1:47 ki Vadala Local | Short Story

As Mumbaikars, we often see kids as young as 7-8 years old selling things in Mumbai Local trains. And every time i looked at one, i wondered what must be going through in their mind, before boarding the train. The many thoughts they must be juggling. The many dilemmas they must be fighting.

I hope you read this story with the same innocence, i wrote it with. Would love to know your views in the comments below :) 
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“B for Bat” repeat after me, said Master ji adjusting his spectacles.

“Beee for Baaaaaat” repeated melodiously, the class of twenty children.

Khushboo was so engrossed in looking at the little Sparrow dancing between the swings, stones and leaves that she totally forgot about the existence of the teacher in the same room as her. It didn’t even occur to her, that getting caught not paying attention could earn her a smack from Master ji’s wooden ruler.

Khushboo was happy in her own world.

She decided to name the sparrow “Pari”. Every flutter, every move, made Khushboo giggle in awe. Pari looked just as impatient as her. She kept changing her place, kept pecking here and there. Khushboo too, was unusually nervous today. She kept chewing on her thumb, licked her thin dark lips every 2 minutes and looked outside the window at most times of the day.

At 1pm sharp, the school bell rang. All the children ran out of their respective classes – yelling and screaming in delight. But unlike every day, today Khushboo’s heartbeat increased with every step.

She kept reciting all the “rules” her mother had asked her to remember, and slowly marched her way in the direction of her house.

20 minutes of walk, and she reached house. Her mother was sleeping on the only cot placed in the 1 room kitchen apartment that they proudly lived in. She quickly, but quietly tip toed her way to the bathroom, washed her face and feet, slipped into her favourite frock and stepped out.

The mirror was placed slightly above Khushboo’s level of sight. So she dragged a stool, stood on top of it and ran her tiny fingers over her pony tail. She remembered seeing her mother dab some powder and put a bindi every time before stepping out of the house. So Khushboo did the same. She dabbed some powder and rest fell off her tiny palm, picked a small black bindi from the corner of the mirror and then twirled in her frock in nervous excitement.

Her twirl was a clumsy one, making the stool go out of balance for a brief moment. This woke her 15 days old baby brother and he started crying. Khushboo gasped and rushed towards him.

“Shhhh... Shhh” she said.

Her mother opened her eyes, and looked at her beautiful daughter with a smile. “Are you ready?” she asked.

“Hmmm… Aii mi ghabarlo aahe”, she muttered.

(Mother, I am scared – She said)

“Hou Naka” her Aii reinforced.

(Don’t be – said her mother)

“Aapan Pass Thevle?” (Did you kept your pass?), She asked.

“Ho”, Khushboo replied.

“Chilli Powder?”

“Ho” Khushboo nodded, tapping the tiny pocket of her frock that housed a pouch of chili powder.

“Konihi Aplya barobar smart karya karu naii. Agar kia, toh ye aakhoi me daal dena”

(No one should act smart with you. If anyone does, put the chili powder in their eyes)

Agreed Khushboo, with her mother’s words.

“Prarthna visru naka” (Don’t forget to pray before leaving – She said).

“Ho” replied khushboo and walked towards the tiny corner that had lord Shiva’s idol looking back at her. Her big black eyes scanned the idol from head to toe with such innocence – that he might just come to life any moment and hug her. Hug her and tell her for the 100^th time, that it will all be ok. That she shouldn’t be worried anymore. That he was proud of her for shouldering the responsibilities of the house. And that she may never be in a position to use the chili powder.

It was 1:30pm and she knew she had 10 minutes to reach Mankhurd station. Khushboo offered her prayers quickly, kissed her mother good bye and picked up the stack of coloring books that her mother used to sell in Mumbai Local trains, until her brother was inside her Aii. The day he came out, Aii stopped going to work and was asked to rest at least for 3 whole months. And the last 35 odd days, have been the toughest for the family.

Khushboo’s fathers’ daily wages alone weren’t enough to meet the family expenses. So Khushboo offered to pitch in.  

Just like her mother had told her, Khushboo reached the station well in advance and stood patiently for the train to arrive. A minute late, the train arrived. First she waited for the train to stop, allowed everyone to get down and then jumped in with her inventory.

She walked further in where everyone was sitting, ripped open one of the packets, held 3 notebooks in the other hand and just like her aii had taught her, she said “Drawing book le lo… Drawing Boooook… 20 ki 1, 50 ki 3… Doremon, Shin Chan wali Drawing Boooook..”

With every head that turned to look at her, every eye that scanned the book she was selling, her smile too, got bigger by an inch.

She was her proudest at this moment.

For an 8 year old, she was an exception. She was happier to sell the colouring books that she secretly, also wanted to colour.