The weather was awful. It’s not that I don’t like rain, Oh! I love getting wet. But what was upsetting me that day was that I was wearing one of my favourite silk sarees, a beautiful combination of black and pink, with matching jewellery and high heels. Yes, I was coming back from a party, a glorious one at that. I did have an umbrella but it was not serving its purpose. Struggling with my “pallav”, I noticed a little girl shivering at the corner of the block. Whenever someone passed she’d stretch out her hand to ask for alms. Otherwise she’d squat down, trying desperately to keep herself as warm as possible. I went up to her.
“ Here take this,” I said slipping a five-rupee coin in her hand.
She was a small child looking definitely malnourished. Her hands seemed numb as if she’d been standing there for quite some time. Writers, observers and such people say that the first thing they notice in someone is their eyes. But for me, it was her voice that seemed to say a lot.
“Oh”, she seemed surprised, looking at what I’d given her. “Nobody ever gives me more than 50 paise or a rupee.” Happiness did reach her eyes, but her voice was strong for her age, as if she’d been through a lot; had done a lot of screaming and shouting; would speak her mind on any occasion and yet not be blunt as to hurt someone.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Sita,” she replied, “Do you know, I am named after Lord Rama’s wife? She was very good, very patient, my mother says,” she continued. She spoke Hindi fluently. The ‘profession’ teaches all the required languages. Sensing that she wanted to talk more, I stood there for a while longer.
“How old are you?” I asked.
“I think 10, or maybe 12, or maybe even 25! Who knows? Who cares?” She smiled wryly.” What’s your name?” she asked. I told her.
” Who are you named after?” A famous actress I said inwardly, “I’m not sure,” to her. I love my name but I guess not the reason why it was kept. Her dress was a skimpy one, very short and tight for her. She wore no shoes or slippers and her hair was tied loosely by a piece of rag. The rain was showing signs of letting up.
” Where do you stay?” I asked.
“Behind Kranthi apartments near Shilparamam. But I can’t go home. My father asks me to get at least Rs.60/-everyday and I don’t have that much as yet,” she replied.
“And what if you don’t get that much?”
“ I won’t go home or my father’ll beat me.” She shuddered at the very thought.
“How much do you already have?”
“Rs.40/-“ I wanted to give her the amount but didn’t want her to be dependent on begging. My eyes fell on the Trinethra Stores opposite.
“Would you like to do some work for me, and earn some money?” I asked her hoping she’d look on it as a matter of pride and not be lazy. Thankfully, she readily agreed. I had a get-together at my place that weekend. Most of my cherished school and college friends, who were in town, would be coming. My fried rice, chicken khorma and China grass are always a hit, and I’d decided to do the shopping that Friday, the party being on Saturday, but seeing the girl and her need for money, I started crossing the road, beckoning her to come with me.
“Didi see,!” she called after me. I turned to see her picking my wallet that must’ve carelessly dropped. I thanked her, as she gave it to me, realizing how honest she was, not having run away with it. It had almost a hundred times the amount she needed! I asked her to wait outside and went in myself. In between the aisles I noticed her outside, staring longingly at a rack of chocolates. I wondered whether she even knew its taste. I finished my shopping and had the stuff put in two different packets. Coming out, I handed her the smaller of the two. We walked another block and reached my car. I had had to park it here earlier in the day, because of lack of parking space near my friend’s house. I put my shopping in the back seat and handed her a 20-rupee note.
