He remembered that he had to get a mobile connection first to get in touch with Rahul. He was the only one who could understand his state better than anybody. Ricky had dumped his old phone so that no one gets in touch with him. Searching through the sleek and rushy roads of Delhi, Ricky finally found a mobile shop. He purchased a good mobile and a new SIM card.
As the winds continued to make the city cooler, Ricky tried harder to get back to hotel soon. He still preferred walking. He was still in doubt whether his decision of holding back would change after talking to Rahul. He reached the road that had it end tied with his hotel. He couldn't spend all the time in that hotel. He was supposed to reach Sharma Nivaas and...and then? He didn't know either. He wanted to make up for his blunder. He wanted the guilt out of his every nerve. It was so difficult for a jovial, college going guy to do things of this sort.
He dialed Rahul's number but it said the number is busy. He dropped an sms for him writing that he wont be able to do what he had come here for. As he stepped further, he heard an old man coughing in a nearby cottage. A big car stopped in front of Ricky and a man stepped out. He yelled at the old man, "Where is that fat man who used to iron our family's clothes... You, idiot. See, I was supposed to wear the suit tonight and this is what you've done? ". He pointed at a black spot on the front pocket of the suit.
"Sahib, please excuse me. My son has died of cancer last week. Now, I iron the clothes...if you want I can..", the man was cut short.
"Huh, what you can do? Nothing. Keep wasting our time and money... You drunkards. Eat all our money, buy beer and then die of cancer. Good for nothing", the man went away without any expression of sorry. The old man didn't expect it either, and continued his work again.
Ricky came closer to the cottage to have a better view of inside. That man was possibly the grandfather of the three children sleeping unaware of their dreadful poverty levels. When their father would have departed, their would be no bread in the house. Their mother couldn't be seen, but she could only work in houses as maid to earn some money. Nobody gave up to the challenges of life. The picture was dirty. But, probably struggle is the DNA of our lives. Every body here lived with some sort of worries, economical problems and family issues. Ricky was not the only one who was made to live in stress. This story is repeated in every house. Ricky seemed to be surrounded by dozens of such thoughts. He never took life this way, or life never showed its ugly side to him before.
He was standing on a divider now. One way was to give up now, go back to America and let his guilt eat him up.
The second one was to take responsibily of what he had done and make his actions matter to a family in need. It sounded scary.
"It would be easier to go back. Go back and win over my nervousness. But then, every time I would look at someone like this old man I would feel defeated. I would get defeated hundred times in a day. I cant run away from everybody. If I do, I would be worse than this man striving hard to earn bread even in his seventies...".
Suddenly, Ricky smiled to himself. He had got an answer he had been waiting for. He started moving towards the hotel. His steps felt more assured than before. His breath felt warmer and shooed away the coolness of the night.
His phone rang just then, and he shouted out aloud on phone, " Ricky is going to the Sharma house tomorrow... Let Devil do what he can".
comment:
p_commentcount