A Walk By the Pavement

“Hello there …..! It’s not too late yet”

A familiar voice forced me stop the hurrying walk to work. Reluctantly, I turned to see where the voice came from. To my surprise, there was no one at my back to the farthest I could see.

Who could that be?

All I could see, was a trail of slums along the road till that entry to another lane from the highway, from where I emerged, and the huts beyond that extending till the sight lasts, but with no sign of anyone who could have given that call.

‘Must have been a hallucination….’ I thought & resumed the walk.

“Hello there …..! It’s not too late yet”, came the voice again. A bit louder this time.

I gave a pause. Looked around. What I could see was nothing different than what saw before. A long trail of slums, but something caught my attention this time…….

There was this little boy, of 2 or 3 years, naked down the waist. He could barely walk. What was evident was he was waiting for his mother to clean him up. He was particularly eager to get it done quickly as his mates called him to be quick to the game they played.

“Kids…… they are all the same….”, I took steps towards my destination. However the kid was still in my thoughts, I turned to see if his mother attended him. She was busy selling the grinding stone to a prospective customer.

A moment’s pause and I realized, that hammering which I heard every morning I walked that way, was not audible today.

The Grinding Stone…..

A week or little more than that, I remember seeing a piece of rock at that very spot, or someplace near around it I guess. And every morning I passed that way, I saw it was being given a shape. Patiently…Rhythmically…Systematically.

The carving was audible even before I took that turn onto the highway; it grew louder as I walked towards it. It would become loud enough, so much so that I feared if it would damage the eardrum. I would take quick steps past it, observing the expertise of the carving hand. And it lasted till I took another turn after 5 minutes of walk, dying out eventually.

Expertise it must be…. I remembered it was her husband that did the carving part.

And what I could see now is a fine piece of grinding stone with the finishing beautifully carved. It was particularly artistic and I am pretty sure it would capture anyone’s attention.

What an Expertise it must be….

’60 bugs is more than enough for that stone, only a fool would give 150’, the lady in red argued, rather aggressively.

My curiosity got levitated at their conversation. Though I would run into risk of getting bashing for being late, I made a choice to stay and listen.

‘Madam, it takes over a week to get one ready…” the lady on the selling end tried explaining. It does take a week, I knew that.

Meanwhile the boy who waited for her mother got impatient enough and ran back to his mates ………….

‘Kids… they are all the same…. Untidy, unconcerned ’

“So what, the stone is free that you get….!” The lady in Red declared.

The lady in RED, oh yes! , a keen look at her and it came to me, the striking similarity she shared with the lady in Blue the other day in the shopping mall.

The Grinder it was what she choose, and electric one.

She came, she saw, she bought, she left…… no words spoken, but for

‘What’s the warranty …… ?”

“SIX months”…..

Strange, I thought

’70 is last what I can give!”. The lady in Red said sarcastically.

“75 madam…..” I never noticed when she dropped to such a low price. She had no choice either.

She had to sell it by all means, I could see. People out here, did not have a fixed source of income. So every day they need to sell these stones to buy bread and butter. They are not a company. They do not have a brand name or a logo as such. I wonder if they even knew what all these terms mean.

Yet we bargain.

The 75 extra bugs, had the lady paid, would have lasted for another week or so for the family. A week of bread & butter. A week’s freedom from going on debt. A week of self reliance. Independence.

But now, the family must sell another stone to compensate the loss. Another customer. Another week’s wait. But we are into a generation where speed, comfort, ease is what matters. Courtesy, kindness, care come next on the list. To some, they don’t even appear on the list.

On the other hand, bargaining at a shopping mall becomes a matter of prestige we carry with the attire. Defame. Pity.

Halfheartedly, the mother picked up the Piece of Stone, or a masterpiece of the expert craftsman, and placed it carefully in the vehicle the lady in red was riding.

With the situation ending in with the negotiation, I resumed my walk, past the children in play, past those pile of stones, mostly irregular, which will be given a wonderful shape in the near future.

“A week’s meal for the family, in each of the stones,” I saw…..

…………

A sunny afternoon sometime in the next week……….

The birthday party was planned at a 3* restaurant……. Some place near around the slums.

As we slipped ourselves near the entrance from the highway… we were ambushed by a group of kids, for alms……. Most of them with torn or untidy clothes, some without footwear…….

There he was…… the boy, naked down the waist….desperate to get a penny or two from one of us….

‘it’s not too late yet, something must be done by each one of us to uplift the lives of our fellow beings….’

A week’s meal……….

An ounce of kindness……

An ounce of consideration…..

An ounce of humanity…….