The Toss

The Toss

      

            Yes, we were at that area again, around the dining table, relaxed after the dinner but in the excited state because the topic was the trip we may possibly have in the coming Christmas holidays. After the dinner it was the galaxy of the great travelers who plan more and travel less, gathered around the table. Everybody came with own submission of plans. Suggestions, discussions, google search, call to an acquaintance that happened to have visited the place. He came up with some additional inputs. Everybody had a suggestion, proposed destination, proper justification, emotional association, no wonder all was discussed, travel plan, sojourn, and yes the shopping….. can a tour plan however meticulous it may be, be complete without shopping chart? 

     The glorious uncertainty about the planning is that there is no guarantee  it will materialize. The great plans about going to tourist places and dream of great enjoyment often terminate abruptly at Chandrapur owing to the unforeseen, never imagined, unwanted but inescapable situations leaving no option but to surrender and of course invite the wrath of stakeholders. The beauty of these discussions is that even though the  rate of achieving the goal is not good, the rate at which the plans get halted indefinitely without even take off is high, still we are not tired of planning. Anybody can play the spoil sport, some emergency, some unwanted work,….anybody can just pierce a needle through the balloon and we then are left with no option but to scuttle the holiday plan ensuing despair but again waiting for the next round table conference.

      This time also we did it…..the plan. I decided to cross the biggest hurdle. Reservations!!!. Getting a berth in the railway in the holiday season is as difficult as getting the cabinet berth. The entire planning can simply descend to ravine if the railway reservations are not available. All are eager to travel but not without the reservations for travelling otherwise, that too with family, is an absolute nightmare. The packed coaches, the flock around T.T., … difficult to manage…honestly, I am weak at it. For me it’s better to try a hand at booking counter at the first opportunity.  

        I was standing in the long queue at the railway reservation counter.  Barring some, almost all of our railway stations are in the close vicinity of dirt.  Outside I could see some children playing and some searching the garbage around for something saleable in the scrap market. A real time visit to Slumdog Millionaire!! I remembered coming out of the theater after watching the Oscar winning movie ‘Slumdog Millionaire’, absolutely stunned by the horrifying, surreal depiction of life at slums. Most of us have an idea of the conditions there but the chilling remainder the movie gives us about poverty, vulnerability of those children comes as a rude shock; the portrait tries to sensitize us to the hope and aspirations of the people there.

     I also remembered the discussion about the tendency of the foreign directors in portraying our poverty, encashing on the generated sympathy. The other opinion being the acceptance of the reality and more importantly mere depiction of a slum did not show us in bad light but what was unfortunate was that after so many years we failed to bridge the gap. More than anything it was the insensitivity of decision makers that was reflected there, thought I. The announcement of the arrival of the train prompted them to run to the platform. They seemed to be in a hurry to catch the opportunity of begging.

      But I was in the different mood altogether. Yesterday the drama that unfolded on a news channel after revelations by Vinod Kambli, and a hint at match fixing, was very much on my mind. His allegations took me down the memory lane. We all were upbeat, India in the semi-final, one barrier to clear, enter in the final and recreate the magic of 1983, lift the cup. We almost were having dreams, our captain lifting the cup, the whole India celebrating. But it was not destined to happen. As the match began with the toss, we started praying, all Gods requested, all religions were equal, we left nobody, we wanted the toss to be won. All were confident, win the toss, elect to bat and won the match, as simple as that. Moreover most experts predicted the possible turn the pitch might get, probable difficulty in batting second. The coin was tossed. A pause followed, we all shouted with the toss won but were stunned to hear the decision to bowl first.

     What followed when we batted was suicidal display of poor batting. Our disappointment after the loss of India to the Shri Lankan team at the semifinal of the world cup at the Eden garden was hard to forget. As most of Indians I cursed the Indian captain for opting to bowl first after winning the toss. Considering the condition of the pitch most pundits had the opinion of batting first, he seemed to have defied logic. My dream of watching India in the final was crushed. I was even tempted to think of the foul play. The images of disillusionment took a firm grip over my mind. The real culprit, the toss, put me in the whirlwind of imagination, the chance that we failed to capitalize on, fair play….or we all suspected …fixing?

   The Kambli drama forced me to revisit that day, full of anguish. The entire episode was played over and over again, Kambli crying then on ground, now in studio, so much for his sensitivity. The channel tried its best to stir the controversy. Suddenly I woke up from my long stretch of imagination. A soft touch at back of my forehand did it. Before I turned around a little boy must be 7 years came forward touching and begging for money. It was not the first time that I saw a beggar at railway station but he was different. The clothes challenged the limits of dirtiness and so was his body. Lack of bathing in living conditions full of filth had taken its toll. Obnoxious odour was emanating from him. Misery, poverty, hunger was written all over his face. His eyes poignantly pointed to his suffering, pain and exploitation. Inhuman living conditions were oozing out there; moreover it was a window showing the most unpleasant world from close quarter. I felt ashamed of my mind, which was engrossed in the toss that cost us the match, and here was a boy whom a coin from me would make a big difference in calming the stomach.

     I gave him two-rupee coin. He turned away and I turned in satisfaction. I was experiencing the contentment. I was not in any way responsible for the dirt he was living in, the life he was dumped in, on the outer ring of society, without any amenities. Repressive, brutal but I belonged to the privileged class, not affluent but with enough to lead a decent life. Why I was having a sense of satisfaction? Was that because of a kind of guilt, not in self-explanatory domain? A coin donated. A proud feel of being a donor, subtle, thin covered my ‘self’. Self-satisfaction gripped me. A sense of playing a role in partially reducing his misery touched me. It was as if I found the solution, though limited to me, to his poverty.

       Came my turn, got my tickets and left for backward journey out of the station. Happy at getting the reservation, satisfied with myself for being a donor, a philanthropist of sort and above all with divine fulfillment I was walking back. I just looked to the left side casually. I saw the coin going up, that miserable boy, whom I gave a coin, was at it, happily tossing it up, running with alacrity to join a group of young boys aged 7-8 gambling near a pile of garbage. Shock, disappointment, frustration killed my donor’s contentment. That simple toss tossed up the way I thought about begging children and compelled me to search for better options to address to their yet undefeated misery.