Stock at close....

I landed around 11 pm - Mumbai, the city that never sleeps, was pulsing with that frenetic energy that is peculiar to Mumbai like no place else. Coming out from the airport one encountered the traffic, thankfully not a jam but surely a bit of a treacle, flowing slowly...

Thankfully, the weather was certainly better than Delhi where I'd been earlier - it's not too often that one can speak some kind words about Mumbai's weather, right. So, it was a bit of a relief, temperatures around 25, a mild breeze too. 

And, stopped at a traffic light turning off from the WE Highway to JVLR, holding back a giant yawn, I see her..... bicycles are EXEMPT from observing traffic lights, no? Whether the light's red, green, orange or whatever, if you're on a bicycle you simply breeze through, merrily while lesser mortals on other vehicles idly idle their engines polluting dhartimaa... and so, it must have been a mere few seconds that I saw her.

Seated on the rear - "carrier seat" isn't it? - of a bicycle, a seat that seemed extra wide such that it seemed to mine eyes that surely she must be discomfited sitting astride that... 

I had just held back a big yawn.... and I noticed she didn't. She yawned, too, absolutely undaintily. Totally unconcerned, too tired to bother with the "niceties", she simply yawned. And scratched her head, hair disheveled, sleep staring out of her eyes and face. 

Perhaps seven years, certainly not more than eight. Small, tiny, tired and sleepy, struggling to stay upright on her carrier as her father (I presume) pedaled past the signal and moved on. 

A clutch of rubber balloons, varied colours, happily floating on a small bamboo stick behind her, floating merrily, in pink, purple, bright orange, electric green etc, perhaps nine or ten of them. 

Unsold inventory at the end of a long day, I guess. 

Memories assail me, the joy of holding a gas filled balloon on Marina Beach, Madras, when I was around six. Not an everyday joy, treasured moments when Dad's mood was lighter than the gas in the balloon, not an everyday occurrence that.... my heart would go up, up and up with the balloon, the joy too spontaneous to be captured by mere words..

and, fleetingly, I recall the expression on this little girl's face. No joy, there. Not even an ABSENCE of joy. No unhappiness. Just an achingly sleepy look, all she seemed to want right then, perhaps, was to curl up and sleep.

Those balloons continued to remain visible, dancing merrily, whispering among themselves, as the signal turned green. 

I hope she slept well, that night. I hope her father did not take out the frustrations of an unsold dreams on that wee little kid....