Handful of Kindness: A Short Story | Thursday Tale No. 15
Handful of Kindness
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| Photograph by Mercy Rebonica. Modified using ChatGPT. |
“You should try hand modelling!”
“Okay, madam!” Inba playfully agreed, smiling at the hype she received from the wonderful people around her.
“By the way, close your eyes and hold out your wrist.”
Inba, still smiling, closed her eyes and held her hand out. She heard Elaine struggle to pull out something from her jeans pocket. She heard her unwrap some plastic. She felt her firm touch wrap something light and icy around her wrist, fiddling around her wrist for a brief moment. She felt it send a tickle up her left arm.
“Open your eyes now,” commanded Elaine. Inba opened her eyes. She saw a delicate golden bracelet embedded with a rose quartz run around her wrist.
“Oh! My, my, Elaine!… you did not have to do this…”
“You also did not have to do that, but you did it anyway, didn’t you?”
“Well, it’s not the same… anyone could have done that. And I did it because I wanted to. Don’t make it awkward, please!”
“No, no! That’s not what I meant it to be,” clarified Elaine. “It’s just my way of saying ‘thank you’. Actually, no! Let me put it this way… First of all, although anyone could have done it, not many were willing to. And second, I gave this to you because I wanted to, okay!” protested Elaine.
“There is no way I can win you in a dialogue, can I?” chuckled Inba.
“Anyway, thank you very much for this pretty token of love,” appreciated Inba as she looked at the beautiful bracelet and the affinity behind it.
Inba had beautiful hands. Smooth, soft, nimble, with straight, long fingers and pink nails that grew neat and glossy. Her hands seemed naturally moisturised, so much so that even after she did a sinkful of dishes, they looked manicured. Her hands, after her ever-glowing smile, were the first feature people noticed about her. But Inba seldom noticed. Even when someone pointed it out to her, she would only smile and rarely take a moment to scrutinize what others seemed to notice and what she seemed to miss.
Because of her indifference towards her hands, the only piece of ornament that accentuated them was a nelivu—a Tamil-style ring—which ran around her right ring finger in two decorous curves. Even that, like the bracelet, was a present.
Inba hardly ever received anything, except when someone forcefully handed her something. She was what Elaine, in her East Indian accent, called “a dayalu.” She gave, gave, and gave. And somehow, she always had more to give, as if there was an everlasting fountain of fortune within her. If she did not give materially, she gave through service. If not through service, then through spirituality. But she was ever-giving.
Even then, after receiving the bracelet, Inba set off to volunteer at the weekly beach clean-up drive. It amused Elaine how she could give perpetually without ever receiving.
“Who says I do not receive anything from anyone? In your company, I receive your presence. I receive humanity when the kaki on the ground floor reciprocate my smile. These are all forms of receiving too. Moreover, I am just returning what I have received throughout my life from so many blessed people. Take maushi, periyappa, the girl who offered me an umbrella that sunny day, the rickshaw driver who let me off without paying because I lost my purse, and the policeman who helped me get a cab when I was running late and no cab would give me a ride…”
Elaine personally found little sense in what Inba was saying, but she let her be what she was, because she believed that it was people like her who caused abundant rain.
Elaine and Inba had met through one such giving.
Five years ago, on a late morning in early November, Elaine had walked hurriedly, looking for the classroom where her viva would be held. She was late, underprepared, and nervous. The external examiner, who was leaving for a short break, had gestured to her to wait in the adjacent room until she returned. Her nervousness, which was now prolonged by a few more minutes, had sent ticks down her spine. Her hands were sweating.
Elaine walked into the class and found Inba—the brilliant girl of her batch—sitting on the forebench with a deskful of papers and stationery. She had looked up from her work, watched Elaine settle on one of the seats on the parallel row, smiled, and returned to work.
As Elaine waited, she became overwhelmed with anxiety and had decided to leave without giving the viva when Inba had suddenly asked, “You’re okay?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Viva, is it?” she had asked.
“Yeah!”
“Feeling nervous?”
“Yes, a crazy lot. I think I’m going to fail. I am going to lose a year. I just can’t.”
“Ohh, yeah! I get it. It must be very scary.”
“It is!!!”
“…I know it is quite unsolicited, but would you like something that could calm your nerves?” entreated Inba.
“Sure, anything that helps me feel fine works.”
“Okay… Sit straight… close your eyes… Now, imagine you are holding a flower to your nose.”
“Done.”
“Sniff it in, deeply…”
Elaine inhaled deeply.
“Now, imagine a candle in front of you.”
Elaine became lost in the visualisation of the candle.
“Slowly, blow it out.”
Elaine exhaled strongly.
“…Sniff the flower… blow out the candle… sniff the flower… blow out the candle...”
Slowly, Elaine’s nerves settled with the rhythm.
“Now gently open your eyes.”
Elaine felt a strange sense of serenity.
“How do you feel? I don’t know if it makes you feel any better, but it generally works for me.”
“I assure you, it helped a good deal! In fact, it worked really well.”
Inba smiled with contentment.
“Thank you very much. I feel much better. And yeah, please continue. I won’t hold you back from your work anymore.”
Elaine waited for a little longer before the examiner returned. Inba wished her luck, and Elaine left for her viva.
The viva went well.
It was during the viva, when she was responding from a state of calmness, that Elaine realised that beyond her anxiety, she knew a great deal about the subject. So, as soon as the viva was over, she had intended to express her gratitude to Inba, but she was nowhere to be found. It was only during their Valedictory Day that Elaine was able to finally and formally offer her gratitude to Inba. Ever since then, they have been friends. Ever since then, Elaine vowed to guard Inba and her precious heart.
