The light was too bright and the air was too sterile for me to breathe, so I stepped out from want of change. The fresh air hit me in the face, making me realize that I shut myself away in the lobby for far too long. So I took a seat amidst all the bright flowers that the garden could offer, beneath the pristine, blue sky. Around me, people began to appear, with backpacks which seemed as heavy as boulders, along with the traditional white coat and familiar look of ‘I mean business’ plastered on their face.
They are a different breed and I marvel at their look of solemnity this early in the morning.
I was glad to be away in the shade, for I was mortally terrified that one of these few would surely arrest me for looking so dull and lacking the vigor that they so easily showcase. Presently, a man appeared in front of me but didn’t seem to notice me. He looked preoccupied or was it a look of incoherence? There was surely a restless quality in his eyes, the stubble on his cheeks made him look quite mad and the clothes hung over his body reeked of neglect. He was rather close to where I was sitting and I could smell the cigar smoke arising from his presence. Automatically, a calculation of the amount of cigars one needs to smoke to smell so strong began in my head; I immediately stopped. It was not my concern. He was humming a very melancholy tune to himself. I wondered what must have happened to him, this place was after all full of sad realities.
I let my eyes roam around freely, away from this dejected man who had now taken a post underneath the banyan tree. The usual hustle and bustle of the students had commenced. I observed their slouched postures, their pale face and the bloodshot eyes, some of their structures too thin, too frail, too naive to be able to absorb so much of disease, so much of death and the little miracles that happened here every day. I was thinking this when the winds reshuffled and a flurry of coats passed me. I watched as someone carrying a huge black bag entered the gates and disappeared. Momentarily confused, I resumed my previous diversion.
Then came the little girl who I see everyday in the lobby. She sold newspapers to the staff. She appeared to be hardly ten years old yet she knew how to ride the monstrous waves of life. I heard her talking to someone that day, her story like all the others like her will make you question everything. Poverty has stretched her beyond what she should be. However her hair, oh her hair! It is remarkable.
This is the one thing that remains undefiled. It is very reminiscent of my sister’s.
Unruly. Dark. Dense.
The kind that jumps with you and falls with you. My little sister. She is here but not quite here.
I looked away and that is when I noticed the huge black bag appearing out of the iron gates again. The woman was half walking and half running to somewhere. The black bag beside her was the second heaviest object she was carrying. She looked anxious and was smoking. If I could have acted on impulse I would have walked up to her and asked her to sit beside me but she had left the compound by then.
Soon a boy, not more than sixteen, took a seat beside me. He was talking loudly over the phone to someone named Maria. Overhearing cannot be helped if you are talking loudly and it seemed like he was consoling the other person. I should mention that he was wearing blue tinted sunglasses although it far from sunny.
The conversation was about delaying the inevitable with drugs.
I left the bench. I could not tolerate the emotions that are usually associated with such conversations. They are a pain that should not be endured. As I walked I wondered about these people, the similarity of situations here and how we are all connected. I wondered about how closely we feel at times and yet how differently everyone reacts. I wondered about how we are all in the same position and yet we can never feel what the other feels precisely.
Tasnim Gulzar
Class X Blue
Comments