Blindfold

I have lived in this apartment for about a month now, and I fail to understand why this happens every day.

A boy from the slum, really young, about six or seven years old, walks along the path joining the slum and the main road. He stumbles once in a while as the rocky path, hampers his way.The young boy, in his worn out clothes, sits down on a broken old metal bench across the road, with his little toy. He looks around; at people and the cars go by with so much intent. His eyes look curious and hungry as though he is yearning for something or someone.

I, working for a company that allows me to work from home, often sit by the window and look outside and dive deep into my thoughts. On one of these mornings, I decided to meet and talk with the boy. I walked across the road and found the boy sitting on the same bench.

“Hello. What is your name?” I ask.

He looks up at me, but does not reply. I have a feeling he is a bit scared so I decide to buy him a chocolate and then try to talk to him. I grab a chocolate from the nearest store and sit down next to him.

“Do you like this chocolate? I have bought it for you.” I say.

This time he looks up at me and then at the chocolate. He hesitates a bit and then very timidly and slowly takes the chocolate.

“What is your name? Do you live here?” I try again.

He looks up with more comfort in his eyes than before.

“Aarav.”

“Hello Aarav. You live here? Why do you come here every morning?”

“Yes. Because every day in the morning when I ask my father where my mother is, he says she will come home soon. But she hasn’t come home yet. I wait here every day for her.”

I am quite confused hearing the child’s answer, but decide to not ask him anymore questions. I smile at the child’s innocence, as he rips open the chocolate with excitement. 

I began walking back to cross the road and head back home, when he suddenly turned and started walking back into the slum. He was probably heading home. I decided to follow him, maybe I could help him?

I followed him, watching him as he turned several times. Many kids were running around here and there. Some mothers were walking around, carrying their babies in one hand and utensils in another. It was heavily populated with people all around. We finally reached, what seemed to be his house, as he kept his toy on the porch outside and ran in. Within a short span of time, he came out with a utensil in his hand and started walking the other way.

A man walked out of his house. The stark resemblance of the boy and the man made me realize that the man was his father. I took this as an opportunity to go speak to his father.

“Excuse me Sir!”

He turned to look at where the sound was coming from.

“Are you the boy’s father? He just ran out of your house.” I pointed at the little house with the metal roofing.

“Yes. Why? What happened?” He asked. He looked at me suspiciously.

“Well I have been observing him for about a month. I live across the main road, in the apartment. He comes out near the main road and sits on that broken metal bench everyday in the morning for about an hour. I asked him and he said he was waiting for his mother. Why is that so?”

His face suddenly turns sad and looks down. He sits down on the porch and heaves a heavy sigh.

“His mom passed away. I haven’t told my son yet. He is still so young; I don’t know how to tell him. He was always very attached to his mother.” 

“Oh! I am very sorry.”

I was rather shocked... and a little angry too. The little boy, was being hidden from the truth. He

probably still believes his mother was going to come back. How would he feel when he realizes he

was being hidden from the truth? How would the innocent boy feel when he realizes that all the

wait and hope of his mother coming back to him was fake? A blindfold?

I turned and started walking home. I felt pained. I realized that being hidden from the truth can indeed be really painful.