Grateful Hearts

Nina was 6 years old. A sweet girl in first grade. She would run up at recess time to wish me. I was 13 and much senior. Walking out of school that day, I spotted her pleading with the ice cream vendor. She was literally sitting on the side walk, with her school bag strewn on the road saying, “Please, please, please give me that orange one”. The vendor was a poor man. He was holding on to his cart handle and shaking his head each time saying “Jhiya, give me 25 paisa and I will give that orange stick to you”. Nina was whimpering, “Please I don’t have 25 paisa. Cant you give it to me for free just this time?”. I heard the man ask, “Jhiya, you are from such a good family. Everyday you ask me for free ice creams. And you get them too. Why don’t you get some money from home?”. Nina actually came from a well to do family in Bhubaneswar. But I guess her mother never gave her money to buy those who-knows-what-kind of ice creams from a street side vendor.

Large drops of tears dropped from Nina’s beautiful eyes and next thing I saw was the ice cream wala lifting the hood of his cart. Whiffs of vapor emerged from the opening where the cheap frozen desert sticks were stored between chunks of salt and ice. As Nina wiped her grimy hands on her face, the man presented her with an orange stick which I guessed wasn’t the first free ice cream that she had received from the poor man. Nina walked away happily licking at it. We never said “Thankyous” then. And not to ice cream vendors!

I knew how Nina felt. Definitely not remorseful. I was ashamed, because I knew for sure that the poor man had a houseful of kids to feed and he never made any more than a few rupees every day selling those half-salty ice creams in front of school buildings. When I was Nina’s age, I had begged money the same way from my old rickshaw puller when I wanted to buy some tamarind paste from yet another street side vendor. My rickshaw wala had also continued to bestow upon me the small change, until one day he was forced to tell my mother. My mother returned him the monies and explained to me how poor he was and how unhygienic those tamarind packets were. Many a times after that I had stifled the urge to borrow money from Bhaskara my dear rickshaw wala. I knew Nina wasn’t a bad kid. Only her mother needed to talk to her.

34 years later Anu is in 1^st grade. She had begged me to take snack money to school. After explaining to her about healthy food and thrifty habits I did put 50 cents into her lunch box in a zip loc bag that day. Anu checked her lunch box as she did every morning and went to school. When I got home in the evening, Anu looked excited. She told me that she had gone for lunch to the cafeteria and had stood in the line to get her Fruit Roll Up snack pack. As she got to the counter, she opened the zip lock bag and handed over the money. That’s when she realized that Mama had made a terrible mistake and had given her 50 instead of 60 cents. That precious dime was missing. The world came crashing down on Anu and she could not stop crying. Where would she get that 10 cents from? Ms Robinson was standing at the counter waiting for Anu to hand the balance while Anu’s chest was heaving. “Ms Robinson, I have only 50 cents on me. My mother must have made a mistake. I told her snack money was 60 cents”, she said. Ms Robinson looked at Anu and took her aside. “Well Aparna, wipe your tears. You are a smart first grader. I can make an exception today. Here, you can have that Fruit Roll Up for 50 cents”. Anu was smiling between her tears and could not get back home to tell me how good Ms Robinson was.

“Anu, I know how good Ms Robinson is. I met her when I was 6”, I said. Anu looked at me flummoxed. “You have?” she asked. I said “Yes Anu, and you shall meet her many many times in your life”.