THE QUALIFYING CONTRIBUTION

The election slogans dominated the village's air, enlarged faces of candidates on humongous hoardings walled the roads. Different flags enveloped the gates and streetlights.

The judgement day was soon to come, but the attempts to make the decision in their favour was to begin today. The election campaign, the rally.

Two time winner, MLA.Guptaji eyed towards his hattrick. This rally had to be most extravagant. This rally had to be most influential. 

Where Guptaji's sons and son-in-law accompanied him for rallies and party works, the women of the house trageted other women of the village to seek votes for the party as they met and gossiped. Even little Aryan, his grandson was to take part in this rally with his father and grandfather. It was like the entire Gupta family stood for the elections, the entire family backed their man.

The six year old Siya, granddaughter of Guptaji stood silently by the door frame, watching her house at chaos of the family and party member running here and there, arranging and preparing tirelessly for the rally. They had to make it a one unforgettable sight for every villager. Siya felt guilty of not being able of aid to her family and dadaji.

In her mission to fish for some work, pulling her uncle's kurta, she asked-

"Chachu, chachu. I also want to help. What can I do?"

"Umm... You want to help Dadaji win right? Do one thing, tomorrow when you go to school tell your teachers and friend's parents about our party, and ask them to cast their votes for dadaji. Ok?", 

he said.

"But chachu I want to help in the rally and do something now for Dadaji"

 Siya plead but Chachu had already returned to work.

A broken Siya went back to her room, sat by her window and dejectedly looked at Aaryan help with decoration of the jeep for the rally. She stared at all the party members in white kurtas donning the party sashes, the black jeep and trucks decorated with blue and orange garlands between the huge photos of her dadaji. The preparations looked perfect, but suddenly not to Siya's eyes, something was missing. Without a second more, Siya rushed to her study, she had finally found her part of contribution.

After an hour, a garland laden Jeep, a party members on the truck and a hundred hoardings waited for Guptaji and so was Mrs.Gupta. Standing with the iconic dahi Shakkar and Diya just like a queen who is set to bid her king leaving for the battlefield. As Guptaji advanced towards the jeep outside the house Siya blasted out of her room. 

"Dadaji! You forgot something for the Rally!" 

She exclaimed.

Everybody turned around to Siya, but to be hit by a wave of bewilderment. Suddenly the noise of the frenzy party members felt cold. Guptaji stared at the masterpiece she made with her crayons and sketchpens. From the corridor of astounding silence, Siya walked towards dadaji, 

"You forgot your flag, dadaji." 

She said further reaching to the Jeeps bonnet and tucking it between the garlands. Everybody's eyes followed Siya, the eyes of the party members that bent down in Shame, and the eyes of Gupta family that lifted up with pride. 

Siya's flag for the election rally of his party would qualify the rally in true sense. Not a lotus, or a palm, neither an elephant nor the shades of blue or orange but three colours we often called Saffron, white and green.

THE ALMS

The multiple visits, petitions and urges to the bank had finally paid. The frustration and fatigue of travelling back home by a crammed public transport vehicle with varied odours of sweat more than oxygen to breath , after work suddenly didn't hamper the smile on Naveen's face.

He waited for the bus everyday, tired, eager to go home and leap into his bed, but today's eagerness, rather to be called- excitement to reach home had another reason. Unable to hold his rhapsody any long, he called up his wife.

"Hello Kripa! Prepare something special for dinner today, a sweet dish maybe kheer, or gulab jamun........ Yes yes! I am very happy, because it's a very special day for us, we'll soon have your own house, and you'll be the Rani of our house!....... Yes yes Kripa! Our home loan has got sanctioned.......... now you won't have to adjust with four people in 1BHK........Now nobody will disturb us. Just you and me in our little paradise ........ Ya I'll reach I half an hour ....... Ok bye, love you!"

Just as Naveen dismissed the call, he drifted into this paradise, currently who's bricks  and cement were made of his day dreams.

Hand-in-hand, Naveen brings his blindfolded wife to their brand new house. The blindfolds opens to tears rolling down her eyes, accompanied by a soft smile. "Naveen and Kripa Singh" the nameplate read. Holding her hand tighter than ever, Naveen pulled Kripa close, danced and swayed on the beats of joy . It never felt more picture perfect until the bus honk blared in his ear.

Naveen shifted further in the bus line when his sight fell on an old beggar across the lane. She sat pale, under the soring temperature on an old jute bag. The only sari on her body was dusty and wearing out with holes pleading to be empathized. The wrinkled skin hung by her lanky frame, as she looked up with gratitude at the donators half of her age.  Her skinny fingers with decayed nails shivered and struggled to grip the bowl as people dropped alms of a coin or two.

Naveen felt pity for the old lady's condition but she was just another old beggars one usually finds by the streets and stations. But it wasn't just another day for Naveen and neither was she, just another old beggar on the street. It seemed as a usual scene, until something caught Naveen's curiosity.

Naveen observed that everytime somebody dropped a coin in her bowl, she would mumble something to them, which ofcourse he couldn't hear from across the lane . He presumed that the old women was probably mentally unstable, blabbering to herself, but soon noticed her, responding only when somebody bent down to drop the penny.

Picture credits- flikr- Ahead Mohimin

Unable to hold himself back , Naveen spontaneously jumped out from the bus stand to the other side of the lane towards the old lady. Slipping out a note of ₹50 from his wallet, he lowered on his toes to her eye level.

"Maa ji, how may I help you?"

Naveen enquired with a concerned tone partially mixed with curiosity.

The old woman lifted her earnest eyes to meet that of Naveen's and mumbled with an exhausted tone partially mixed with plead-

"Don't throw your old parents out of your house."