Homecoming??????

I have always enjoyed travelling – the thrill of new adventures, the uniqueness of new places, the splendor of big cities and the serene beauty of small towns. Every trip has something to teach about people, places, history or culture. I’m always prepared to be amazed on a trip to a new place.

Little did I know that I would learn more before this particular trip began, than any other place could teach me. I was prepared for a long bus ride. I had my iPod charged and book easily accessible. I got my ticket and climbed into my bus. I checked the seat number on my ticket and pushed through the crowd.

A young man sat on my seat. He wore nothing but a pair of torn, tattered and dirty shorts. They might have been brown trousers at some point of time in the past. He was rubbing his dirty hands together nervously. His fingernails were longish and stuffed with muck. His toes were crinkled up. His hair was unkempt and his face scruffy. His eyes were yellow and his lips chapped. Once in a while he scratched his face and looked here and there, seeming to be quite confused.

He was an urchin. I was sure he could not afford a bus ticket. I must confess however, I felt a strange discomfort in confronting him about my seat. I decided to wait for the conductor to board the bus. I arranged my luggage and stood there examining this man.

He didn’t seem to notice me standing there. He only looked scared and confused. He was in his late twenties I decided. His ribs pushed through his skin. How long he must have gone without food I wondered. I felt sympathy for this man. He blinked very frequently.

“Is there a problem?” a young stout man asked me.

“No” I replied briefly. I was amazed at my protective feeling towards this helpless looking man.

“Is this guy in your seat?” he asked.

Before I could reply, the conductor had walked up to where I was standing. There was a bit of a crowd and commotion. Without saying a word, the conductor pulled the man on my seat up and pushed him towards the exit door.

“Don’t you dare get on my bus again” he bellowed.

“I want to go home” the beggar man cried. “Please take me home.”

He sounded like a little child. The sound made me turn to look at his face. His dirty face was stained with tears. As he wiped his tears with the back of his hand, his face became muddy. He was now howling like a child. He didn’t seem like he was psychologically stable.

No. He was a lost child. He had a home, a family, but no way of finding them. He got on buses hoping they would take him to his home.

The conductor pushed him off the bus and asked me to take my seat as the bus took off. I took off on the bus but my heart and mind seemed to have been left behind, with that man.

Who was he? Where was he from? Where was this home he spoke about?

The conductor animatedly informed me that this man was a beggar. No one knew who he was or where he had come from. He cried when he felt hungry. Passersby gave him food or money out of pity. That is how he survived. He wandered around in the bus stand and climbed into any bus that was not being overlooked and took a seat. He had to be thrown out of buses every day. He would cry each time asking to be taken home.

“It’s an everyday routine madam. You don’t bother.” He told me.

But I could not help but bother. How scared he must be. How lonely. What would I have done if I was lost? If I did not remember the way back home! The thought created a lump in my throat.

He might be ‘just a beggar’ to these people at the bus stand troubled by his intrusion in their buses. He may be a pitiable, hungry urchin to passersby, but somewhere there was a family who still hoped one day he would come back. A father waiting to see his son sleep peacefully at night. A mother wishing to hug her son and stroke his hair while he laid his head on her lap. Siblings maybe, who had grown up with him, seen him in a clean ironed shirt and trousers, washed and parted hair. People who knew who he was. Who had seen him at his best. As he laughed, cracked jokes, discussed issues. I imagined their plight when they found him missing. How long and far they must have searched for their beloved. Were they still searching? Had they given up? Would they ever give up? Would they ever be reunited? Was there a happy ending to this story?

I shoved my ear phones into my ears and increased the volume of my iPod to maximum, trying to overshadow these thoughts with cheerful music.

There was nothing I could do I realized. This was fate. I called my parents instead and told them I loved them. I may not have been strong enough to do anything for this man, but he had taught me a lesson, made me realize what HOME meant. What sanity meant…..