As I, Pravin Singhania, walked
past the corner of the busy Connaught Place, I saw her. She was a little girl,
a vagabond girl. It was well past afternoon and the sunset was almost complete.
The streets and footpaths were busy with commuters hurrying homeward. I am
writing in the past tense, but the incident happened only a few hours back,
while I was returning home from office.
I have had a rough day at work today and my head was spinning with the turmoil
of the episodes at office. The presentation I delivered to the customer’s team
was not very absorbed by them and we are still not sure about what will happen
next. The shock from the news of my illness was far lesser than the shock I have
received from my colleagues and bosses. The NEWS of my ailment has reached
every corner of my office and the entire workforce is divided into two groups
of people --- One, that includes sympathizers; Two, that includes scorners. The
air carries an imminent yet unspoken belief that I am slowly going MAD! Yet, I
can never explain them that I am not going anywhere to becoming insane, it is
like disk-erase of my personification.
I felt shattered and heartbroken with sorrow from this behavior among
the people with whom I send most my time. This was partially responsible for
the half-hearted delivery of my presentation. I came out of office a bit early
today, unable to bear the floating murmur. I wanted to spend some time alone
and get face to face with reality. The ache in my heart was definitely out
of the pain and I didn’t know how to handle it.
As I sat near the fountain, and watched the dynamic crowd move past me,
I noticed the little vagabond girl, about eight years old, maybe. She was
sitting under a shade and was begging for money from the passersby folks. An
equally despondent lady, probably her mother, sat at a distance from her. I tried
to follow the eyes of the little vagabond girl, which were large and sparkling
but with a burden of hunger and dejection. As evening fell, the colorful lights
and recorded music embraced the twirling water fountain. A group of children
(who had come to the park along with their parents) began to dance around it.
The little vagabond girl quickly got up from her place and reached the
fountain and began to dance to the tune. There was a joy in her eyes that was
indistinguishable from the joy in the eyes of the other kids. She laughed heartily
while dancing. Slowly, the other children went away, but the vagabond girl
continued to dance below the fountain with utmost ecstasy! I couldn’t distinguish
her anguish from her joy, but felt a strange pang in my heart. The lady (who is
probably her mother) came nearer and sat at a corner, with moist eyes. However,
the vagabond girl didn’t bother to see anything, she was completely engrossed
in her dance while her untidy hair fluttered in the wind.
What is this emotion that I experienced today in the eyes of that
little girl? Was it joy? Was it sorrow? Was it a mockery of poverty in
the eyes of the privileged world? I felt a whirlwind unfold within my heart and
felt my own sorrows minuscule. Today, the little vagabond girl taught me that a
thin invisible line exists between sorrow and joy and I must decide which one I
will choose. While everything comes to an end in this life… hope survives!
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