Two Rupees

It's been more than four years now I'm back in India. Yet, the reverse culture shock still hits me, often without warning. The following incident happened a couple of years back, but occasionally comes back to haunt me, especially when I get other reverse shocks.

It was the middle of monsoons. Being completely bored at staying indoors all day, I took my bike one evening and went on a ride. After watching the sun set from the hills, I re-entered the concrete jungle and parked at a bookstore.

As I was lugging the bike on to its stand, a kid approached me. He had a rag and a bucket in his hands. Stereotypical vehicle-washer.

"Saab..."

"No." (vigorous head shaking)

"Sirf do rupai saab..."

"Sorry" (commiserating look. I'm a pro at this now)

"Khana saab..."

"Nah." As I walked away from this everyday incident, I reflected and wondered if I'd heard right. Two rupeees? The kid must be either incredibly desperate or naïve. I decided on the former. Rummaging about, I found a coin in my pocket and handed it to him, saying "It's a good thing you're working, but don’t wash my bike." The kid didn’t seem to understand this. "No wash...?" "No. Please. I'll wash it myself." (I was telling the truth. Those were the days I'd lovingly wash my bike every day, and wouldn't allow anyone else to lay a sponge to it) So saying, I pushed the incident from my mind and entered the world of books.

A couple of hours later, I said goodbye to the comics and the travelogues and went back to the parking lot. I was about to take the bike off the stand, when I halted.

A dirty rag was neatly entwined around my number plate.

I wondered what this meant. I looked around. Of the kid there was no sign. I waited a few minutes. The kid hadn't washed my bike. Why then had he left his rag so neatly tied to it and disappeared?

I wondered if the two rupees I gave had made a difference to the kid's life, but this delusion didn’t last long. What does two rupees get? It cost me that much in petrol to make it from my house to the next major intersection. A one-minute call on my cellphone was about two rupees, and I had made so many that day. Even at the realistic exchange rate of ten rupees to the dollar that I often use, nobody would be willing to work at such wages anywhere in the world. Definitely not in a big city like Pune. Had I imagined it all? But no, there was the rag as evidence.

I carefully removed the rag, folded it and placed it on a nearby wall, hoping it would come of use again to someone, if not the kid. Making my way home, I hoped the kid had had his khana.