A tale of biscuits and coffee

I will admit it, it was quite a bad day for me. I had once again failed to meet the deadline for my project and my boss was furious. As expected. He was almost on the verge of firing me for good. But that wasn’t all.

Back home, Jahnabi was also in quite a bad mood. I wasn’t able to manage any ‘free time’ for her, all thanks to those projects and their deadlines. It was ages since we went out for a dinner together. Though she didn’t say anything about all this, her silence spoke a thousand words. But wait, that wasn’t all either.

To add to my impressive list of misery, the water heater wasn't working. And this was quite a big problem, because one doesn't bathe in cold water in Delhi in January.

I almost drove through a red light thinking about all this. The whistle of the traffic police broke my train of thought and back I was to the bustling, noisy, crowded traffic around me.

I realized that I desperately needed a cup of coffee and since home was 20 kms further away, I knew I couldn't wait and would have to stop. I parked the car and went out, venturing for a tea stall. This area of Delhi was quite crowded and old, with small alleys and dusty roads. The buildings around here dated back to 20^th century colonial architecture. They were in dilapidated conditions of course, but the very designs and motifs in them quite fascinated me. It was almost dusk and a shade of blue was slowly engulfing them, heralding the dark. I saw a group of children playing with marbles, laughing and chattering around with each other. They were living in rags but they were happy. Happy with whatever they had in their life. Unlike us, who measured our happiness in bank balances and in buying expensive Cartier watches.

The environment here was quite different from the concrete jungle I lived around. There were hawkers, screaming the prices of beans and cabbages to every passerby. And then, there were people huddled around small fires, trying to keep themselves warm from the merciless winter.

I finally found a small tea stall. The owner was covered from head to toe in mufflers and sweaters, only his eyes were uncovered, peering about, taking orders. “Bhaiya! Ek cup coffee dena” (A cup of coffee please). He nodded, acknowledging me. I gazed around and saw a few people sipping their daily dosage of tea and discussing the recent India vs. Australia match. A few of them were chattering about the upcoming elections. Just regular evening gossip.

“Ye lo saab!” (Take this sir!), the tea seller said in a muffled voice and handed me over my cup of coffee. After paying him, I found a bench and decided to sit down and calm my nerves.

A sound of clinging of bottles together somehow caught my attention and I turned around to see where it was coming from. A small kid in tattered clothes, maybe 9 years old, a shawl draped around was sitting on his haunches. He was barefoot and there was a certain dismal look on his face. Lying on the ground were two or three glass bottles, some old newspapers, a sack and some other junk items. There was a broken torchlight too, I noticed. He was striking one bottle with another as he sat pondering about something. I couldn’t help but notice that he was scared as well.

“Hey!” I waved towards him, smiling a bit. He was suddenly surprised and shifted his gaze towards me. An uncomfortable gaze. “What are you doing? What happened?” I inquired. He tried to shy away a bit and looked around but didn’t reply anything. He was visibly scared.

“Hey! It’s okay. Do you need a biscuit?” I asked, gesturing my packet of milk biscuits towards him. No reply. I got up and walked towards him and he darted back like a squirrel, scared out of his wits. “Okay, okay!” I retreated back a bit. “I will just leave this on the bench for you okay?” I said, smiling, while trying to make him comfortable. And I turned to go. “Ruko sahib.” (Wait sir) He said in a tiny squeak, barely coming out of his famished mouth. He slowly stepped towards me and I handed him the packet and waved my hand over his hair. He looked up at me and smiled, like he hadn’t smiled for years. I could see the sparkle in his eyes as he looked at the packet, inspecting it around like every small kid would do.

“What is your name?” I asked. “Kafir” he replied as he ventured into the packet and took out a biscuit. “Where do you live Kafir?” I asked again. “Just nearby” he said munching away his biscuit and looking frantically around as if to veer away from this conversation. “Are your parents at home?” I was curious to know him more. “No” he said shyly, looking down. “Where are they?” I inquired again. “Ammi (Grandmother) once said they’re up there” he said, looking upwards at the evening sky. “Among them” he said, pointed towards a few shimmering stars that were slowly starting to appear.

I couldn’t quite say anything to him for the next couple of seconds as he resumed munching away his biscuits. I just stared at him. Finally, composing myself, I said “So what are you going to do with all that junk?” pointing towards his belongings as they lay scattered on the ground. “Hai allah!!” he jumped up, wide eyed, terror stricken. “What is it?” I asked quite worried. “Malik will punish me again today. He will beat me again” the words fumbled out from his shivering mouth. “I couldn’t gather enough today. He will punish me" he kept repeating. “Who will punish you?” I asked again, a few sweat beads appeared on my brow. “Our Malik! He always punishes when we are not able to gather enough junk for him. He sells them. We live with him. I have nowhere else to go. He will beat me again today” he said, panic stricken, shivering. I saw tears welling up in his eyes.

