The night i didn't want to sleep

I’m sitting by the window. Its dark outside… cold and pouring. Reminds me of a similar day, years ago… in a different place, a different window. It was a humid evening. I was on the second floor. Through the window I saw a bunch of street kids playing in the mud, dust rising around them like a tiny whirlwind… I was stuck at home, cursing myself and everything around me. I had just been through an accident and got both my legs bound in thick rolls of plaster. That’s why I was… where I was. The kids seemed as happy as happy can get, not a worry in the world. No hunger, no thirst, no work, no commitment… nothing to bind them… confine them within the walls of a room… nothing to confine the bubbling spirits within them. It steadily grew darker and I could see their shadows by the street lamp. They seemed to be playing some sort of “running and catching”. The phrase stuck to my head and strongly reminded me of the uncomfortable position my legs were in at the moment. I grew grumpy. I recognised my maid, Geetha’s daughter, Sharada among them.
Sharada was a tiny (for her age… she was 8 and looked like 5), chirpy bubbly little soul, who had to drop out of school because her father spent all their money on getting drunk… and when he wasn’t getting drunk, he seemed deranged. That poor girl has borne the brunt of her father’s fury and his belt- both- many a times. Today, however, like every other day I’ve seen her, she is happy and cheerful. Such unconditional happiness with no bounds, caressed my heart and tiny invisible dwarves tugged at the corners of my lips, drawing them into a smile. It kind of ached to stretch my lips. It felt strange. When was the last time I did something like that? I don’t remember… I have been too busy being grumpy I almost forgot how to smile.
In the week that followed, I had my plasters removed. I could now walk around in my flat. Life was slowly getting better. I would be soon on my legs again…
Geetha came on Saturday morning, nothing unusual about that. What was unusual however was the fact that she was very quiet and forlorn. She didn’t need any prodding. She came to me by the window and said, “Baba, can I talk to you for a bit?” Without waiting for a response from me, she began, “Baba, there is nothing about my family you don’t know… My little Sharada was ill last week…” At this point I interrupted, “Is that why she wasn’t playing on the street for the last few days?” She was surprised. “Baba, I didn’t know u knew my little Sharada… yes, that’s why she hasn’t been around for the last few days. When she fell ill…” TRING TRING!! That was my cell phone. It was Priya, the girl I was supposed to pick up for a coffee. I switched off the cell on impulse. “Baba, I think you are busy. I wont take your time now…”, Geetha offered. I told her I was taking it off that Saturday and wasn’t doing anything till the afternoon. She continued with a determined look, “I took my little Sharada to the doctor in the big hospital. He said she wont survive… more than a year” the last word was barely more than a whisper.
That night I visited Sharada… she lived in a little tent they call their home. Sharada couldn’t wait for me to ask her to show me her dolls. She took me to a corner and showed me a stack of neatly kept little dolls of different sizes. She burst into a giggle and listed out all her dolls in order or priority, “This is Gudiya Rani, Chinny, Meenu, Babli and Rinny”. “Baba, that’s her most prized possessions and she, mine”, her mother says. I can feel her voice cracking. I had never seen a child so full of life… Her smile was contagious. I smiled at her little brown face and it didn’t feel so cumbersome to smile after all. Geetha went to get me a glass of buttermilk. Sharada sat by my side and whispered, “Bhaiya, you know something? I’m going to meet God soon… and I’m going to ask for a wish”. I was stunned and couldn’t find speech till she continued, “I’m going to ask God to give mamma a baby son so dada will stop beating her. I know it’s because of me they fight.” I stroked her cheek and in a choked voice, said, “No no, child… what ever gave you such an idea? Your mother is so proud of you. I’d love to have a daughter like you.” Geetha got me the buttermilk. I could tell she had been crying. I asked her where her husband was. She said he had gone to his brother’s place to dig up some old fights. Sharada was looking at me intently all this while. Suddenly she asked, “Bhaiya, will you play with me and gudiya rani?” Geetha scolded her saying, “No, Sharada, you mustn’t pester Bhaiya like that. He has lots of work to do.” After a pause of 2 seconds during which Sharada’s eyes pierced mine with indescribable pleading, I could say nothing but “Ofcourse!” You should have been there with me to have seen her little brilliant eyes sparkle in joy and she pranced around like little puppy getting her dolls out of the stack. You should have simply been here to look at her mother’s joy in seeing her daughter so happy. Then was when I understood that there actually are tears of joy. Because as I touched my cheek, I was surprised to find them wet… I was sure I wasn’t feeling sad, and yet there I sat crying into the night. I forgot my office then, my house and its comfortable bed that gave me no sound sleep, Priya and other office deadlines. We played till 3 that day… That night, I felt truly free, truly happy.
Little Sharada touched my life in a way nobody had. She taught me a lesson(sans words) that night that I will carry to my grave. Life is not all about money and achievement. It's more about loving and giving... and more importantly, living the moment...