“Chai Sir?”

Beads of sweat trickle down his grimy face as he makes his way through the shoddy marketplace. “Chai sir?” asks the thirteen year old in a squeaky voice as the mechanic in the repair shop impassively picks up a cup of tea from the rack that he has been carrying for the past two years. “Chai sir?” he moves on to the next shop. He has to sell out the six cups of tea in his rack to earn his dinner. He isn’t paid much, but he doesn’t realize the value of money, and knows not how to protest. He continues wearily through the row of shops. He knows every one of them by now…from the outside though. He loves walking past the toy shop, but is careful not to stand there for too long…the owner is not very kind to him. He has been screamed at a number of times. He remembers the first day he came across the toy shop. He got slapped by the owner for putting his hands up on the window and leaving his hand prints all over it. He’s more careful now. He loves all the colorful toys inside and the stuffed toys amuse him, especially the big brown ‘Bhalu’ in the corner. “Chai sir?” he moves on. He likes the cobbler who sits in the corner. The gray haired man is nice to him, and he has a perpetual smile on his face. The boy likes his happy face. “Chai Baba?” he asks. He is the only person the boy addresses this way…he is the only person the boy wants to address this way. The old man smilingly takes a cup of tea from the rack. The boy wishes to strike a conversation but seeing him busy polishing the shoes of an impatient man in a suit and a tie, he moves on. The cobbler isn’t going anywhere, he thinks. He has been working on the exact same spot, every single day for the past two years. “Sir Chai?” he hands out the last two cups of tea and heads back. He’s happy with his work. He was quick today and can afford to amble near the toy shop for a little while before he returns to the tea stall. He doesn’t really want to return, he would be made to wash the dishes . He would rather sit on the sidewalk and watch the cars flash past him. He likes counting the number of red vehicles that go by, although he knows how to count only till ‘six’…the number of cups of tea in his rack. But that doesn’t stop him from counting till six over and over again. After a while he heads back to the tea stall only to get a scolding for being late. He doesn’t regret spending that extra time on the sidewalk though.

He sleeps peacefully. There’s nothing much on his mind. His world is confined only to the tea stall and the shops around it, and not much happens in this world of his. He knows not of politics, knows not of religion, knows not of a better life. He wakes up, neither happy nor sad. He knows the rack awaits him. He feels happy at the thought of crossing the toy shop. He hopes to talk to the cobbler today. With the rack by his side, he sets off.

It’s the usual routine. “Chai sir?” he asks hopefully to his regular customers. He slows down past the toy shop…the new bicycle on the display window catches his eye, and so does the owner who is standing at the door. Scared, the boy hurries away from that place. He can catch a glimpse of the shining bicycle on his way back, and if he’s lucky enough that no rich kid buys it today, he might get a chance to see it tomorrow too . He moves on hoping to catch the cobbler without a customer today. But an unfamiliar sight awaits him. The spot where the cobbler sits is empty. He is surprised and looks around hoping to catch sight of the old man somewhere around. Maybe the municipality folks are giving him trouble again, he thinks. He waits for a few minutes hoping the cobbler would show up, with that familiar comforting smile on his face. But work beckons and he can’t wait any longer. He’s sold only two cups today. The relentless heat neither helps the sales nor does it help his tread along the blistering sidewalk. On his way back he overhears the mechanics from the repair shop talking about something that chills him to his core… about the demise of the old man. The boy is taken aback. He finds a strange feeling of sadness overcoming him. He feels weak at his knees. He doesn’t want to sell tea today. But he has to, or go hungry at night. His cries of “Chai sir?” go faint. He manages to sell the remaining cups of tea and returns to another scolding for being late. He doesn’t seem to care. He can’t seem to get the face of the old man out of his thoughts. He doesn’t sleep peacefully. A lot is on his mind. His small world has changed in a big way.

He knows not of politics, he knows not of religion, he knows not of a better life, but like every other human being, he knows of pain, he knows of loss. He knows of the comfort of a friendly face and craves for companionship. He knows of the joy toys can bring to him, but has never had a chance to feel that joy. But unlike the thirteen year olds who go to schools and get bicycles for their birthday, he knows only of walking barefoot in tattered clothes, selling tea. It is no fault of his of his though … It is the callousness of the society that it fails to realize that like every other human being…he is one too.

Sachit Handa

This piece was chosen as one of the top three entries at the blog competition at the CRY stall at IIM-C's campus event- Mandi.