Sita

Another nice little happenstance greeted me today, as I returned from work.
Having overslept in the bus, I got off at a newly discovered McD, had a trademark snack for old times sake, together with all the 'I love Delhi' sentiments it brings back. Then, on my way back from there, I bumped into my Sita.

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'Inspired' fiction 3.0
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Sita
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The world knows her through many names. While her parents would call her with one, with all the loving attached, the neighbourhood children had another one to greet their cheery pal. However, in spite of all these distinct references, to me, and only to me, she was Sita.

I still remember the first time I met her. More than the faint smile radiant on her face, more than the dainty little hands that she kept to herself as she sat on her father's lap, more than everything else, I recall the little triangular plastic violet bangles she wore on her hands.
Of course, that does not take anything away from the overwhelming sense of life, abundant with the little joys and hopes that characterize childhood, that emanated from her very being. The way her eyes looked ahead, the way her hair blew gently in the wind, the way her hands kept fixing it from time to time, and also the way her hands passed time with each other when there was nothing else to do; everything spelt out a unique blend of warmth, innocence and goodness.

That chance encounter was one of those moments when one takes a backseat, and looks at the world around as part of one's active ecosystem; or rather, when one views oneself as a part of a larger dimension, going beyond the often dominating sense of self.

That day, when I sat opposite her in an unassuming auto, was when I had received my first paycheck. And somehow, that detail didn't seem to matter in any way, at that moment.
I had followed the family back to their place. Other than Sita, the parents had a little baby boy named Manu. When I knocked on the door of their little apartment, in a small locality next to a slum, it was answered by the mother, who was a bit circumspect, having identified me from the auto journey we had shared just minutes back.

Telling me to wait, she went inside and called her husband.
The man walked out, and I introduced myself as Justin, their co-passenger from the auto. He gave me a controlled-ly bewildered look.
I told him I had a 2 year old nephew back home, and sitting with his family got me back to the times there. Further I asked him if I could join him for tea.

He seemed positively clueless as to what was happening at this point. I could only smile at the near comic situation I had actively created here.
Out of sheer courtesy, he asked me to sit inside, ushering me into what seemed to be the common central room, that doubled up as the living and dining room. The house was modestly furnished, with a few cane chairs here and there, other than the 2 piece sofa set and central table. The walls were a pale shade of green, made paler over time. A window adorned the wall opposite to me, which in turn was covered by a worn out, yet beautiful, red and white patterned curtain.

Sitting on the sofa, I introduced myself to the man as Justin, currently interning at Dwij Motor Works. He in turn told me he was Ghanshyam, working at the Airport, and originally from Nagpur. His wife then entered, balancing a tray containing 2 glasses of water, and the little baby in her arms. Taking the tray from her, I asked her the little one's name.
"Balram.", replied Ghanshyam, with a newly radiant smile on his face.
"Wah! Ek taraf Ghanshyam, aur ek taraf Balram! Bahut pyaare..", I exclaimed.

And then, I saw her.
Busy opening up an orange coloured toffee, careful not to step out of her mother's shadow, ambled in the little girl who had captured my imagination; my Sita.
With a visible spring in my voice and smile on my face, I asked them her name.
"Savita", came the reply from the mother who now had a slowly awakening baby competing for her attention, with a 5-year old tugging at her sari.

In my mind I knew that Savita would always remain Sita. I noticed she still had those violet bangles on.
I asked her if she went to school.
She smiled and nodded.
Upon asking her which class she studied in, she replied with a dreamy "One".

At this point Ghanshyam asked his wife to make us some tea. She went inside for the same. I went on to ask Ghanshyam about his work, about Sita's education, and other factors of daily life.
He had been at the inspection department at the airport ever since it came up, back in 1996. Then a lanky 16 year old, fresh from the fields back in Nagpur, he had been a consistent and dependable face at work. Given his textbook virtues of diligence and honesty, he had risen through the ranks quickly, always in the good books of his seniors. In fact, he had once been trusted with house and car keys by the Security Head at the airport, when he had to rush to Delhi in an emergency.
Today he was the go-to man for any glitch or hassle, not just in the security inspection department, but anywhere in the Eastern half of the airport.

He had married a girl from his village, back in 2002, once he was convinced he had reached a basic minimum level of stability. And in 2004, had entered this world, a light named Sita, or Savita, depending on which way one looks.

Sita was born on the 4th of April.
To her friends at school and home, she was 'Nanhi', after her mother couldn't get over to 'Savita' for a good one and a half years.
It struck me how 'Nanni' in my native tongue meant 'Thanks'. I smiled at the thought.

Sipping on the hot tea, I asked Sita what she wanted to be once she grew up. She smiled coyly and confessed her utterly blissful and uncaring aimlessness, with a "Mujhe nahin pata!". Her father said he wanted her to be a nurse. I watched as she smiled and picked up a little doll.
Her bangles caught my eye again.
I asked her where she had got them from. They were from the local Saturday market she said with an evident sense of joy.

Eventually, in the midst of all this chit chat and randomness, I noticed Father Time waving his "It's time to leave" flag. I glanced at my watch to see it had crossed 7pm.
With that, I rose to take their leave. The by now eased Ghanshyam asked me to stay on for dinner. I was already full, with all that I had experienced in the 2 hours that had just flown past. Thus I politely refused, and went on to give Sita and Balram little gifts I had bought earlier.

As I took leave that beautiful evening, I knew this would probably be the last time I ever see Sita and her family. However, unlike the case that often arises on such occasions, I didn't feel sad or even remotely dejected by this inevitability. I soon realized, the reason behind this new found galvanization was the fact that I could see Sita whenever I closed my eyes. To be more precise, whenever I wanted to, I could refer back to the memory of this wonderful evening, and specifically, of her very being as the auto moved along its path.
Exactly what the elements spoke to me at that blessed hour, I do not know. However, their thoughts seemed to revolve around some way to look at life and all that it had to shower along one's path. Taking that hint, one tried to make sense of everything; the smile, the bangles, the hair, the hands.

Over time some parts of the puzzle have offered teasing glimpses. And while each part may be disparate by itself, the one unit of commonality that threads them all together, is Sita.
The hope remains that her generosity towards every opened, inquisitive eye, shall remain unabated.

After all, 'Ummeed par hi toh duniya kaayam hai..'