When Poor met Rich

Rich and Poor were born on the same day but Rich opened her eyes to the world in a soft crib surrounded by cuddly toys and ecstatic family members while Poor in the chaos of a government hospital. 

In summer Rich sat cozy in her air conditioned home playing with her dolls and Poor scrubbed dirty dishes in unrelenting heat. Poor often asked her mother why she can’t play like the rest of the kids. Her mother told her ‘one day their life would be different’. She believed. 

Winter bought Rich a separate bed room decorated with princess theme, while Poor tried to sleep in a torn blanket which she shared with her parents and sisters. She asked her sisters why life would be any different than this. They said the future would be better. 

During rain Rich sipped elaichi tea and read comics in the warmth of her home while Poor and her family struggled to keep dry in their flooded house. Poor being the baby that she was again asked her father why they could not afford a proper house. Her father told her of a day when their miseries would disappear. Rich went to the best school in town, performed exceptionally well in studies but poor could not find out what she was good at because she now accompanied her mother to the construction site to earn extra money for the family. 

Rich would talk about the world; ask her father questions on universe, science, philosophy, life. Poor however had just one question- could she go to school someday like the kids on the road the other day. Couple of years later Rich enrolled into law school for higher studies but Poor was married to a man 20 years older. As she looked at her husband from her veil, the question of injustice so obvious in her eyes; her mother wiped her tears and asked her to keep courage because this was her better future. Nothing however changed in Poor’s world.  

And on a fateful day Poor was summoned to Rich’s house to work as maid.

When Poor met Rich she immediately knew her parents lied to her all this while. There was never a better life for her and it was her destiny to be subjected to harsh winters, rain and summer. This time her courage gave up. She did not ask any questions. She silently wept. 

We must get out of our comfortable worlds. There are children out there who need help. 

No Hypocrisy please!

I know this guy who supported the Anna Hazare Campaign very vocally in office. The other day, we went out for lunch together and got in trouble with the traffic cops. The same guy pays the cops 50 bucks against 100 bucks fine that he would have normally paid.

Another girl complains very loudly about loo, cubicles, pretty much everything in office not being clean enough for her. Once we got down from the same bus, were walking to office and she very casually threw the bus ticket on the road. Sensitive that I am about these issues, I asked her why she would want to dirty the road. Her reply was a very defensive “I did not throw it on the road; I threw it in the corner of the road where there is already a lot of garbage”.

I just don’t get it. Are we such hypocrites without even realizing it? All of us rant about traffic and how it is so evil and does not let us get home fast and that we are spending most of our lives on road. Do we even for a single split second realize that WE start traffic jams by driving recklessly? We will not stick to our lanes and try to zig zag our way out and even ride on pavements if we own a motor bike.

Every software person settled in Bangalore jumps at any opportunity of going ‘onsite’ akka abroad because ‘oh! There is so much money ’, ‘their roads are so clean’, ‘their parties far more happening’ and ‘there is no corruption because people are oh so honest’ or for whatever xyz reason. Why can’t we stop throwing stuff on our roads so our country can look like that too? Why not say no to bribing anyone at any level, in all forms and make an honest person of us first? Why not stay here and contribute to the economic growth to make our country rich instead?   

Candle light vigils won’t work. We have to ask questions to ourselves and stand up for our ideals. Except this time lets promise it will not be just for the television cameras. Let it be real.

Who really is successful?

I would have closed my eyes and answered this just a year back. I had seen my cousins living in the US. They had a house there, they were sending us glamorous pictures of them wearing boots standing next to their snow clad garden and their kids spoke to us on phone with an American accent but then I hadn’t met him that time.

He was older than his class mates because he dumped 3 years of his engineering. The Reason? This was not what he wanted to do. I was aghast! Coincidentally we came back to India and started our careers together. He was passionate about manufacturing and defense almost to the extent of eating, drinking and sleeping the subject and I was passionate about earning as much that I wouldn’t ever have to think about spending. Our debates followed - We fought about everything from Indians spitting on road to Indians cheating each other. He on the other hand chose to defend Indians. We fought again. I tried to make him see the money he can make abroad considering he was so good at what he was doing, he quashed my point of view by saying he wants to stay in his country and rather be respected for being an Indian than earn a fat pay cheque outside. I accused him of being too idealistic, even pointed out the world does not work his way. He told me he would prefer to work towards his dream than to regret throwing it away just for money.

Time flew. We were both working and earning a meager amount that barely took us through the month. During hard times, to my surprise I saw him throwing offers from big companies owing to current work commitments, rejecting his parent’s invitation to work abroad but I also saw him proving himself by becoming an indispensable part of projects he took and outshining his peers at work. I knew he was struggling because he would wear faded trousers to work as he didn’t earn enough to buy a new one or he would cook after coming back from work because he couldn’t afford to eat out everyday. And whenever I was close to giving up he sat right beside me, held me tight and made me believe that every one in this world starts small and humility is the best virtue one can ever cultivate. Over the time I spent with him, I have seen myself feeling from being aghast and angry to awed and proud of him.

I don’t know who is successful anymore. Probably my cousins are in worldly terms because they can afford what he can’t right now but what about an Indian who wants to start his own venture, contribute to the growth of the country and wants to make his country proud. What about someone who dares to dream and works as passionately to make it come true.

The other day we were sitting in a park. He asked me to buy a quick fix from a shop close by. Later I saw him quietly mending his broken belt with the glue because he didn’t own another one. Next day at work his boss promoted him as a team leader within 7 months of him joining. The answer of the question above is not difficult anymore. In fact now when I look back, it never was.

Farewell!

29th Jan, 2010
2:56 am


Trying to fold my one and a half year of life in UK has been anything but easy. Juggling between normal allocated duties of informing friends, spending half of the time on the phone trying to get information on luggage allowance, direct debit cancellation, running around shopping for family and finally trying to fit the fragments of memories of the good old days in the 46 Kg limit. Major challenge is to decide which part of the one and a half year deserved a place inside the suitcase and which part of it landed on the floor ready to be discarded.

How do I say no to the T-Shirt which I came wearing to the UK, beaming with self pride not knowing that another world existed, complete with its people waiting for me down here. Or should I say no to the shoes that I bought from the small street shop back home, thinking it would a major fashion breakthrough in the UK. What about the funny little soft toys that we won at the casino after hours of oohs! Aaahs! and begging for 20Ps to be put in the machine. We even gave them funny names! I think I am definitely gonna take the big pint glass that we bought from Alton towers after a rather scary and bumpy ride on ‘Rita: Queen of Speed’. Can I slip in the key chains that say ‘cute lil chatterbox’ and ‘lil miss sunshine’ that my friends gave as birthday presents? Do I take the first ‘hair straightener’ that I bought on a mid night trip to Tesco, soon after I was made aware of its existence? Do I carry my broken old mobile phone back cuz it has seen a frenzy of calls about getting to know each other, will you come out for a walk with me and texts on ‘what are you wearing’ and ‘how was your day’?

And where is the compartment for just memories? Moments that left no physical remembrance. What about the time when my friends wished me happy birthday in the middle of the street when the church gong stuck 12? Where do I keep those happy times of cooking and playing silly games together? Where is the place for the time when we played in the first snow like crazy? Can I also zip in some intoxicating moments where eyes held eyes for a bit too long and hand held hands more than intimately? What about the ‘not so good memories’ where tears, hurt and loneliness embraced my tiny room and hovered all over my bed? Do I put them on the floor or carry with me as a part of lessons learnt?

How do I fold my one and a half years of life in 46 kgs?