Thank You God

Feeling miserable that I will have to walk in the heat, to go to the bank to inquire about the status of my accounts which were to be opened I move from office.

The lift is not working yet again I walk down cursing the idiots who couldn’t repair it in time.

Once outside I squint, the sun is so harsh, beads of perspiration appear even before I have taken half a dozen steps.

The walk is through a subway, out the other side and then a long walk thanks to the MCD which forgot to leave space for pedestrians while making a long wall to guard the colony within which the bank is situated.

Into the bank and I look around for someone to help me. A newly married woman obliges in a disgruntled manner, without taking down my name and number she dismisses me saying I will look into the matter and let you know.

I insist that she takes my number and only then she does though reluctance is writ large on her face. I wonder if she will throw the piece of paper as soon as I turn my back or wait for me to leave the bank premises.

I walk back out again into the hot sun. Take the long walk back and just as I near the subway my chappal rips.

I look down at it and wonder why everything that can go wrong does so with me alone?

I look around for a cobbler, see none and hobble over to an old man sitting hunched over a few cucumber slices, I ask him if there is a cobbler around and he looks up and says he is not aware of one.

As I walk away I suddenly realize I had seen despair in his eyes. He probably thought I would purchase from him when he saw me approaching and my query must have really disappointed him.

I limp through the subway, ask the guard sitting inside with two ear plugs firmly in place if he knows of a cobbler in the vicinity and he points the way to one.

I walk upto the guy and find him polishing a pair of shoes which looked like they had little life in them. The owner was standing patiently with a file in his hand and it wasn’t hard to guess that he was looking for a job.

The cobbler a young boy of barely fifteen is intently polishing a shoe, when he should be in school learning to write and draw.
He takes my chappal next and I stand on one leg, watching the world go by. It’s a queer feeling, suddenly you are rooted and not even to a place that you want to be rooted to.

A woman in her mid twenties approaches the cobbler, gives him a big smile and asks if he would repair her chappal, he gives it a glance and says it would cost five bucks. She looks uncertain and then asks if two wouldn’t suffice. The young boy gives her a contemptuous look and says in this locality no one touches a shoe for less than five.

The woman walks away with her chappal in one hand.

Mine is done and I pay the fellow and move on. Just as I start I see two young girls walk up both limping with broken footwear. They are holding hands and almost enjoying the discomfort of a broken shoe.

I walk back into office and feel grateful to God for giving me this valuable lesson and a comfortable life.