A Moment

He stood at the edge of passing vehicles, as if looking for a break in the traffic flow so that he could cross. He was old, wore a lemon yellow shirt and beige pants, and did not seem homeless or poor. He carried a plastic bag in his right hand and his fingers trembled. What made me slow down as I walked by, was the look in his eyes – lost, anguished, as if desperately seeking someone. I stopped and looked back to see if he could cross the road safely. The traffic had stopped but he stood where he was, shuffling from foot to foot. It was half past four and the office would close in half an hour, so I turned back and hurried on my way.

A family of trinket and balloon sellers, dirty and unwashed, slept on the sidewalk. Perhaps taking a rest before they could go hawk their wares to the night revellers at the Gateway or Marine Drive. A little ahead, two young girls were lost in a movie playing on a cell phone propped against their bags. Walking through them, I felt garishly rich and happy. I came to a fork on the road. I hesitated, then walked to the cobbler and asked for Srinivas House. The cobbler pointed right without looking. A taxi driver who was chatting up with the cobbler while waiting for his footwear called out to me and specified that it was the second building. I reached perspiring, five minutes before the office closed.

I decided to walk back the same route, because I wanted to know if the old man was still there. The two girls were now joined by a woman and a small girl, all engrossed in the make believe story playing out from the small instrument. The family of balloon sellers were stirring, some beginning to get up and start the rest of the day. I turned the corner, hoping and also dreading to find the old man. I stood for a while looking in all directions, but he was nowhere in sight. I felt a surge of relief and guilt. I had wanted to help but didn’t. And perhaps it’s better not to know what happened to him. It might seem that the city had swallowed him up, but there is always someone who, unlike me, is ready to extend that hand in support.

That’s how it always is in this city.