Murder of Humanity

Some incidents in life can never be forgotten. One such incident happened with me when I was at Jalandhar City railway station. I had been to Lovely Professional University for a project in April this year. My return train was to depart from the station at 2 am in the morning. I reached Jalandhar City railway station at about 10 pm the previous night. Jalandhar, except for the places near the railway station, is free from any kind of hustle-bustle. It’s just the railway station and the surrounding areas where you need to be careful about yourself and your luggage.

I entered the building of the station and started to look for the Air-conditioned waiting hall. I came across the common waiting hall which had a signboard saying – ‘Upper Class Waiting Hall, First Floor’.

I climbed the stairs for the first floor and began searching again. Every room that I came across was either locked or belonged to the staff officers. One of the additional benefits of buying an upper class ticket in Indian trains is that you get to stay in Air-conditioned waiting rooms. Back in Mumbai, that feels no less than a spacious hotel lounge. But there in Jalandhar the very existence of that facility was in doubt.

I had been to Kolkata, New Delhi and Chennai too, and for that matter even Chandigarh, Lucknow and Surat, and my experiences had been absolutely blissful. In Jhansi, Varanasi, Allahabad, Mathura, Gwalior and Jammu Tawi, however, I had faced a similar situation.

From the first floor, I observed the common waiting hall on the ground floor. Filthy was the first thought that came to my mind. A young girl here, an old man there – people were scattered all around like inanimate objects. I am not allergic to filth. I have even travelled in second class several times. But that day, the disappointed 19-year old in me was simply a bit hesitant to compromise. Even then, somehow, I came down and decided to adjust.

The common waiting hall was large, but had not more than a handful of ceiling fans. Areas just below these fans were naturally crowded with people. After scanning the whole waiting room twice, I came across a place which was below a fan and vacant at the same time. I went ahead and kept my bags in that place. It took me some time to understand why the place was vacant. It was so because there was an old woman sitting near that place and speaking something. Everyone was ignoring her. I didn’t mind and made myself comfortable in the place. The woman was constantly speaking something I couldn’t really understand. In fact, I hadn’t even tried to understand because people around were ignoring her as if she was a beggar. For nearly five minutes, I ignored her too. After that, I couldn’t stop myself. Within seconds I realized she was speaking something in Punjabi, and repeating that. She was pleading to everyone around. Nobody really listened.

So I faced her and tried to understand what she was saying. I tried with all my efforts but failed. The only thing I could deduce was that she wasn’t just another beggar. I decided to aid her.

“Jo aap keh rahi hain, mujhe samajh me nahi aa raha hai,” (I am unable to understand what you are saying) I said in Hindi.

And the moment I told her that, she said, “Doodh. Milk…I want Milk”

She spoke exactly the same words. I was shocked. The woman looked like sixty years old, and that she could speak English meant one of the following three things –

1. She was Christian
2. She was well-educated
3. She was from Varanasi (and some English just got rubbed off on her!)

I couldn’t disagree to get her milk. I was a little concerned about my luggage though. So I asked her who will take care of my luggage. Her words shocked me, again –

“What will happen to your luggage?” she asked, “God sabko protect karte hain. He always keeps his children safe.”

Re-affirmation of faith. How phenomenal!

Now, either 1, or 2. She wasn’t from Varanasi, that could be confirmed or else, she could’ve spoken in Hindi too.

Alright, so there I was, with a laptop bag on my shoulder and a carry-bag, with my clothes, under the bench where I sat. I thought I’ll take the laptop bag with me. The money for milk wasn’t a big issue anyway; I was just concerned about my stuff. But then I thought – even if someone takes the other bag, it wouldn’t be such a great loss!

I mean, I didn’t think exactly like that, but I felt that the risk could be taken. I had an intuition that something rational was waiting for me at the end of all this.

I got up from my bench, and got ready to leave. Just then, to my utmost amazement, she pulled out a ten rupee note from somewhere and handed it over to me. She instructed me that the person in the ninth shop, exactly the ninth one on the right after exiting the railway station, would know that she wanted milk and I should hand over the money to him and get a pouch of milk.