To Elaine, Inba was a strange being, stranger than anyone their age. Inba was quite unlike her: she woke up before sunrise every day, she enjoyed eating veggies and leaves, she was always presentable, she studied hard, worked diligently, greeted everyone she met, returned every smile, and she sat by herself without needing any distraction. She gave generously, behaved responsibly, and forgave readily.
Elaine always wondered how they both passed the same street at the same time, and she would see lousy people, and Inba would see beings who needed hugs, smiles, company over a warm cup of coffee, a hand in holding a baby as they fixed the stroller, a dog that needed water, a bird that needed three pecks of grain, a cat that needed a head rub… She could almost tell who wanted a nod, a smile, a handshake, or a hug. Elaine could never do half of that. It was not that she did not have the ability, but it was her outlook towards life. For Elaine, suffering was inevitable; life was just a fleeting moment—once here, then gone forever.
At the beach that day, as the bracelet hung gently around her wrist, she picked up discarded soda cans, wrappers, polythene bags, slippers, scarves, hats, mats, and a lot more. The dangling bracelet drew her attention toward her hand from time to time in between tasks. During each such glance, she gradually noticed how she truly had fine hands. She realised that despite the flaky salt deposits left on her palms by the sand, they still glimmered under the sun. She washed her hands and watched the bracelet loops suck in a few drops of water. As she extended her hands in handshakes, she felt the water droplets moisturise her quickly drying hand around the wrist.
On her way from the beach to the railway station, as she offered her hands to an old woman struggling to board the train, she saw how the bracelet held her tightly, yet gently. As she helped a man lift his suitcase up three flights of the foot-over bridge, she saw how it glowed in the late afternoon sun. She saw it tinkle as she high-fived an infant who was two moments away from wailing in the packed train. As she offered her seat to a middle-aged woman who seemed uncomfortable with her knees, she saw it slip toward the elbow when she held the grab bar of the train.
That evening, as she arranged the luggage of Martha under the train seat, she realised how the bracelet elevated the nimble beauty of her hands. Martha was Inba’s colleague, who was travelling to her hometown from Dadar. She had requested last-minute help, and Inba had willingly obliged.
“Lovely bracelet! They look too good on you,” observed Martha.
“Thank you. My roommate Elaine gifted it to me.”
“That’s cool.” “Anyways…” said Inba, as she handed her a bag of food—tamarind rice, boiled eggs, a few chapatis with chole, and some snacks—cooked and packed neatly for Martha’s journey.
“Thank you very much. I owe you big time,” expressed Martha with overwhelming gratitude, “I’ll treat you to lunch when I’m back.”
“Sure!” Inba smiled.
“It’s already quarter to 10:00. I insist you go. I will manage from here. I don’t want you to be any later than this. And thank you once again, Inba. This means a lot. I will never forget this help.”
“No worries. Okay then, have a safe journey,” resigned Inba, as she got off the halted train, which was to take off at 10:00 p.m.
When she alighted the train, she couldn’t help but notice once again how her hand, with the sturdy nelivu and the delicate bracelet, with her naturally pink nails, rested beautifully on the strap of her sling bag. Smiling at her observation, she walked past towards and on the foot-over bridge. As she climbed a few steps up, her mind’s eye flashed the picture of an old man she had just crossed.
He was sitting on the marble bench by the bridge, clinging to a ragged backpack. He was wearing ignoble clothes, with patches of grime. His ankles’ heels were cracked and chipped, and he wore a pair of worn-out sandals. He also had a few patches of poorly washed paint stains on his arms. But above all of these, it was the hesitation in his eyes that made her pause.
Part of her wanted to be home on time for dinner with Elaine, and part of her wanted to ask if he needed any help. From a moment of confusion, she emerged with her usual decision of asking him if he needed any assistance. Perhaps he was new to the city, perhaps he was returning to his hometown for some unfavourable matter, perhaps he was fatigued… she would ask and find out.
She quickly climbed down.
She sat beside the man, asking, “Aapko ye train lena hai kya?”
The man only nodded. But there was a look of gloom in his eyes.
“Aap koi musibat mein ho kya?”
The man nodded his head sideways, but she could clearly tell that he meant otherwise.
“Main aapko train chadne mein madad karun?”
He nodded yes.
She picked up his bag, which was unusually heavy, and saw him struggle to rise. He was lost in some deep thought.
She took his ticket from him, read the travel details, and walked towards S7 with his bag in her hold. He walked a few steps ahead. She watched him board the train and wait for her to give him his bag. His eyes still carried a gloom, which she couldn’t discern. Was it melancholy, or regret, or guilt, she couldn’t tell. But she knew he wasn’t alright.
But she had done all she could, and began placing the bag by his feet on the footboard. As she was about to unclench her hands from the bag’s handle, and as her bracelet slung around her wrist, there went a deafening BOOOM!!!
कीं……………………………..!
For a moment, tinnitus pervaded the surrounding area, which quickly grew into a clamour of screams, wails, and the panic of people running helter-skelter. Soon, the scene was filled with RPFs and sirens.
There were metal scraps, still hot with the impact, scattered everywhere. The platform had lost its crust, revealing the framework and bricks underneath. Luggage carts were burning, and two red shirts of coolie men were charring. A shoe here, a suitcase there, a juice bottle barely holding its original shape, and soot everywhere. In the far distance, people who had dropped off their family and friends were running towards the now disfigured compartments of the train.
Stretchers carried people with bleeding legs, open wounds, and broken arms, tying around quick dressings to stop the bleeding.
About ten feet away from where Inba stood, by a bench that was uprooted, lay a forearm with naturally pink nails, a curvy ring running around its ring finger, and a bracelet with a pink stud covered in ash, holding on to a torn bag strap.
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