The dust flickered in the thick summer weather and the innocence in the peachy eyes, hardened cheek, and shabby dress followed the wind swirling and ruffling the hair knotted together. She squatted on the ground and the shrilled voice couldn't reach to the people storming in a hurry. The cheap Chinese toys and Indian made handkerchief spread on the newspaper on the stairs. "Five rupees saheb, buy one handkerchief and a toy please please," the child implored.
The eyes darted towards the commuters scampering on the dirty and muddy railway stairs to catch the latest train. Children like her were not allowed to dream yet the eyes bobbed to the colored books spread on a mat by a hawker, sitting inches away from her. A feeble smile surfaced on her face at the sight of the colored crayons. The tiny hands pressed the forehead and wiped the sweat on her cheap flowery dress.
A halo moment struck and she started prancing, doing one, two, three one steps at a time trotting on the stairs, leaving her toys and handkerchiefs unattended. She took steps away from the railway station and wandered towards the chai walla, keenly watching the expert hands fiddling with a huge spoon steering the tea leaves, pouring milk and placing a cloth doubling as a strainer to fill dozens cups with hot beverage. She was perspiring yet craving for a cup of tea, tendered few coins tinkling on the small wooden table. The tea hawker smiled at her, "Pinky! You cannot buy tea with scattered coins.” The tea seller expertly counted the chillar that made almost a rupaiya. "A glass of tea costs five rupees," he was amused and placed the cup of tea on the palm that almost burned her skin. Pinky gulped the tea and a bright smile shone on her face.
Pinky placed her on the cheek on the empty glass to feel the steam and winked at herself. She repeated the exercise twice and thrice, running away with bated breath as if she has committed a crime. The entire toys and handkerchiefs have disappeared. Joy turned into sadness. She was trembling with fear. After all, Baba will whip me now after making me clean all my cheap toys to sell, she thought. Pinky ran to the hawker selling coloring books who rudely shun her off, "I am a troubled man myself and just go away."
Dejected, she slowly walked to the newspaper spread on the floor that bore an empty look and a stone was pressed on them to prevent from flying. She sat down with stream of tears flowing on her cheek, fidgeting with the newspapers when her palm felt something thick. It piqued the curious mind of the child who gently unfolded the white paper that wrapped a bundle, hundred rupees notes was hidden inside with a message, 'Everything sold today." Pinky pranced with seamless joy and cupped her tiny finger to her lip blowing a kiss, like how the sahebs and memsaab do every day in the city.
The child removed a ten rupee note and flung it on the hawker before grabbing a coloring book and pencil as she walked away and fearlessly from the railway bridge.
