The Mango Candy

I sat by the window, resting my head against the rusty bars of a late-evening local. “Maa, I am going to give the blue band to Eisha and the yellow one to Sid”, the little boy sitting in front of me exclaimed as he held out two friendship bands. Smiling, his mother asked him to keep it in his bag. The happiness on the boy’s face took me back to my childhood in Ballia, Uttar Pradesh.   Manu and I were neighbors. We lived on the same street and attended the same school till the age of five. He was my best friend. We would scurry through the mustard fields on summer afternoons, taking dips in the neighborhood pond.
Every time we fought or on days when my thoughts would be soaked in sadness, Manu would buy me a mango candy , only to see a smile inch across my face. Bright yellow candy , gingerly wrapped in an orange paper with red dots. ” Now show me how you smile, Guddi?”, he’d lovingly say. This remained the most poignant memory of our friendship. One winter night, Manu and his family left our small town all of a sudden. According to Maa, his father suffered losses in his business. Strangely, no one in Ballia knew about their whereabouts. That day, my childhood came crashing down.
Tears welled up in my eyes. Twenty-four years later, his wheatish complexion and deep brown eyes remained vividly etched in my mind. Nursing a recently broken heart and grappling with the paucity of friends in the city, I pined to taste the innocence and love that laced my childhood friendship.Unable to stop the tears of pain and loneliness from flowing , I quickly pulled out a handkerchief. The train slowly chugged into the station. The little boy and his mother got off. The cacophony gently faded away as the train gently rolled out of the station. Suddenly, my thoughts of despair were broken by repeated claps and the clinking of glass bangles. Looking up, I immediately reached out for my purse, searching for a few coins. “Didi, are you crying?”, a heavy voice asked me. I continued to rummage through my purse. “You can talk to me. Tell me about your problems if that shall make you feel lighter”, she plonked herself on the empty seat beside me. Surprised at the gesture, I reluctantly looked up. Beneath layers of arduously applied powder, her face wore a look of empathy. Set in the middle of dark, kohl-rimmed lids, her eyes shone with genuine concern. “How do you believe in love, when all that you once had is lost. Where do you go in search of it?”, I blurted out, running my fingers against my tear-laden eyes. “You will find it exactly where you decide to look for it”, she replied. Noticing the puzzled expression on my face, she continued to explain. “I came to this city as a twelve-year old boy. I left my home after my father decided to disown me.My family no longer wanted me. I boarded a train at Mathura Station, that brought me to Mumbai. With no acquaintance in the city, I lived on the streets with scraps of tarpaulin over my head and begged for a living. Till one day, I encountered a group of ‘Hijras’ outside the station. On learning that I was of their ilk, they took me along. In them, I found the love that binds a family . The love, I had just lost. I started donning salwar-suits and wearing make-up. For a few years, I helplessly watched my innocence bleed in the bed of strangers as I struggled to make ends meet. Dancing at weddings and birth ceremonies, I hoped to find love and acceptance in the eyes of the people who watched us”. Numb; I could feel her pain scraping against the walls of my heart. “In spite of all that you have gone through, you have such a pleasant smile. That is astonishing and inspiring at the same time”, I said. ” I find a reason, Didi. I beg on the train because no one will give me a job. Even while many mock, a few smile back at me. I feel happy when women in the morning local compliment me on my saree or earrings. I feel loved. In my free time, I teach a few street children”, she smiled. “Teach?”, I asked surprised. ” The little education I received while in school, I share it with these children. In their eyes, I find a deep sense of gratitude and love”.
‘Next station, Malad… She quickly got up adjusting her dupatta. “Didi, I hope you understand what I am trying to say… You can find love in the smallest of things. You must believe you can. Put the blinders on when hate and negativity is thrown your way. Learn to let love filter in. Scraps of broken bonds can be tethered together only with love. Pieces of a broken heart can be cemented only by love she smiled. With gratitude in my heart, I whispered a ‘thank you’. Even before I could ask her name, she hurried towards the door. A second later, she turned around. Scurrying through the contents of her purse, she pulled out a mango candy. “This is for you, Didi. A little sweet always makes one feel better. Please smile now”. Bright yellow candy, gingerly wrapped in an orange paper with red dots.
I sat there, numb and speechless…