I usually stay in the second row at any traffic signal. Never thought why, but I guess it gives me a better view of people waiting before the zebra lines, people scurrying off on it, the policeman viewing the traffic in his own way, and the other vehicles moving on the green signal for them. There are different kinds of traffic signals in India. Some of them are manned, some of them unmanned. Some with timers counting down. Others without them. But these places are an amazing center of activity for people selling trifle items such as sunglasses, window shades, ear buds, hankies and so on. You can find a number of beggars as well, in addition to people who clean your vehicle windows or the front glass, without invitation, and then start asking for change money. There is a recent Bollywood movie named Traffic Signal, which showcases the lives of many of these people, some of whom earn huge sums of money from begging.
It read 63 seconds when I stopped my bike at the traffic signal. Count-down on. There was an old Maruti 800 in front of me. I found her trying to sell ear buds to the passenger inside. She must be twelve odd years. And she pleaded that she needs some money. The window shades were rolled down and someone in dark glasses smiled at her. She got a KitKat bar. The girl shrieked with joy on getting the chocolate. It is rare for her to get one. And waving her hand high in the air, she called someone else, I presume, her younger sister.
These people are not professional beggars. Elderly touts force them, many time their own parents, to beg. You’ll often find a lady with a sleeping infant in her arms, trying to show that she desperately needs money to feed her child. In many cases, these infants are drugged to sleep through the chaos of the traffic signal and are available for ‘rent’ for something like Rupees Fifty a shift. A shift typically is about six hours for them. If you observe, the kid never grows in age, even after you come to the same signal after a year or more.
The girls jumped around with joy but the elder one made it clear that she is not going to share her KitKat with anyone. The younger, may be around five years of age, looked with imploring eyes. She walked towards the Maruti, hesitatingly. She didn’t have any ear-buds with her. She didn’t want to beg, it seemed. After a few wavering steps, she thought she can do without a chocolate bar and may be her chance would be some other time. The footsteps turned back. I heard a loud shout immediately, admonishing her for not doing her job of begging. I turned around. A shabbily dressed lady with an infant in her arms. She asked her to go and ask for her chocolate. The child followed her orders and walked like a cute robot. The window shade rolled down again and the person behind the dark glasses had no more chocolates to give her.
A stream of tears instantly rolled from her eyes but she kept quiet. A sudden jolt and she crossed the road among the stationary vehicles.
The timer counted zero, signal became orange, and then green. The traffic moved on.
