An ‘Intervention’ with a Stranger

I have an incident to share, from last Sunday. Two families, un-known to each other and out for dinner. They could have remained passersby but it wasn’t meant to be. Like many others, our lives will perhaps never cross again but I hope that our brief encounter leaves a mark in both our lives… because, that was the point of it all – an Intervention.

We had just had a lovely Bengali meal, and mom and I were outside of a restaurant, waiting for dad to drive out the car. Mom was going on about asking me to sleep at a decent hour for once, so I can be of some use in the morning hours… Topics such as this usually make my mind wander off into other random thoughts.

So as I heard her in the background, I noticed a father and daughter casually walking toward the restaurant. The little girl of about seven was hurriedly finishing off her kulfi stick, as her dad lovingly gestured towards her. She wore a flowery patiala pant with a neutral kurti to go with it. I wondered to myself if she put it together on her own. I wondered if I had the sensibility to do that when I was seven. And then I noticed her mother, a few steps behind, in a similarly put together outfit. ‘Ah! How inherent it is, for us to try to be like our mothers’, I thought. So I continued looking at them, not thinking much, just observing a family out for a Sunday dinner.

In the thirty seconds that followed, this happened: The kulfi was soon over, and its wrapper was without a thought disposed off on the road side. I immediately felt myself plunge a step toward them. I was leaning against a pole all along and just as instantly as the plunge, I pulled myself back. In that moment of me plunging forward and swinging back, I imagined myself calling out to them as they passed me by. I imagined picking up the wrapper and saying a few choice words to the parents. And then I imagined how that would totally ruin their night out.

They passed by and entered the restaurant. The instinct that had made me plunge a minute ago was now manifesting as an emotion. Heavy. Compressed. Confused. Why? Just yesterday, I noticed a man throw his pan-masala wrapper on the flowerless planter, and soon after another man spilt in front of me. I had noticed, but didn’t feel compelled to say anything to them; didn’t feel this heaviness. I thought of those articles that talk of how kids today learn civic sense in schools and go home and influence their parents. I wondered if it happened at the little girl’s school. Probably not.

Heavy. Discomfort. Guilt. The white inside of the ice cream wrapper was shinning under the streetlight; gazing at me. ‘They are gone now. I can’t do anything about it’, I thought.

No. I must.

“I’ll just come…” I told mom.

“Huh?”

“I’ll just come from the restaurant.”

I walked in, smiled and requested the mother to speak with me for a minute outside. She was sceptical of course. I requested again, “It’ll just be a minute.” I smiled again. I noticed from the corner of my eye, that the father and daughter were staring at me - confused. She looked at her husband, they shared an eye gesture and she agreed.

Outside the door, I pulled out my friendliest if not the most motherly tone I have in me and said, “I’m really sorry. I don’t mean to ruin your evening. But I noticed your daughter threw the ice cream wrapper on the road and I just hope you wouldn’t allow her to do that again.” She gulped - perhaps in embarrassment and thankfully not in anger. I felt my throat dry up, “I’m sure you understand why I had to do this.” She nodded. I continued, “It’s not that you did anything wrong, it’s just that sometimes we don’t realise the repercussion of our subconscious actions…” She started to say something but stumbled. I found myself stretching my arm beside her, careful not to touch and perhaps, trying to reaffirm that I mean well.

Her body-language articulated that she understood.

We shared a smile and parted ways.