The Meeting

It was dusk, and the threat of thunder showers had cleared the streets early.


Lakshmi shuffled along the darkened pavement, gathering her rags around her. She was diminutive, even for her twelve years of existence. She clutched tightly at a tin box which contained her day's earnings. Walking into a pool of light thrown by a nearby petrol-bunk, she sat down on the kerb to total up for the day. Five minutes of struggling with numbers later, she confirmed what she had suspected all along. She was five rupees short of meeting the daily target.

With a sense of resignation, Lakshmi knew that her father would use his belt on her again that night. But she had grown numb to that exercise by then.
Just the way she had grown numb to those pretending to ignore her when she begged for alms.
She no longer minded the shop-keepers who shooed her off impatiently, and the pedestrians who turned angrily on her, and even the people who refused to acknowledge her very existence.
She was past feeling.
Lakshmi was numb.


A car drove into the petrol-bunk and Lakshmi was caught in the glare of its head-lights. She looked up to see a middle-aged, bespectacled man looking preoccupied at the wheel.


Ravi tapped on the dashboard absently as he waited for the attendant to fill the tank. It had been a big day at office for him. After five years of slogging in his boss' shadow, his promotion had more or less been confirmed that day. Congratulations had started pouring in and a lot of back-slapping and banter had happened.

But Ravi had always hated his boss and his snide remarks, his sneering laugh, his pompous ways.
And he hated himself for sucking up to him.
He hated himself for ignoring other people to get into his boss' good books.
He hated himself for not acknowledging the security guard while leaving the office that day.
He wanted to be more receptive, open and frank with people, but had forgotten how.
Ravi hated himself.

His gaze rested on the grubby, filthy girl sitting on the kerb next to the car, with a tin box nestled in her hands. Their eyes met for a second...and lingered.


Poor begger-girl...Maybe I can make it up to the security guard here...hmm....yes, I do have a ten rupee note with me....

Should I go and ask him?....I might be able to get the five rupees from him, but...

.........Let her walk over to me...till then, I'll just pretend to ignore her.......

.........He's not even looking at me....Do I really need to be driven away again?....What's the use?.......

........She's walking away....Maybe she doesn't even beg to begin with...Darn! How pathetic can I get with people....Darn!.....


Ravi paid the attendant and drove away. Lakshmi trudged homewards.

Thunder rumbled in the distance.

Middle Class Madhavan

Class.........one of those natural occuring dividers of demography in a society, something we instinctively adhere to without even realising it. Low class aspirants, the middle class mentality, high society snobs.....which cliche describes you the best?

Interestingly, though financial income is the base factor for this classification, it's never the money in itself which defines the individual. Instead, it's the experiences which are created by this money, the lifestyle it propagates and the attitude it cultivates, which segregate people into neatly defined social compartments.

Now, while its easy to pin-point those characteristics which would define the quintessential low-end struggler or the high-end aristocrat, it's that much more difficult to explain the unique experiences of a regular middle-class bloke. And this might be because there aren't any.....

In fact, the more I think about it, a middle-income guy is one who gets to share the lifestyle of both the rich and the poor. He doesn't have an identity of his own.

I drink atleast one cup of tea everyday from the roadside tea-stall outside my office. At the same time, I also appreciate a whip of Irish cream in my cappuccino.

I've enjoyed quite a few matches at Chepauk in the sweat-filled, ear-shattering atmosphere of the stone paved gallery. At the same time, I have enough contacts to get me a cushioned seat right over the bowler's arm next to the pavilion.

I know the major bus routes in and around Chennai, along with the expected waiting time and crowd factor for each bus. At the same time, I've experienced the Hyundai Sonata to be a dream to drive.

I prefer the ethnic Velu's Military hotels for some spicy, non-vegetarian stuff. At the same time, a turkey on a slow grill always sends my taste buds tingling too.

I can go on and on, but the fact is, the guy in the middle of the economic ladder gets to enjoy the best of both worlds. But yet, most people live their entire lives in pursuit of the top rung, to get out of the '250 million strong Indian middle-class' which George Bush referred to impressively sometime recently...which makes sense, I guess. It's the route to both an individual's and the country's prosperity.
But if life truly is the sum of one's experiences, isn't the middle the best place to be in?
hmm........