This post was written on the other blog for the April A to Z Blogging Challenge 2015. Today, I share with you letter R for Roses.
R for Roses
I take a deep breath, gently stroking the beautiful roses neatly arranged on the shop bordering the pavement. I take a deep breath as the perfume run down my nostril. Beautiful red roses. It echoes love and romance. I sink my hand inside my pocket. Not a rupee. No rose for a poor man. It’s just 5 bucks and can’t find the money to buy the red rose. She is sitting inside the coffee shop, busy on the phone and an angelic smile adding spark on her face. It;s my last chance and she would be gone forever.
I want to buy a single piece of the red rose, neatly arranged on the table in the shop on the pavement. “Bhaiya,” I ask. “How much you sell in a day?”, trying to distract his attention. I want to steal one rose and dash across the cafe.
He snugs me and replies rudely, “Why do you ask? You’ve been standing here for the past one hour, holding the roses and bringing them close to your nose. You are distracting my customers. Please go away. I am a poor man. I have a wretched life, gotta feed three children and the new born baby. Roses are the reason for my living.”
I make an effort to sympathize with the old man, dressed in trousers and crumpled white shirt. I cursed myself, ‘I was conspiring to rob the poor man of his living.’ I was about to commit a big sin. I uttered a timid sorry and walk down the road.
I stand like a homeless in front of the cafe, gaze fixed on the beautiful girl playing with her hair and head decked on her cellphone. It’s the last chance and not happening. I move away and lit the only fag remaining inside the back pocket. Forget it! I tell myself and plodded my tiring feet, away from the bustling road when I felt a tiny, scrawny hand on my shirt. “Bhaiya! she calls,! I turned around to see a little girl, tired and breathing profusely as she put two red rose in my hand. I bend on my feet and gently ask, “Is it for me?” What’s your age?”
She smiles and her tired eyes filled with optimism tells, “It’s my Baba’s shop. He sells flowers. I saw you holding our red roses and eyeing madam sitting in the cafe. Sorry, Baba was rude to you. We are poor people and Baba is very tired. You see he is angry. But, I sneaked the roses for you.”
“Friends,” she asked.
Tears rolled down my cheek. I hugged my young friend for her kindness. “I need to run towards the shop or else Baba will look for us. We must go to the hospital to see Mom and our baby.”
I saw my little friend running on her tiny, naked feet. “Oye!” someone calls for me. The girl inside the cafe tells, “Thanks for the rose and the card saying ‘Friends,” she smiles. She shook my hand. I tell her about my little friend. In the evening, we take a walk to the flower shop and gently place one rose which we bought with a note, “Stay blessed. Congratulations for the baby.” My young friend smiles to me and waves cheerfully every time I see her. Once I brought chocolates for her which she grabbed with both hands, “Thank you, sweet Bhaiya.”