As I returned home from the last official task of the day, I spotted an incoming Rik. The challak (driver) alighted before a speed bump. By the look in his eyes, I had the impression that he had expectations with me. My impression was proven right when, nearing him, he urged me to climb on, for a drop. Since I was close to home, and moreover since I rarely excuse myself from a brisk walk whenever the chance, I declined his exhortations.
"बस थोड़ा ही जाना है"
"10 रुपये दे देना छोड़ देंगे साहब"
From his tone, he seemed desperate for money. I, having already crossed him, turned, and doled him a 20 rupee note. The gesture made him emotional. He lifted up his shirt to show me a stitched-up body from a recent operation - a long vertical cut extending from the sternum to below the navel, stitched poorly, dusted with some medicine.
To someone raised in an environment of sufficiency, nightmares of stitches opening and organs spilling out (with considerable blood, of course) come to the imagination aplenty. However, this guy seemed above those considerations. To the poor, rest after surgery is not an option. Here was this guy, into an occupation that demanded physical exertion, trying to have a day out working despite his organism's condition. As a daily wage earner, the only options he had were : to make it worse by not earning, or to make it worse by exerting, of which he chose the latter.
He then started explaining how his daily medicines itself needed 100-150 bucks. Then his voice got thin and wheezy , and he got teary-eyed. It was not an enjoyable moment for I, and I shudder at thinking what kind of moment it were for him. I marched onwards, feeling heartless.
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