THE ROSE

THE₍(⁽⁾)₎ROSE

Alarm snoozed at 05:50 Hrs. in for bath by 06:00 Hrs. Rush and run, and out of the house by 07:15 Hrs.

This was a usual morning for Manya.

The same wait at the bus stop, but it seemed rather extended today. There came 711, 521… but no sign of her daily bus, 605!

“Uuh! Finally! I hope I get a seat..”, Manya thought to herself. She did manage to get her favourite window seat.

The bus had barely moved forward when it got stuck up in its usual traffic signal at M.G. Road.

The regular sight of beggars knocking at windows of the halting cars. The regular bunch of road-side hawkers too.

But He, in Manya’s eyes, stood out from the rest, as ever.

“Perhaps, he would only be 8 or 9”, she thought to herself. There was something unique about him. He never looked like the rest on the road.

Never begging.

Never an insistent or compulsive seller, like the rest; who insisted travellers in cars to buy from them.

Tanned complexion, 4’-10”, holding in the right hand numerous bunches of single, long-stemmed red roses, wrapped neat and nice.

Under his left arm, he held, a few books; and on his lips, like a rhyme he sang, “दस का एक…. दस का एक…. ले लो, ले लो लाल गुलाब, कमाऊंगा तो पढ़उंगा और बनूँगा नवाब” (“each for ten.. each for ten… please buy a red rose, from which I will earn and study to be a gentleman”).

His words touched Manya’s heart each day. This was an everyday scene that left her to wonder each day. It began with pity, but soon progressed to respect and admiration for this young lad. Especially after, once Manya saw that this lad refusing to accept money offered as a gesture and not for a purchase.

Since then, Manya wondered how she could help this self-sustaining fellow.

(Knock-knock) Startled by a knock, Manya returned from her thoughts to reality.

“मैडम… मैडम… एक रोज लेंगे क्या?” (“Madam…Madam… would you like to buy a rose?”)