I live on the third floor of an apartment building. I use the lift, all the while thinking I should take the stairs, though that never happens. On this particular Sunday afternoon, I was going to get some stuff to eat from the nearby bakery(there was an exciting cricket match which will require some munchies). As the lift descended to the second floor, there was a boy, not over 4, standing quite close to the lift doors. I thought he wanted to get in, but , he watched me intently and I stared back. Just as the lift doors were closing again, he spat on me. Yes, he SPAT on me. I saw him quickly run off to the right hand side. His spit hit bang on my right shoulder and I felt the wetness go through my T-shirt and touch my arms. I felt anger and sadness (for some reason) fill me as I reached the ground floor. As a woman looked at me curiously, wondering why I wasnt getting off, I asked her to get in and pressed the button that read two. Got off the floor and looked around.. My mind kept on saying 'you have to find him'. I walked towards the right hand side of the lift (the direction where the boy ran off) and suddenly caught a glimpse of him moving towards the stairs and running up. He hadn't seen me. I climbed up behind him and found him standing the exact same way near the lift door and waiting for the next victim. I caught him by the ear (something I have never ever done) and looked down at him. He tried to wriggle out and said in perfect english "I am sorry uncle, I will not do it again". I was not convinced, I wanted to be sure. I caught him by the wrist and asked him to take me to his flat. He was terrified and I could feel his pulse beating so hard against his tiny wrist I had a tight grip on. I asked him if he goes to school, is this the way he behaves there, this is how street kids behave and I haven't had an experience like this even from them. He kept on repeating that he will not do it again and maintained silence when I asked him his flat number. I had a firm grip on his wrist and insisted he take me to his house. His eyes turned red and I expected him to cry. He didn't. I kept on repeating 'take me to your house' and after around 2-3 mins (though it felt much longer, I am sure it wasn't) he said 'fifth floor , flat number 504'. That's when he gave up and he knew this monster of a man was going to bring disgrace to him and his parents and he is going to be grounded for some time. I walked with him to his flat and rang the bell. He strongly shook off my grip and this time, I let go. I asked him "what's your name?", trying to bring in some gentleness to my voice. His face was set in a very angry and determined manner as he mumbled 'Sumit'. He still didn't cry.
His dad opened the door and he ran in to one of the rooms. The dad looked at me and smiled curiously. There was a girl not over 2 years, sitting on the sofa and smiling toothlessly at me. His Dad welcomed me to his house( I then wondered that living in apartments we really dont know many of our own neighbors) and on the drawing room I saw a big family picture that had the little boy along with his little sister happily posing with their parents and the photo next to the family picture was of the “Lady of the house” picture that was garlanded. I was dumbstruck.Sumit’sdad mentioned that she died last year in an accident and the children are missing her a lot.They moved in recently to this apartment to forget the memories attached in the previous house with her.
I looked at the father's face and said "I saw Sumit standing near the lifts and he looked a little upset. I was just worried whether he was lost so thought I will bring him back." He gave me a wide smile and said 'thank you very much' as I stepped out of the house and walked towards the lift again.
This was the moment of truth for me. I have realized that there is a story in every face you see and Sumit’s story was of “I miss my MOM”. The spit wasn’t hurting me anymore…
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