KILLER AM I?

                "Seekram ponga anna" I muttered, as I forced the cab door shut.  Once I settled in the seat, I opened the window sill in need of some fresh air. ‘Not the next time, never again’ I reminded myself for the fifth time in the day. It was ten minutes past four in the morning. Just half an hour before it was all warmth around me, curled inside the rug in my cozy bed, hugging my teddy bear and having a sound sleep. My hands had always made involuntary action to switch off the vibrating instrument. I regretted it later as I had to get ready, check my baggage and call for a taxi in a hurry. When I reached my destination in fifteen minutes, I moved through a small crowd of men in red shirts following me and calling out to help me with my luggage. I didn’t need a coolie; after all I had just one bag. While I rushed to the platform in an effort to not to miss the train, I heard the announcement of my train running late by an hour and a half.

                I moved to the platform with disappointment. Waiting for the train so long in the early hours of the day was the last thing I liked to do. I so much missed the coziness of my room. The platform was not very lively except for few people who like me were waiting for their train. None appeared to prefer the rest room, neither did I. I opted for the bench near the coffee bar to the suffocating smell and unclean room.

                The finest organic suspension ever devised, having two virtues, wet and warm-‘coffee’.

“Bitter drink” one of my friends used to always exclaim whenever I relished a cup of coffee. If ‘Sanjana’ sprouts in “Link the word game” then my friends would roar ‘coffee’ without a second thought. I remember reading somewhere “chocolate, men and coffee- some things are better rich”. That morning I couldn’t resist myself helping with a cup of coffee when I saw the thick cream drown in the beverage. The aroma was too strong. I sat in ease on the bench and stirred the coffee admiring the lathery cream on it. I drank it, savoring every sip of it, and another sip, I found my coffee completely drained into my mouth. With disappointment I got up to dispose the cup. In the left dark corner of the seating area stood a penguin, with its beak wide open for me to dump the cup. As I neared I could hear a very soft and mild hiss from behind the bin. Ophidiophobia had crept in me for quite sometime now. I have a very peculiar irritation towards the reptiles. I could feel my heart pump twice the amount of blood than usual. I tried to adjust my power of eyesight with the sparse light available. I did see something, a human, a small boy pale and thin and his ribs engraved on the skin betrayed his poverty. A boy of eight or nine, I guessed, curled himself to the corner trying to hide him from me. I was anxious on the score, what was he scared of?  The demon of selfishness rose to a greater height defeating the empathetic feeling in me. Human nature you see. I didn’t want to get into any trouble, especially during a journey.

                I went back to my seat after buying a newspaper. The front page covered the economical impact of the tsunami on coastal fishing community and fisher folks. Another column was an interview with the tourism minister, appealing to the tourists to return pointing out that most of the tourist infrastructure was undamaged. As I turned the pages my eyes fell on ‘How bollywood makes money!’. I lost track of time reading the paper and the boy was out of my mind too until I was suddenly brought to reality by thundering foot steps. Four men were running all around the platform with one giving instruction on directions to move. I noticed that others were curious like me. I heard one if the women asking the paperwala “what is happening thambi?”.  Like a flash one of the men rushed towards me, I was too alarmed to react and shut my eyes tight unaware of what was to happen next. All I knew was I was gripped with fear. “aaahhhhhhhaaaahhhhhh” and I opened my eyes with a jolt to find myself untouched and safe and saw the man hauling the boy out of the corner. He yelled and cried for help. All stood watching and there were murmurs around. I stood inflexible with blood drained out of my face. He was carried away by the men and him struggling in their arms. The arrival of the train drowned his distant voice. I managed to board the train; none seemed to care for the boy anymore.

                My heart sank with guilt and depression. My conscience pricked “Killer am i?” I asked myself. Killer of the boy’s life, his childhood, his future and of humanness. His cry rang in my ears through out the journey and still it does, years later. I still ask “KILLER AM I?”.