The beggar children flocked at our car window. They pressed their foreheads on the glass; greasy heart shaped marks dotting our view. We ignored them the best we could, pretending to adjust the knobs of the music system. They kept knocking away. Tap tap tap, like horse hooves, just not as poetic.
Finally, we rolled down one window and gave the youngest one a chocolate. He shook his head. He pointed to my handbag and said, “Paisa” I began to roll the window up again but he put his hand in the way, daring me to slam it shut at the cost of hurting him. “Remove your hand!” I said in Hindi, my voice rising with irritation. He shook his head and gave a pitiable look.
His friends patted his head. A tearful sister pointed to a bandaged section of his head. The white gauze was leaking yellow gunk. I was pretty sure that it was fake but I didn’t know how to convey that. I also wondered, at some level, that if he had actually been hit by some drunk man on the streets.
The signal turned green and we began to drive. The kid with the yellow head was left behind, along with the others, looking peeved off, but nothing more. A few lanes down, another set of kids papered the outsides of the car with their hands and faces. They pulled out a baby from somewhere, showing us a tattered, bloody looking plaster covering one arm.
The baby, far too young to be trained to act, was babbling away and laughing.
Finally, we rolled down one window and gave the youngest one a chocolate. He shook his head. He pointed to my handbag and said, “Paisa” I began to roll the window up again but he put his hand in the way, daring me to slam it shut at the cost of hurting him. “Remove your hand!” I said in Hindi, my voice rising with irritation. He shook his head and gave a pitiable look.
His friends patted his head. A tearful sister pointed to a bandaged section of his head. The white gauze was leaking yellow gunk. I was pretty sure that it was fake but I didn’t know how to convey that. I also wondered, at some level, that if he had actually been hit by some drunk man on the streets.
The signal turned green and we began to drive. The kid with the yellow head was left behind, along with the others, looking peeved off, but nothing more. A few lanes down, another set of kids papered the outsides of the car with their hands and faces. They pulled out a baby from somewhere, showing us a tattered, bloody looking plaster covering one arm.
The baby, far too young to be trained to act, was babbling away and laughing.
No comments:
Post a Comment