through the massive crowd of passengers walking towards their respective destinations. My train was scheduled for a ten thirty departure. Wondering how to spend an hour waiting in one of the busiest railway stations of India- the old Delhi railway station, I some how managed to climb down the stairs of platform No.9 without being washed down by the surge. All I could see was a sea of human heads. A sudden transformation as it was for me (for I was used to catching trains from Hazrat Nizzamuddin, which happens to be one tenth as crowded as Old Delhi) I battled to stay unnerved and found a small place to keep my bag. Eyes wide open with the new experience I soaked in all that I could see. Eyes looked at me as if I was an alien. My capris seemed to be out of place because women were either wearing sarees, suits or jeans which covered their entire body. I instead had a bit of flesh on display.
It was a different world on its own. Women sitting on their luggage with the platform chairs fully occupied, children walking barefoot to the vendor for comics, fathers filling up bottles with water from the taps. Some families eating dinner while some sleeping on the platform waiting for the train that takes them home.
Suddenly I felt a gaping rift between me and the people there. How without knowing, I had found my own niche environment where in I lived and worked. How my necessities were different from them. How my wants and demands were starkly different from most of the people present there. Not that I don’t know that a large part of India still struggles to manage three meals a day, but that the reality would slap me hard in such a way- frankly, I wasn’t prepared.
I had recently been too used to AC cabs and AC train coaches and clean environment that some where my mind had stopped remembering the less privileged. Yes, I think I am extremely lucky to have been born in a family where we were taught to work hard and endure hardships. Yes, there was hard work involved in whatever I have achieved in my life so far. But there was a cushion of my family’s support always around me, in what ever I did. Many don’t have that. And this sight was an example. That a father and a son would look at the same piece of bread with same hunger, that a brother would fight with his sibling to get a biscuit crumb, that a five year old would carry a five month old around begging for alms (not a rare sight) would pummel my heart and jolt me so strong- I was not prepared.
The most heart rending experience of the day was a small impoverished family of seven that almost brought me close to tears. The pics below were taken from my phone camera and hence are slightly blurred.
This family of seven lay on the platform. Two mothers with their respective children a grandmother and a young male member. One mother had three children, two 6-7 year old boys and an infant may be 6 months old. All of them lay on the bare rugged, dusty floor. Dirty feet, cracked heels, dried and worn out skin.
It was the infant that caught my attention. In his sleep he had moved a little away from his mother. A piece of cloth was collected and placed under him while a small handkerchief was used to cover his naked body. Small hands with clenched fists, rested parallel to his head (the way all children sleep). Legs still slightly folded reminding of his body position when inside the womb. The day was cooler with gentle breeze making its way across the platform. Every time the breeze blew, a small smile would cross his lips and he would take a deep breath of satisfaction. His tiny fingers would open ever so lightly and then fold back again. The smile would persist for some time before fading away into the serene expression of his face.
Sometimes a wheel cart carrying luggage would move across, just too close to his feet and my heart would jump up half expecting a mishap. Some times the shrill whistle of the engine would ruffle him up a bit. But the breeze brought him smile just the same. He had no crib, no baby cushions, no mosquito nets around him. No air conditioners and different creams and lotions. He might not even have had the basic vaccines necessary for his life, yet he slept peacefully, smiling with every gentle stroke of the wind. He had no questions, no anger, no resentment not even a want of MORE. Yet for him that moment was the moment of bliss where he slept close to his mother yet around danger.
I could not look at him long. I could not gather so much courage. People walking by would look at him. Walk away. Mothers even told their kids to look at the way the infant was sleeping. A feeling of pity was their in everyone’s heart but nothing more.
Life in itself is an experience. And some incidents suddenly make you aware of the fact that you are one of the blessed ones who have what most people can only dream of. That the want of getting more and doing more will persist till you die, but one should even find little joys with what you have. That life gives you the “present” to enjoy. And while you jostle up with the worries of future you would end up losing your present.
That baby taught me the joy of the present. It was the cool breeze and sleep that he was enjoying at the moment. And he was happy for that moment.
Soon my train came chugging along and I made my way to the compartment, half praying that the family gets to eat the biscuit packs I left near them when they get up and half praying for the life gifted to me.
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