A Hitchhiker's Guide to his Galaxy.

I normally don't let random people on my bike, solely because the media has made such cataclysmic impacts on my paranoia and led me to believe that every hitchhiker is either after my blood or my wallet, predominantly the former as a threat for the latter. Yet, there was this shabby young urchin on the road, with his tiny little thumb jutting out as he longingly scanned the roads for a hitch. I never quite would understand why I stopped to pick him, but I'm glad I did, or I would have missed one of the most transcendental experiences of my life.

The boy saw my bike slow down and his face lit up like a torch, and he hopped on with glee. By the time he had thanked me for what I should approximate as the eighth time, I realized that his naked feet wouldn't even reach my footrest. Intolerably conversant that I am, I struck a conversation. The boy said his name was Satish. He was fifteen he said, but looking at his height, I'd swear that three feet four inches tops. He said 'I Should have been in ninth standard anna.' And when he said 'should', unless my rear-view mirror was deceiving me, I bet I saw his face shrink to the size of a hazelnut. He had hands that were unusually dark and bare with clear signs of cuts and burns. I asked him where he worked. He said he worked at a welding shop, eight hours a day at forty rupees a shift.

He beamed with pride and said that his brother was in the eleventh standard in a local corporation school and that he had chosen to work so that atleast his elder brother could go to school. 'I will also get back to education soon anna' he said, but my eyes were already moist. His mom was sick and couldn't work and his dad refuses to work, only taking rare shifts for a penny or two. He travels all the way from the middle of the ECR to R.A. Puram everyday so he could earn his forty bucks. He said he spared ten rupees a day for his bus and saved the rest for home. Unfortunately for him, his master had injured himself that day while welding and had called in sick. This little chap had worked alone all day, but had earned only four rupees. The closest stop from where he could get a four rupee ticket to his house was Adyar Depot, which is why he was frantically trying to hitch a ride, he said.

His day had been bad, and he had to forego his daily routine of tea and biscuits at Ravi Anna's stall for lack of funds. He said everything with the same stony face, with not a hint of pain or anguish while relating his agonizing tale. But my face was compromising generously for that absence. Life had come hit me full in the face and I was reeling in shock, trying to brace myself from the impact. I dropped him off at Adyar Depot and stuffed a twenty rupee note between his hands. I think he wanted to say a thanks but he couldn't. He mustered half a smile and it quickly faded.But I understood. And I smiled.