Skip to main content

The Chutki Girl

I don't know whether I would ever write an autobiography or not. My business mind reminding me always, a hard core fact that very few people would be interested in it and those probably already would know all about my life. Or, at least whatever I want to tell of it.

But their is one incident, carved in my memory that I would always find important to include in any book about myself. Here it goes.

Few years ago, on a breezy night, I had gone for a walk with a friend. He wanted a cigarette for himself and I decided to get a meetha paan for myself from the same place. So, while we were about to approach the Pan Shop, a girl comes in front of us, begging for money. Not interested in encouraging begging on the streets, we shooed her away. The girl in question, I still recall was about 3 or 4 feet in height, and I don't remember her face, hence I cannot estimate her age. Nevertheless, we can say that she was a kid.

At the shop, as we were ordering the stuff we needed, this girl appeared again. This time, beckoning the pan wala, for a packet of chutki. Now, for those who have never heard about chutki, it is a mouth freshener cum pan masala which many believe contains gutkha (tobacco) as well. I have never had it, hence my idea about it is not clear. Still, when we were kids, it was not considered to be a good thing for children and you can google for more info on that.

Coming back to the main story, me and my friend were bit amused in a sarcastic fashion as to is this why children beg money from us? To have chutki? And that too begging late nights for a packet of chutki? The pan wala told us that the girl was a regular customer of his, and he could not refuse her. She gave him the money, which probably she had gotten from another of the pan wala's customers. Now, I have traveled a lot, by God's grace, and am generally numb to suffering of people. Seen a lot, enough to numb your senses to anyone's plight. Hence we moved on, without giving another thought to the matter.

On our way back, we come across this girl again. This time, she is with a boy, definitely younger to her. Both are sharing the packet of chutki. Me and my friend pass through, discussing how such people would never work hard to make a day's living than to beg and eat such stuff.

Circa, 2010 and I still at times, have recurring memories of that night.
What would have happened to that girl in this big wide World?
Was chutki her dinner that night? Possibly, she had nothing else to eat and chutki was the cheapest alternative available.
How many more such girls would be their across India, begging at nights?

Such are the questions, that at times, just pop up into my mind, while driving or gardening or walking. I brush them aside, such are the ways of life I tell myself and move on with my schedule and routine.

Comments

tamanna said…
have heard the story before, though i wonder what wd happen if all of us become numb:-<
karishma said…
hey...a nice write...but..I suggest stop brushing aside ur thoughts & do smthng abt it...
Esha Dogra said…
Well written and I wonder how chuṭki is necessary to satisfy their hunger.

Also read

Cutting people off isn’t strength—It is a trauma response

Your ability to cut people off and self-isolate is not a skill you should be proud of—It is a trauma response Cutting people off and self-isolating may feel like a protective shield, but it is often rooted in unresolved or unhealed trauma and an inability to depend on others. While these behaviors seem like self-preservation, they end up reinforcing isolation and blocking meaningful connections. Confronting these patterns, seeking therapy, and nurturing supportive relationships can help break this unhealthy cycle. Plus, a simple act like planting a jasmine plant can symbolise the start of your journey towards emotional healing. Why do we cut people off and isolate? If you’re someone who prides themselves on “cutting people off” or keeping a tight circle, you might believe it’s a skill—a way to protect yourself from betrayal, hurt, or unnecessary drama. I get it. I’ve been there, too. But here’s the thing: this ability to isolate yourself is not as empowering as it may seem. In fact, i...

Trail of Mohammad Ajmal Amir Kasab – A joke!

Who do you trial? Who does this? What is this all about? Is this playing with justice or is it just a mockery of the whole thing? Well, there are lots of questions and I find very less of answers to all these. Mohammad Ajmal Amir Kasab is the only survivor from the pack of Pakistani terrorists who attacked Mumbai on November 26, 2008 (better known as 26/11). He was captured while he was on a rampage killing scores of people and injuring hundreds, on that dreadful night in Mumbai. There was a lot of fuss in the last few months about him being a Pakistani or his age to be prosecuted in an adult court or with his captivity. Recently, the long awaited trial started and everyone is waiting to see what the court will decide on his fate. Ridiculous! What is there to decide? Hang him!! Simple… Well, I do not want to hang him without getting all the information from him and only after proving that the attackers were all from Pakistan and the whole incident was built up by the Pakistani Army, Go...

A tale of 1 country: Brothers in arms

I stand at my balcony and watch the unfortunate (no not unfortunate) events unfold 2 floors down. Dadi (grandmother) has fallen to the ground and is crying, my mother has a face of steel, its frozen into a blank stare; I know this state, I have seen it before, she is controlling herself showing a brave and proud wife to the world. She is helping dadi. Uncle keeps pointing past the gate and is shouting something at dada (grandfather). Dada has just locked the gate and is walking back to the house. Past the gate I can see a group of people all clad in white, surrounding something lying on the ground covered with a white cloth. My governess Shobhadi stands next to me holding me, afraid that I'll run downstairs into the scene unfolding. She and and the servants have been given strict orders that I can not be allowed downstairs. Dada thinks I do not understand what is happening, he thinks I cannot comprehend what is going on, but I do. The year is 19...