Putting Things in Perspective

“Kaise ho, bhaiya?” The boy had a big smile on his face as he spoke.

My car had stopped at the same traffic signal it always does. The boy stood outside my back seat window, his right hand holding a stack of novels.

“Kaise ho, Amit? Sab theekh?” I rolled down the window and returned his smile.

“Ha, bhaiya. First class. Aur Aunty theekh hai?” He inquired back.

Amit was referring to my mother. My mother and I have a tradition of taking all the street kids in our neighborhood out for a hearty meal every Diwali. Last year, Amit was one of these kids whom we had taken to a nearby Udipi restaurant. I still remember how he had relished his masala dosa and Pepsi.

I looked across at Amit now. His t-shirt was torn in several places. His lips were parched in the heat of the Mumbai summer. Yet, his smile was one of bliss. Here I was, complaining about my iPod battery being discharged and ineffective air-conditioner in my car. I had all the luxuries in the world, but I complained. Amit had next to nothing given to him, but he smiled.

“Jeffrey Archer ka naya book aa gaya, bhaiya. Aapka favorite.” Amit handed me a book from his stack. Apparently I had bought enough books from him that he was tuned to my preferences. It was amazing how much English he had picked up by listening to people talk in their cars.

I began to recollect all the things Amit had told us about his life that day in the restaurant. He never knew where his next meal would come from. Often, he didn’t sell enough books to buy any food. Sometimes, his bosses cheated him of his earnings. The police were constantly harassing him. He usually slept with some friends in their slum dwelling. But, they had been thrown out from one slum to another and were sleeping on the street till they could find another place.

One night, he and his friends had been peacefully sleeping on the footpath when a drunken car driver pulled up there. He got out of his car and proceeded to beat the hell out of those defenseless kids for no apparent reason. For no fault of his, Amit suffered a concussion, broken bones in his left arm, and damaged kneecaps. He spent six months in the municipal hospital recovering from his wounds.

            Amit had never known who his parents were. He grew up in an orphanage with several other homeless kids. He believes that as a baby he was found abandoned on the streets and was taken by someone to the orphanage. He says that the kids were treated very badly in that place, but he had made many close friends there.

             From my interactions with Amit, I know that this kid was smart. I don’t mean just street smart which these kids need to be, but also intelligent in the raw sense. He was only twelve years old and never went to school, but had picked several languages like Hindi, Marathi, Gujrati and even a bit of English. He was a keen observer of people and had learned many things about the habits of the car owners who regularly drove by in the neighborhood.

The speed with which Amit could add or multiply two numbers in his head was impressive to say the least. He showed this ability everyday while haggling for the price of his books with customers. That day in the restaurant, Amit seemed engrossed in his food but when the bill arrived before me, he could tell the total down to the paise and the breakdown of which kid spent exactly how much. I had barely glanced at the prices, but Amit had not missed a single thing. I got the feeling that if Amit had been given the same opportunities for education that I had, he would go far in life.

I reflected on how lucky I was and how much I took for granted. I have a loving family, a circle of friends, a great education and all the comforts of a home. Comparing my life with Amit’s, I concluded that all my so-called ‘problems’ could not even be considered problems at all. So, I lost my father at an early age and have had my heart broken by a girl or two. Big Deal. Life goes on and I have so much to be thankful for. I felt that there was really no reason for me to complain about anything in my career, my relationships, or anything else in my life.

Strangely, I envied Amit in a way. Not his misfortunes, but rather his ability to take them in his stride. I could never imagine myself facing the things he had been through. He was only twelve but had seen more pain and trauma than most people I know face in their whole lives. But there he was outside my car window, selling his books, cheerful as ever. He looked like he didn’t have a worry in the world. How did he manage to be so happy? How did I manage to worry so much when I have everything given to me? This is why I looked up to Amit and prayed to the gods to make me as strong a person as Amit was.

“Bhaiya?” Amit gave me a questioning look and I snapped out of my reverie.

The signal had turned green. I gestured to my driver to wait. I handed Amit money for the book and also a packet of chocolate chip cookies that I had in my car.

“Thank you, Bhaiya.” Amit waved as the driver started the car amongst the honking horns.

For the rest of my journey, I sat silently in the back seat with a whole new perspective.