The Whistle blower

No, no scam has been exposed. No sting operation has been performed. This might be about one of the least important person in our lives.

So this is about the security guard, and I don't know the name, who stands in the common park area or lawn or whatever you call it, in the business park where I work. The crowd is huge during evening hours, primarily because of a tea shop nearby, and the cool Bangalore breeze is the icing on the cake.

Anyway, the guard, yes! He stands in almost the middle of the lawn, blowing whistle at everyone who steps on the grass. By the way, the grass in the lawn is beautiful, and there is no reason why one would step on it, but since a lot of other things are happening around us for no reason, this does too. I was startled to see how busy the people around were keeping him. He was constantly turning around and blowing whistle and asking people to step away from the grass, and before he could finish with one, there was another one doing the same, and then one more, WTF! How difficult is it to realize that you don't have to walk on the grass?

This security guard, although, was not at all pissed off. He was enjoying the look people gave him when he blew the whistle and stopped them. Maybe he loved this part of the day the most, this certainly had to be the least boring part of his day at work.

How would one react if he is walking on the grass and the guard stops him? Well this is how!

"He he he! Sorry sorry! Oops, lost my balance, sorry again".

"Kya bhaiya, kya hua, arre yaar chhodo na. Kya fark padta hai".

To his friend who is walking with him -"These security guards think too much of themselves, he thinks he is the king if he has the whistle and he keeps blowing it unnecessarily".

"Now we'll have guards outside office also. What is this yaar?"

"Poor fellow! Standing here all the time stopping people from walking on grass. And nobody listens, nothing will ever change in this country".

A westerner, walking along with a pretty Indian girl, says nothing, keeps walking on the grass, completely choosing to ignore him. And apparently cracks a joke about the guard, to which the lady giggles.

The guard is still unmoved. I salute your patience sir. I would blow his head off if I were you.

Almost the same people come to that place every day, and walk through the grass lawn every day, and are stopped by our whistle blower guard, every day. They smile or crib or chose to ignore and walk away, only to come back again the next day, I believe unintentionally, and again, walk on the grass.

How long is he supposed to stand there? How long will we need a whistle and a guard to make us understand even the simplest things in life?

kho na jaayein ye....

I knew it when I saw him the first time. So did the friend who was with me. His eyes had the innocence of a small boy and did not go too well with his huge built. I looked at him and then looked at my friend, she had the same question in her eyes. So we asked this young boy - How old are you?
And before we could blink, he blatantly replied - twenty.
And it took us a while to understand that he knew that people could ask him this question sometimes, and he'd been trained to answer it without inviting any suspicion. I guess he wasn't too young either - maybe a 16 or 17, he knew why he had to lie. He knew he dint belong here. He knew his employers had done something inadmissible by making him work - the only thing I don't know is if he was grateful to them? for allowing him to contribute for his family's bread and butter. Or did he hate them, for the reasons we had started hating the restaurant owners in that very instance.

I reiterated - Twenty?
Haan! Sir, order?
Do you go to school?
Hmmm?
Do you go to school?
Hmmm?
He pretended that he doesn't understand me. And rushed away to one side towards the wall, waiting for us to call him again to place the order.

After about five minutes(the time we took to discuss about him and a lot of others like him, and to decide upon the order), I called him back.
Two Coke, and a plate of Spring roll.
Ok Sir!
Kahaan se ho tum?
Bengal se!
Bengali aati hai?
Haan Sir!
Padhte ho?
Hmmm?
Padhte ho?
He nodded, unconvincingly. And like last time, left the place running.

Twenty minutes later, he served us our order. We were there for another 2 hours, I looked at him many times - every time he saw me, he'd start watching television or go inside the kitchen.

He was afraid I would ask him another question.
I didn't.
I was afraid too. That I would ask a question I don't have an answer for.

How many like him are there? What was I doing? What possibly could be done? And would it matter? How much? How far? How would I justify my inaction if I don't do anything? By looking around and finding out how many people in the world have been like me? Even worse, How many actually would feel that there is something wrong here? How easy would it be for everyone to swallow the lump in their throat?

I did nothing. I could do nothing in that one evening. But the lump in my throat is not gone yet. It wont go soon, because every time I step out of the home, and go anywhere, I see the same scene. At the garage washing people's bikes, at the barber shops shaving people's beard, at all local/street restaurants washing used plates, at busy markets serving tea to the shopkeepers, at construction sites - helping their parents finish off the day's work. I see the hands that hold bricks and tea pots and broom, and I see the people, who see and acknowledge the wrong, but the usual, every time.

There is a lot to be done, and all of us know what it is, but at least make a start, by not going to any such shop/restaurant/garage and letting the owners know that we and our known ones wont come to this place again till these small children keep working here.

Those hands would hold a book only once they become empty.

I am sure a few at least would be listening.