Simple enough, I thought.

From the time I left the railway station to the time I reached the ninth shop, I was thinking of my clothes. Not just my clothes, I was thinking about everything. I was over-stuffed with thoughts. I was getting impatient. I wanted to know why that woman was sitting there in the first place. I wanted to know why nobody was paying attention to her even though she could pay for her stuff and just wanted someone to get it.

The person at the ninth shop brought me some relief. He agreed that there was an aged woman at the railway station who bought milk everyday but never came to him by herself, and always sent someone else – someone different – everyday.

Then, a little satisfied, I came back at the railway station and nothing had changed. My bag was there. She was there. Everything was just the same.

I handed the pouch of milk over to her. She was happy. I was happy too.

But the story doesn’t end here. In fact it begins here.

Why do you think were the people ignoring that lady? (I’ll call her lady and not woman because I know who she was)

In modern India, people just pretend to be too busy in their lives. They pretend so much that they don’t understand for themselves if they really are busy or not. Because of this they ignore many things that keep happening around them. People don’t want to think because they are comfortable when their brains are void. This is quite hurtful to me.

Back to the story, she told me that she had been staying in the same waiting hall for the last four years. Originally from somewhere near Mathura, earlier she was at Mathura Railway Station, but the police officials there didn’t allow her to stay. She reached Agra, and travelled further up to Delhi. Seeing the totally impossible conditions at Delhi, she moved further north, in whatever train she managed to board, and reached Phagwara – south-east of Jalandhar – but was made to leave from there too. Finally, she found home at the Jalandhar City railway station. The police officials there were kind enough to allow her to stay there. She had some problem with her right leg because of which she couldn’t walk for more than a minute. So she seldom moves from that place in Jalandhar. Every morning she gives twenty-five rupees to a stall owner at the station who gives her two simple meals. She needs medicine which comes for about ten rupees a day and she takes milk for another ten rupees. That makes it nearly fifty rupees a day. That’s all she needs.

Some rich and kind people had gifted her clothes and beddings on festive occasions and so life in the chilling cold of Jalandhar had become much easier for her that what it was when she had arrived from Mathura, four years ago.

She belonged to a rich Hindu family with three children. She did her masters in English literature from Delhi in probably the 60’s. Her children abandoned her after her husband’s death. Two of them are doctors and one is a lawyer, from what she told me.

She had a plastic bottle of water (like the packaged ones) with her, which she had to ask random people to refill every time it was empty. She begged, simply. She begged only enough to satisfy her needs for a day or two.

Did she have any regrets? None.

She didn’t blame anyone for her condition. In fact, she mentioned that it must be the karmic result of her activities from her previous birth. I am definitely missing some parts of the story, but I don’t remember every detail. We had talked for nearly two hours and then she took her medicine and slept.

I was amazed, awestruck and a little embarrassed too. People around were looking at me as if I had kissed an untouchable!

At 1:30 am, I came outside the waiting hall. I was having a deep and intense desire to give her some money and fill water for her. I went to a stall to buy mineral water for myself. I couldn’t just ignore that feeling. It was similar to guilt.

‘Why do you have to think about people there, haven’t you helped people earlier?’ my conscience pricked me.

“Bhaiya, give a normal one too,” I said to the vendor at the stall, asking him to give me another bottle of Bisleri which wasn’t chilled. I took the bottle and went back to the waiting hall. Within a moment, I found myself in front of the bench where she was sleeping. I didn’t want to wake her up, but what if someone else takes the water and money that I was about to give her?

I woke her up. I put her old plastic bottle away, and gave her the new bottle. I slid several ten rupee notes below her blanket. I felt it could help her for a couple of days at least…

I don’t know why I did that, but I felt really good. I didn’t mind what the onlookers would’ve thought.

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Dear readers, if any of you happen to visit Jalandhar City railway station it is my request that you meet the lady once.

It is the duty of the young generation to care for the generation that brought them up.

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