While rumbling on the Varanasi Express from Lokmanya, Mumbai to Kashi, Banaras, Varanasi (all names for the oldest inhabited city on this planet), the cultural capital of India, and home to Kabir and Ravidas, where Gautama Buddha gave his first sermon, yes, I have always had some remarkable enlightening experience en route and this time it was no different.

Traveling in old carriages that clanked and rattled, that shifted, shunted and shuddered noisily, rhythmically, with smells and odors of spice, dung, urine, perfume, incense, curry and masala chai, amidst lovely curious soft, gentle and respectful people, I rocked harmoniously within, childishly getting more excited as I neared my favorite city.

A globe of blue light intensifies behind my dozing eyelids prompted me to take notice. A large head sat on a frail looking angular body with matchstick legs poking awkwardly, out of dirty badly stained khaki trousers. His lip hung low on the left side showing a slight drool. Huge quizzical brown eyes scrutinized attentively, yet aggressively, in a squinting and flaring fashion. A short sleeved small boys check cotton shirt with open neck he wore, the colors were bright, it looked freshly washed. Something resembling a zinc miraculous medal on a dirty blue thread or twine hung under his chin.

He moved deftly and quickly towards the corner by the window seat, he pulled a little hand broom of bound twigs from under his oxter and diligently swept crumbs, fruit peels, clay, papers, and red dust neatly towards the corridor alternately bouncing on his hands and tucking the brush under his oxter. I was stunned with his speed and dexterity as I realized his feet were folded lotus like for convenience and not for conveyance. Sad knowledge tells me he was probably custom crippled for begging purposes.

Our eyes had met maybe four times as he swept through the small compartment and under my seat, they were furtive darting, inquisitive, cautious, defensive looks. He checked that no one was looking and while bouncing towards the corridor exit he flexed quickly his thumb, forefinger, and middle finger before his lips signifying a near constant state of famishment. My emotions were quivering to buy him off with a coin, a note, this teenage boy equal in age to my own boy equal in tragedy to my parents and grandparents collectively. I rose and groped my wallet and moved to the corridor with him. He became extremely fretful in the corridor and I realized the train conductor might also be a poncing parasite, a preying vulture on the vulnerable. I rolled a note carefully tightly round a biro refill and reinserted it. He watched this cheap broken biro being dropped for his little broom. The dazzling flash of approval, gratitude, admiration, directed towards me was indescribable; it was delivered in the flicker of a moment and immediately returned to the mask and the serious business at hand. In a moment he bounced into the next compartment.