I was mortified by what I heard but this was the plight of thousands of children all over this country, children who were thrown into the unbreakable shackles of child labor and abuse. He suddenly darted towards his belongings and gathering them up started filling them inside the sack. When he finished, he tied the knot and trudged away without looking back. I stood petrified. I found myself helpless. I wanted to help him. Somehow. Anyhow. But I couldn’t find a way. Maybe I was among them too. Those who lived like robots termed under the caption of “civilized men”. Those, who were too coward to raise a voice and stand up. The meek observer to everything.

I stood there for a long time. I looked towards the bench and saw the packet of milk biscuits lying there.

Author's Note

Venturing into the world of fiction for the very first time with this story. This is totally a work of fiction and the idea came to my mind while I was watching a documentary. Any kind of comments, corrections, suggestions, ideas, questions are always welcome.

P.S. If you think you have a better title for this story, please inform me as well. I found this one, but I doubt if it's appropriate.

Reviews

[Solar]

Wow! Blackheart love the way you wrote this story - from the narrator's desperation for a cup of coffee to the desperation of the child trying to make a living. Kafir is made very realistic in his responses - engaging the reader with his individuality. Also the descriptions of the place - mufflers, chai-shop, bustling traffic etc so wonderful! I think the title is perfect - as it connects with interaction between the two main characters.

[Blackheart]

Thank you so much Solar! You totally made my efforts seem successful. And I am really glad for that! :D
And thank you for acknowledging the title as appropriate. I had to rummage a lot in my brain to find a suitable one. :p

[Zyle Christian William Cook]

I agree! The way you just submerge us into his life the way you do in the beginning before jerking us into his present moment in the car is fantastic! I also love the title. It speaks VOLUMES especially because the boy leaves them behind in his panic. :( :( :(

[softlyfall]

Just excellent! I think this might be the perfect genre for you, because this is written with skill and understanding. A tragedy of society, a tragedy of poverty, child abuse and slavery...but handled with such gentleness and honesty that people will not be afraid to look, to read and to understand.

[Blackheart]

Thank you so much mam for your wonderful words. Indeed the comments and appreciation I got here today has motivated me in a tremendous way. I will surely venture forward and explore more. :)

[Rafy T.Nym]

A beautiful story with a great plot. The writing style is simple, but its actually the plot that caught my attention making the story a gorgeous one. It's been written with such a care that raises awareness among us, pointing towards our misdeed. Overall a great write.

[Blackheart]

Glad you liked the plot so much Rafy. :)
Indeed, it's a burning issue which needs to be abolished so that dreams aren't crushed in such a tender age. An evil malpractice of mankind.

[Rafy T.Nym]

I agree with you. :-)

[Zyle Christian William ..]

:') This was beautifully written!

This line is GOLD: Maybe I was among them too. Those who lived like robots termed under the caption of “civilized men”. Those, who were too coward to raise a voice and stand up. The meek observer to everything.

I can totally relate to this! I had a conversation with my friend that humans try not to be human in 'high society,' from chewing like a normal person, a hiccup, a sneeze, these things are almost looked down upon. I love the subject that you tackled with this story!

This is perfect imagery for a child: he replied as he ventured into the packet and took out a biscuit.

you really capture his innocence and curiosity here.

I also enjoyed the integration of (I think Urdu?) into the piece, this worked very well and I really enjoyed reading this, Blackheart! You had me engulfed by the first line!

I think I found a spelling error though, did you mean for the character to ask, “So what are you going to do with all THOSE junk?” OR did you mean for it to read, “So what are you going to do with all THAT junk?”

A riveting read, Blackheart! I truly enjoyed this!

[Blackheart]

Oh Zyle! You really flatter me! I never even thought in my wildest dreams that this piece of fiction can have such a great impact on anyone. Thank you from the deepest trenches of my heart. This really means a lot to me man. :')

And yes, indeed that was a mistake which you pointed out. Thank you again for correcting it.

And yes, as Kafir is portrayed as a Muslim boy here, I thought a touch of Urdu will be appropriate as well. I appreciate your eye for noticing that. :)

[Zyle Christian William Cook]

YES! I loved Kafir I thought he was adorable! And I did really appreciate seeing someone use language and then translate in fiction, I have only ever seen it done once before and I really like this idea and might use it in my next story! ;) Thanks for sharing with us, Blackheart!

[Blackheart]

I am absolutely delighted that you found any kind of inspiration in this. Thank you Zyle for your wonderful words! :')

[Zyle Christian William Cook]

of course, Blackheart! Keep writing!!!

[jimmymc]

I enjoyed reading... a great story.

[Blackheart]

Glad you enjoyed it jimmy. :)