That Is All

Have you seen the Taj Mahal? I have. A ‘wonder of the world,’ it stands majestically in Agra, India. Yet, this story is not about the breathtaking beauty of this monument- the pristine white marble sharply contrasted against the brightly coloured jewels on the walls. It is not about the ingenious design of it being earthquake proof. It is not about the symbolism of its 22 fountains- one for every year of construction. This story is about how I will never forget the day I met a little boy.
It was peak winter. Sydney’s weather was nothing in comparison. I shivered in my coat and pulled my beanie down over my ears. We had driven three hours from Delhi, bracing the cold, traffic and boredom in our spacious, heated car to ogle the Taj. We ooh-ed and aah-ed and finished taking the standard, touristy photos. And now, the driver was late.
To my left, I saw a young boy in only red shorts. He had scars across his stomach and you could see every curve of his ribs. He caught me looking. I turned away as our car arrived. As we waited for the traffic to move, I felt a tap against my window. It was the little boy. He was pointing inside the car. His nose was pressed up against the glass. I was confused. I looked to where he was pointing and saw a half empty bottle of Coca-Cola on the middle seat. I looked back at him as he nodded, pointing again. I mouthed, ‘It’s used!’ in Hindi. He folded his hands, begging me for the bottle.
I stepped out of the car, holding the bottle. He asked again. Tourists and other beggars walked past but no one appeared to notice the barefoot little boy asking for a drink. He asked me why I wasn’t giving him the bottle. I enquired if he was cold. He paused then grinned, half his teeth missing, and asked “aren’t you feeling hot?”
I walked over to the nearest stall and in an overwhelming blur of tears, gratefulness for my own life, heartache for his and crumpled rupee notes, I handed the little boy a plastic bag with Coke, packets of chips and whatever money I had in my pocket. He chased me back to the car. I turned around. He looked up at me as if I had handed him the world. He said he would pray that I find a handsome husband. His smile lit up his small frame. I took off my beanie and extended my hand. He laughed as he put the plastic bag down to examine it. He tentatively put it on his head.
Now, a photo of the boy in the red shorts and beanie, sits on my desk in Sydney. My photo at the Taj Mahal? I’m sure it’s on my computer somewhere...