Of a smaller world

The prayers slipping through my lips were reluctantly hushed by the eyes of my mind gazing back at the cold young rickshaw boy who seemed to me like the flickering flame of the only diya dancing in the wind striking its orange intensity “I want to be a computer expert”. Like those dreams that leave their flavor in our thoughts of hope and bliss and their taste accentuates our senses to a certain madness. I stood there amid all the hustle of the traffic passing by, my hands cupping the air filled with the piercing smell of burnt wick. Shadows of green flags halting my vision from keeping still, so I shut my eyes and pretended to myself that I was only praying.
I stood there in silence as the glow of the stark lights made me tighten my eyelids that were now wet with the tears I did not know had invaded my eyes. Those glimmering invaders started rolling down my cheek with the lost feeling of remorse.

"To my utter surprise I wasn’t crying on the  petty issues that troubled me rather my utter embarrassment; of being so heavy on my demands to be granted, was alone responsible for the tears streaking my cheeks."

The cold air around me sprayed the scent of scattered petals of decaying roses with strokes of wind filling my nostrils with the salted moist fragrance contaminated with time.

The young rickshaw boy made no signs of a rush that gave me a sense of comfort and I lingered my pretense.
I was not in control of my trembling lips that were only hushing words that did not make any sense to me. I felt dizzy for a moment when the cold rushed into my windpipe and started fogging the glass of my lungs. I concluded my prayer with an Amen and walked back in the rickshaw. I was still amused at how the boy whose name was still unknown to me had responded with such principled grace to the dutiful police men standing at the check post. Here in my city, that is quite a usual sight that encumbers as the elite find it insulting to be checked for security and tend to delve into an uncanny argument. As he saw me walking back he geared the rickshaw and opened the door for me. I was taken aback as He inquired about the name of the shrine using the salutation of “madam” in a much-fashioned yet genuine way. I could not resist to inquire the young boy so I started my rapid fire in an under toned manner so that he did not take me for a charity worker.

His accent was crisp as he spoke in Urdu with the faintest of tinge of English. To my relief he wasn’t using the back view mirrors to look at me while answering my queries as I was put ill at ease by other Rickshaw drivers who stare back through the mirrors to satisfy their boredom by permeating in your skin through their imploring eyes. I was also guiding him to choose the right road that lead to my place as he had earlier told me he has been in Multan for a day or two only and wasn’t familiar with the roads and places. I told him to go straight and follow the streetlights and he did so. He told me he was from Bahawalpur and this was his first experience of being away from home and with a rickshaw. He had passed his Matric and due to strong inclination towards Computers, he had later done a diploma under the supervision of his favorite teacher. His father never supported him, as he wanted him to join the forces, which to his wish he had been working hard to join and had later left because of not finding any compassion for it.

This was four years back when he took a stoic stand for his future of becoming a “computer expert” as he eloquently and zestfully put it. His father has estranged him ever since and he was all to support himself with.

He had been teaching at the same place during evenings from where he was doing his diploma in computers. To his dismay, this earning hand disjointed when his mentor who ran that institute shifted abroad. He stiffened his back and with a self-assured air told me that nothing could break his passion for computers. He worked at a construction site in the morning and drove a rickshaw in the evening to collect enough money to rent a room and buy a computer for him. I was surprised with the answers he had to every question that I threw at him and with the surety he delivered them made me envious of his lucid vision with which he saw his dreams shaping up as realities.
I wanted to hide the expression of dissuasion in my tone when I asked him why he chose a diploma. To which he implored that he was not left with any other choice as his father abandoned him. I told him to turn left as we neared to my colony. He did not have any permanent residence for himself. At 1 am Zonaib, as he told me on my asking him of his name, he went to any hotel and after having a cup of tea made any bench his bed until the next day.

"There was no shame in his speech; he knew his path lead through carrying bricks and driving rickshaw to earn a life for his dreams."

I found myself lost for words and ways to offer help or assistance. I did not want to shatter the confidence of his words by my presentation of ways to move forward. Shaken from the black holes of vague ideas racing and boggling my mind, I asked Zonaib to take a U-turn and drop me off at the opposite gate.
I told him it was the limit of cantt area and the bargain passengers should not fool him. The gas costs expensive during the days it is not available and that is from Monday morning to Wednesday evening. His compliant conduct made me give him an extra amount quite contrary to how I cut a deal out of those who are detrimental and adamant of their say rather whine of their poverty.

Zonaib thanked me and asked the way back.