Of Blondies, Sultans and Puppy loves . . .

Sometimes simplest of the people teach us yet simpler lessons.

One of these days, I was waiting at a railway station. The wait was not for one of the perpetually 'running late' trains but for the infamously famous Mumbai downpour to stop. The bad part about Mumbai rain is that once it starts you can count on it to go on for at least a couple of hours. The good part is that you know in advance that you have at least two hours to kill/waste/utilise/daydream.

Unless of course you are feeling Don Quixotic and intend to take the onslaught of pouring cats and dogs. In my case, I decided otherwise (fringe benefit of becoming a freelancer). Once again, I decided to wear my favorite (read psychoanalytic) shoes.

My attention was caught by a group of ladies dressed in flamboyant fuchsias and greens. Clearly they belonged to the labour class. How beautiful their features looked set against a smooth dark complexion, how infectious their laughter sounded set against the noise of arriving/departing trains. Let me confess here, although, that the only pangs of jealousy I felt came from a little girl whose hair were a shade of shabby blonde. An effect I had spent 6000 bucks to attain a few years back. (my biggest faux pas ever, I admit.) Here, this girl's malnutritioned scalp has given her hair that look naturally. What a crude joke, I thought. The joke was on her dire poverty or my sheer stupidity or both, I can't say with certainty.

While I was pondering over how life is a great equaliser, a bunch of college kids came to stand within an earshot. (I swear I was not eavesdropping). As such the college bunch seemed to have no qualms about their presence being felt and noticed. The cutest part about them was that they were all speaking at the same time and this did not seem to hamper their communication with each other.

One of the girls, fashionably dressed in denim Capri's and graffiti T shirt, opened her umbrella. She was just about to move when one of her friends, of course a boy, magically appeared under her umbrella. Before others could protest the boy gave her a story about how he had forgotten his umbrella and needed to reach home urgently.

The two looked an Eastman color version of Raj Kapoor-Nargis in 'pyar hua, ikrar hua'. Few minutes later the same guy and same umbrella were walking back minus the girl. The umbrella was passed onto other needy friends as the guy mischievously took out his raincoat from his bag, much to the jeering and cheering of his friends. MENN! I thought but could not resist smiling at the kid and his puppy love romance.

The most important lesson of the day, however, came from a guy much younger. He could not have been more than 10 years old. He walked along the platform with an authority that comes only when you have been born and bred at such a place. He even stopped twice to impart instructions to elders who were apparently feeling lost at the station.

The little 'sultan of platform no. 10' walked up to me brimming with confidence and pointed to the parcel in my hand. I had bought roasted groundnuts to pass time while the rain lasts. Now let me clarify, the kid did NOT beg for it. He pointed towards the parcel as if it was always meant for him. I held his look for a few moments more than necessary only to see if he'll cast his eyes down. The kid did not even bat an eyelid. Such confidence, boy, I loved it. Suddenly it seemed that the kid had earned the parcel rightfully. I gave it to him merrily.

A 10 year old taught me a simple lesson. When we want something from God, we need not cry and beg as if we don't deserve it. Just walk up to the old man/woman up there and tell them exactly what we want. Chances are He/She will grant it to us much more readily and merrily. AMEN!!