The scars that remain.

''It was around 11.30 at night. There were very few people on the station platform. That is a very rare sight in any platform of a suburban rly station of Bombay. 'Bombay' because this was in 1975''.

I stopped and looked at him. kochappan was listening; that's the impression I got.

I continued speaking. It was not speaking. It was recollection of memories; on a damp evening in the balcony of his apartment. There was silence in the air; nothing depressing though.

''I was standing somewhere in the middle of the platform. The frequency of trains is low at that time. I felt a the touch of a hand almost at me knee. I looked down and saw a small boy; or was it a girl; long hair in tangles wearing a cloth which could be a shirt or a frock (I don't recollect what it was). It reached, let me say to his knees. The look in his face was not of hunger. It was a look of desperation. I fished in my pocket and a got a coin and extended it to him. My salary was Rs.200/, those days, less provident fund and ESIC; on hand around 140/. I was depressed and looking for a job with subsistance level salary. I took out another coin and offered. He, without accepting it, pointed towards the small tea stall in the platform. It was an expression of desparation out of hunger.''

I paused and took a sip of water.

Kochappan was now listening with rapt attention. I could see it in his face. There was silence.
I continued.

"I walked towards the stall. He followed me. I bought two pieces of 'paav', local term for small thing like 'bun'. I gave it to him. He, instead of eating it, walked with it to a spot near the foot overbridge nearby. I was watching him. Then I noticed another kid lying on a fragment of what could have been once a sheet. He bent and touched that kid. He, or may be she, moved a little. This boy helped the kid to sit up. He also sat near the one whom he woke up and gave that piece of food which I gave to him. He fed him piece by piece. The one who woke up ate with half closed eyes.''

I paused for few seconds and continued.

''Saab kya dekh rahe ho? Gaadi aa rahi hai. Javoge ya nahi?'' the booth owner who was watching me reminded me. Not many customers. He also didn't have anything to do!

''Nahi, mai agle gaadi se javoonga. Whose kids are they?'' I asked the stall owner without taking my eyes away from the kids.

'' God knows sir, they have been here for the last few days,'' he answered disinterested.

I bought two more pieces of 'paav' and two 'batata vada' and walked towards those kids. Both looked up at me. I gave the paav and vada to him, the one who came to me first. They continued eating and I walked away.

I was sitting on a bench waiting for the next train. I felt a touch and looked. It was that kid.
Suddenly he bent and touched my feet and looked at me. And then he walked away. His legs carrying that tiny frame moved away from me. I sat lost. I felt a lump in my throat. The train was moving in. I shuffled and started gettingup......

The rude sound of the calling bell interrupted us. Kochappan's wife called up and wanted him to go down to meet some guest who had come in. Kochapps looked at me. His eyes told me that he wanted to listen to me. The conversation had to stop for the day.

"Aniyan,'' he paused; then asked me, ''Is it something which really happened?''

'' Yes. It is'' I replied.

I said 'hello' to his guests and walked out.

From behind He called up, '' Will you come tomorrow? You must.'' He wanted to continue.
''I will, definitely. I will be here by 9 at night''

I felt relieved. It was like unloading a burden which I have been carrying for years. The burden of the look in the eyes of that kid; the burden of the sight of those slender legs carrying that frail frame carrying the 'paav' to feed his brother lying in ragged piece of cloth; that burden of seeing the half closed eyes of the kid trying to eat that small piece of bun.

I will come back tommorow. Sit with him and speak. You feel so great that you have people, like him and few more with whom you can unwind; share the agonies of the moments you have gone through, the moments which have touched you.

I started walking back home .... Wounds may heal, but the scars remain.



menon ( aniyan)