THE CHOCOLATE, THE GIRL IN PINK AND A SILLY SMILE…

The frills and laces bounced softly as she hopped up the three steps to reach the waist high counter. Her's was pink- with a diffusing white towards the hem of the frock that seemed so fragile; quite in contrast to the husky black of the evening and the elders around with their dark shades of attire stained in sweats of toil and blotched with the umpteen upheavals of outrage and despair the hours under the sun had hailed! The cool of a trapped, suffocated urban wind wrapped us in a shawl of uncomforted relief. But there she was quite unaware of the heaviness around and untouched by the sermons of the devils we grown ups have discovered with the years of maturity!
'Uncle!'… And she is out of breath. The run down from the neighborhood seemed to have taken her breath away. Or was it that the obscure people painted in the grays of life, burnt in the scorching sun, now radiated off a certain heat, unsettling her? She was just about reaching the counter of the shop and in her out stretched hand there was a fifty. 'A gel pen uncle', the sonorous voice seemed like wishful music, a tastefully crafted symphony, for even after the words had diffused into the environs around, it seemed to vibrate in the hollow of my cranium. I wished she would shoot her barrel of questions! Black ink or blue! The dozen brands would be scanned or an elderly bargain for a deal on the price! In my mind, startled, a little dazed, kind of lost… I was doing some unexpected, babyish thinking. And I didn't even know the child. But aint we all strangers waiting to be arranged in the neural networks of human relationship? But then what could she be for me? A sister… a friend, or with her blocks of wisdom she might even guide me through the elderly trouble-shoots of life! It is so funny sometimes the way we weave into space and piece in the virtuals of selfish desires, realizing later that quick sands of time have gotten us laid again!
'What's your name', I ask with a barely audible whisper… trying to drag the spills of unreal thinking back to the times at hand. Being practical- focus- shoo off these immature wanderings of my hapless mind…
'Sweta'
She says with the bulging blacks of her eye looking at me with a glitter that makes me shrink. Again the syllables seem to comfort me like 'drops of Jupiter'. Who says the fairy tales aint meant for the grown-ups! The vulnerable edge of the little girl connected to the fears lurking in me; the apprehensions, trepidations, of the years added to my skin and bones seemed to leap out and seek refuge in her nonchalance, the innocence of a little girl.
'Which class are you in?'
'Fourth standard'
The red vermillion and yellow sandalwood on her forehead added to the beauty of this little fairy. Who knew what lines of fate, destiny, were etched for her… what would she grow up into battling against the darks of the night and heats of the day. Somewhere deep inside I wished her well… I never could apply the engineering logic to the tenets of my life but there as she turned back to the shop-keeper for her little deal; I tried to stretch myself back and forth trying to find a place in her little world.
I offered a chocolate, for that was why I had come to the shop myself. Got a few bars of dairy milk for our Pavlovian interests (us- me and my roomies) and offered her one… 'Here, this is for you'.
'No, I cannot take it… no, no…' And she had nodded her head in a strange determination. It was not the usual blush of a child trying to weigh out her love for the chocolate against the prohibitions of accepting stuff from strangers. She was not in doubt and I could see the surety in her eyes- maybe a little bit irritated she was by my gesture.
And she had turned away from me, closing the deal with shop-keeper 'uncle', as I turned back to enter the microcosm of my existence.
Amidst the cacophony of vehicular traffic, of strangers pitted against each other, on road, trying to surge ahead… I suddenly felt a flutter inside. Suddenly the babble seemed to subside; the evening air seemed to carry a distant smell of those white flowers from our garden which bloomed in the autumn. But how could it be possible, for I was far away from home waging the wars of survival!
I turned back once just before the blind left would take me away from her… forever, who knows whether I would even meet her in this fair of life! Who knows whether she'd remember me or the tinge of shame and hurt that might have reflected from me…
She was walking down the steps, the gel pen in tow, the bounce and rhythm in her steps and she looked up to meet my eyes.
A slight smile and a wave I offered to Sweta as I took the turn of this amazing maze of life. Somewhere I realized that years of education, learning and unlearning had not rubbed off certain notes from my music; and it was wrong to imagine, assume, that life would only be a cross of changes… some nuances never wither away. And there is no yard stick to measure, no explanation sought… for some it's just the way of life.
And again, even though she remained a stranger, the girl of standard four made me befriend a shade of my own self.
How we mature is not encompassed fully in the chronometer of survival.
I munched into the choco-bar and a silly smile lit up my face- someone seeing me then would be startled but how would I explain that certain joys were just… beyond words… beyond lines…