Another Observation

I was sitting in my usual bus coming to office. Happy in my complacency, I was looking out of the window when I heard a popular hindi number being sung in the bus accompanied by an odd clicking sound. I looked around and there was this young boy of five or six, singing his lungs out.

He looked like he hadn't taken a bath in a week and his clothes were torn and tattered. In Calcutta, beggars are a dime a dozen everywhere. And he was no exception at first look. It was then that I noticed his eyes. Large and sad. That six year old looked as if he had seen all the sorrows the world had to offer. Somewhere somehow, my heart strings were being played upon by his voice.

His voice was cracked with singing so much. He just couldnt bring himself to sing the high notes even though his efforts were sincere. And the instrument to help him keep beat were two peices of sharpened stone that he beat against each other.

I was touched by the dignity in his bearing. He did not beg. He was trying to earn his living at five. Even after he had finished singing, he went from passenger to passenger, never uttering a word, just...looking.I helped him out with a ten rupee note, even though I don't give beggars alms by principle. And yet, it seemed so inadequate. The cracked voice and the staccato rhythm of the stones seem to haunt me. And every time, I see a beggar boy now, I see his eyes.