Lost in thoughts of how my day went, I sat in the back seat of the car, in the cool AC, looking out at the busy streets of Mumbai. My head was filled with random thoughts. Each fighting with the other to become the 'Thought of the Moment'. I passed many houses. Some small, with little paint or decoration. Others large, with huge gates as if to protect them from large predators. The humid weather of Mumbai mixed with the thick fragrant smell of the car perfume, numbed my mind. I passed many tall apartment buildings. Most of them look so old that they remind me of ghosts lurking around in broad day light. As I looked at these almost dilapidated buildings, I noticed the small windows that were etched into the sides of these buildings. The traffic picked up and our car stopped in front of one such building. Since I had nothing better to do, and since the thoughts in my head were picking up pace, I decided not to listen to them. Instead I looked aimlessly into the windows.
As I glanced into the apartment window, I saw a small dinning table made of iron and covered with a plastic cover. The fancy type ones that you get from the footpaths of Mumbai, probably after bargaining to more than half its rate. I smiled at the thought of endlessly bargaining for a plastic sheet. As I looked, a blue color fridge with rusting sides caught my attention. It reminded me of my childhood. The first fridge we bought for the house was also blue. I smiled at the image in my head, and the excitement I felt when I first saw the refrigerator. The smell of plastic when you opened the fridge door was something on cannot forget.
Suddenly a small girl of ten appeared, wearing a printed frock. Her hair was tied up in two plaits with the help of her school ribbons. She looked neat. Oiled hair. Clean face. I assumed she was of a middle class family. Her mother came from behind her and shook her up. I knew it was her mother, because of the striking resemblance of their features. But why was she shaking up that poor girl? In the next instant I saw her mother slap her across her face. The little one was shaking and crying. For a moment I sat upright in my seat. What was going on? Why was she hitting her?
A man came out from a room next to the fridge. He was a huge, burly man. He wore a dark blue colored checkered lungi, and a white banyan. He didnt look nice to me. He looked like someone who would do bad things. I saw him lift the girl on to the dinning table and hold her by her shoulders. He was telling her something. But I could not hear a word. The din to of the traffic was too much. He looked and the women and said something to her. She disappeared into another room, and came back holding a knife in her hand. I was shocked! Just as the man took the knife from that lady's hand, the traffic started to move.
I panicked. I didnt know what was going to happen to the poor girl. Immediately I removed my cell phone from my pocket, and instructed the driver to stop the car. I called the Mumbai police station and reported what I saw. The police on the phone was not at all interested. He wanted to know why I was bothered. This angered me and I asked him to connect me to the commissioner. Beep beep beep was the sound I heard next. He hung up on me.
I remembered a friend of mine who invited the Mumbai commissioner as a cheif guest to one of his charity events. I called him up and asked him for the number. When he heard the anxiousness in my voice, he gave me the number without too many questions. I got off the car, and went searching for the window. I didnt know what was going to happen.
As my call connected to the commissioner, I looked to see if the little girl was OK. I saw that she was still sitting on the dinning table, and the man was holding the knife close to her face. The woman was no where to be seen. Just then the commissioner picked up and I told him what I was seeing. He immediately issued orders for the cops to take care of this situation. He asked me to go back home and that I would be intimated in case they came to know something.
I was shaking as I got into the car and drove back home. What will happen to that girl? Where is her mother? Home was a nice thing to come back too. But what I saw, made me feel if all homes where a good thing to come back too?
As I tried to relax and not think of what had just happened, my cell phone rang. It was the commissioner. He had quiet a story to tell. The burly man was a human trafficker. He wanted to make use to this girl. He had told her mother, who was not his wife, that the little girl would make a lot of money for her. She was greedy enough to agree to his plans. The little girl refused to go away with this man. So her mother tried making her understand and shook her up. When she still refused, her mother slapped her across her face. Then this man came out and was trying to explain to her the benefits of making money. When she still didn't agree, he asked her mother to get him a knife.
She was told he was going to use the knife just to scare her. But when she brought the knife, he took it from her and place the sharp blade on the child's throat. Her mother was worried. She tried to stop him. He knifed her in her stomach. The little girl was screaming and he put the knife back at her throat. When I called the commissioner he readily informed the police squad of that area. The cops reached just in time to save the poor girl's life. The man was caught and handcuffed. Her mother, though badly stabbed, was rushed to a hospital where she was undergoing treatment. The girl told the commissioner what had happened.
The commissioner said that he was looking for this guy for a very long time and that I had helped him capture a most wanted criminal. I was still shaking from what I saw. I asked him if I could meet the little girl once. He asked me to come over to his office in the evening.
I went to see the girl in the commissioners office. I saw her sitting on a wooden bench still in the same frock I had first seen her in. Her hair was a mess, probably from the struggle. She looked up at me and I stopped in my tracks. She looked into my eyes. As if she was saying thank you. I looked into her eyes, and I saw myself staring back at me. It was my childhood and not hers. It was me not her. It was my mother, and not hers. I chose to live a better life.
A loud horn sound suddenly woke me up from my dream. The strong smell of car perfume once again filled my nostrils. I sat up straight and looked out of the window of my car. I was speeding away on a flyover over looking the ocean.
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