coz' there are times when you don't even have the right questions to ask

I had read a story in my 7th standard class text – The Hitchhiker ( part 1 and part 2 ). It was about a hitchhiker ( duuuhhh …!! ) who used to pick people’s pockets while they were driving. It was a joyful piece replete with witty dialogues between the hitchhiker and the drivers. But our ultra serious teacher made it very difficult for us by narrating us stories of how hithikers loot people of their belongings and how dangerous it is to give a ‘lift’ to anybody these days ( rather those days )

My relative gave me a sense of dejavu when she too started narrating how dangerous Bangalore had become off late with roadside robberies and loot. They used to warn me about venturing out late in the night and giving ‘lifts’ to people, etc but then when you are young and restless, there is very little that you do not want to experience. So typically her words just had to travel the small distance between my right ear and left ear which most of the times is just vacuum.

I encounter so many strange sorts of people in my daily life, that sometimes I just wonder if God consciously could create so much variation in this world. Don’t we all come across such characters – people who truly make us stand up and take notice, people who just amaze you with their unique characteristics, people who just take your breath away with their actions/beauty/brains/presence. Yes, we all see them and sometimes we wish that we could even know them.

On my way to office each day, I see them standing in the roads at various places, showing their thumbs toward the motorists zipping across them. The expressive face of my relative used to flash in front of my eyes whenever I used to see these hitchhikers. I was adamant in obeying her guidelines until Arun happened. I have written about the Arun incident in an earlier post. Any ways… it became a regular affair this – of giving a ride to people on my bike whenever they used to ask for one while I was on my way to office. The only criteria was that the person should look decent. Says Smart Alec, “ It take so much time to find out whether a person is decent or not. How can one decide in a few seconds.” To this I have only one reply – that I just let my heart decide on looking at him/her once whether he/she deserves the lift and also whether that person is in genuine need of a lift.

On some days, I give as many as 3 to 4 lifts within a span of half an hour or so.
I met them on one of those days when I was as usual zipping on my way to office. The elder was about 8 years old and the younger about 4-5 years old. Both were standing on the roadside when they asked for a lift. I was amused that a small girl like her was showing her thumb and asking for a ride with a tilt of her head, like they show in the movies. There was no decision for me to make. I asked them to hop on and they gleefully jumped on to my bike. The small girl sat in between me and her sister, and she clutched my tummy tightly. Although her tiny little fingers had not seen the nail-cutter in ages, what caught my attention was the shape of her fingers. So beautiful and exquisite were here fingers, that’s how God makes these kids. They are so beautiful and fresh when they are small. Her fingers wrapped around me and slowly she tightened her grip, such that her fingers were crumpling the perfect ironing of my shirt. Everytime an oncoming vehicle came close to ours, or every time there was a risky and wayward maneuver that I made, I could feel her fingers tighten around me. And as soon as the danger was averted, she would relax her grip. Her mouth would be glued to my back as she pressed her face into my shirt. This was the way she was clinging on to me and I could make out how scared she was of travelling on the bike. Neverthless, I dropped them at the junction of their school and could only faintly hear the elder sister shouting a “ thank-you uncle” to me.

I did not hear it because I was too dazed with the experience. I realized how beautiful the feeling was when I felt the tightening of her fingers around me, how she had the trust and faith in me a total stranger, to be sitting on my bike. That’s when I felt that I would miss this. Miss this feeling of having kids with me, this feeling of responsibility, this feeling of being trusted with someone’s life, this feeling of total faith, this feeling of closeness with innocence. That’s when I realized how a decision that I had taken for the rest of my life was going to make me sacrifice me such simple and elementary pleasures of a man’s life.

The next day I saw them again and this time again I just stopped my bike even before the girl could start her ‘bollywoodesque’ hitch hiking gestures. Anyways again both of them clung on to me as if they would to their dear life. It always made me feel as if I was a Moto GP biker who was riding at 200 Mph and taking 90 degree turns on my bike. I looked at the speedometer… “ am I going too fast..naah… just 40 kmph… am I riding too rough?... maybe I should not sway my bike so much, maybe they are feeling uncomfortable….etc etc.” Then on my riding started to get dictated by what I assumed to be the girls’ comfort factors. I was talking to myself and chiding myself everytime the little lady’s fingers tightened across my stomach. Not the least for spoiling my ironed shirt, but for the anxiety that I was making her go through.

It soon became a routine – I would pick them up everyday from that same spot and drop them again at their school junction. I never made an attempt to always be there at the same time since my household chores took up a considerable time in the mornings. But I used to meet them atleast 3 times a week. The rest of the days I used to offer lifts to other school going children. I stopped giving lifts to grown-ups since I was enjoying the company of their tiny-tots. I knew there would be some kid or the other on the way ahead and so used to refuse giving lifts to even elderly people ( of course I made exception in case the person in question was really old or tired ).

Once when those two girls were again waiting for me, I offered the little girl a seat on the petrol tank of my bike in the front side. She readily nodded her head and I helped her on. Now her sister was happy since she did not have to keep the kindergarten mickey mouse bag from rubbing into her nostrils. She could now sit in peace at the back. The little one used to every now and again creen her neck and look up at me with her brown eyes and then again peer at the traffic ahead. Well, I have this habit of blowing kisses to anyone who shouts at me on the road. For e.g once when I cut across a car and forced him to brake suddenly on the middle of the road, he started to abusing me and insulting me saying how irresponsible the ‘software people ‘ were, and how even after being educated we did not obey traffic rules.. etc etc.. All true. So I out of my mischief just blew a kiss to him and winked. Our little lady saw that and started aping me whenever I had to brake or stop suddenly. To my consternation she started doing it to even women vehicle rider/drivers. I made angry faces at her, rolled my eyes and shook my head vigorously to make her understand that she should not do it. But that little devil would not understand. I forcibly asked her to sit at the back to punish her and prevent her from doing it again.

Well, then I didn’t see the sisters for many days after that and I started wondering what happened. I for a couple of days even waited at the same spot to see if they were being late and the next two days came early to check that possibility out as well. But to no avail. I had started missing them now. Although I was giving lifts to other kids, still my eyes were constantly searching for those two girls. Then one day one of my colleagues happened to notice a mark at the back side of the shirt toward the bottom part. It was maroonish-brownish-orangish sort of a mark. I said, “Must be some bird dropping or some stain of that sort.” She retorted, “ Bird dropping do not leave a stain. And to me this looks like a blood stain. I think you bled and that why that stain. I am pretty sure about it. “. “ Don’t be silly. How can I bleed from my back, of all places ! come on ! “ said I and continued peering into my computer. Then slowly I started to recollect as to when was the last time I wore this shirt. Yes, the day when I last met those two girls. I was wondering how that stain had come over there on my shirt… and slowly I realized a horrifying thought. It was her !

The tiny little angel who gave me reason to smile everyday on my way to office. She bled from her mouth ! And now when I want to know what happened to them I have realized another strange little truth… I had never spoken anything to those girls in those 3 months of our ‘friendship’. Heck, I didn’t even know their names !!
Strange are the ways in which God gives hope and then we loose that hope due to our own folly.

“ yet each man kills that he loves …. “