A Bunch of Roses

At the IIT flyover red light, I was about to take a right turn to the road I have seemed to know forever. Sri Aurobindo Marg, which eventually would join MG Road to take me back home to Gurgaon. After a "brain storming" session with friends at the Barista, it was time to go home, leaving things undecided yet again. We, a bunch of restless friends, with different aspirations yet similar perspectives, were thinking of moving the inertia that has taken control of our lives. We were planning to do something new, something different and something effective, which would mark our contribution to the society that has given us much, thankfully.

So, there I stood, at the red light. Waiting for my turn to turn. Suddenly, I see this little emaciated boy, who comes in front of my car, accompanied with a girl, who is carrying a large bunch of roses, completely withered by the harsh Delhi summers. She hands one of the roses to the boy. He places it right in front of me, on the windshield. But unlike other beggars, he did not come and knock at my window. Instead, he went to the front of my car, clasped his hands tight, and bowed down on the bumper. Without saying a word. The girl looked at him. I looked at him. Other commuters around me looked at him. He did not once raise his head and stood there like a monolith for at least a minute. Probably, they did not have a real good day at the sale of flowers in this terrible heat, evident by the huge number of withered flowers the girl was carrying. This was the least I was bothered about at that time. I was just over whelmed. A few minutes ago, sipping a soothing drink at an air conditioned coffee outlet, we were talking big. And now, a boy, who may or may not be feigning the need for money, to feed himself probably for the first time in the whole day stood in front of my car, and I was just watching him. The disparity between the people, who come and walk out of our lives is striking. Every big word shot, idea thrown in that hour spent at Barista was staring a well of penury, full of people with raised hands and expecting eyes. And yet, they were only words. Totally inept at giving these people even the proverbial support of the twig. They were thoughts to create bullet points, that would bejewel our CVs. That is all what they were. I was ashamed and humiliated.

I drove as the signal turned green. The girl gave a dejected look. And the boy moved aside without any emotion, leaving the small packet with the rose and fancy packing over my wind shield. He, as well as I knew that it would not sell. The packet stood firmly over my wiper, and the only thing I wanted to do was to take it with me to my home. I somehow, was so moved, that I did not move to pick up the roses. I carried them, and carried them well for a long distance, until when the road got empty, and my speed increased. The withered rose could not stand the swift wind and slowly slided and flew away...into the darkness.