Relatively a King

Our conditions are relative. We just need to compare ourselves with the right person.

Say, for example, ‘he’ is a king.

He is around twelve. His back is ramrod straight, eyes determined and voice strong as he dissipates the dense fog around his face when he calls out his wares, “Chalees ke barah kele.” (“Bananas: a dozen for 40”)

It is an extremely foggy day in winters. My eyes stray to his bare feet as he stands on freezing concrete. He must be in pain. A bunch of kids on school holidays are mimicking his call, making fun of him. I want to smack them all for being unfeeling.

But his eyes betray nothing as he continues calling. He is a king captured by the enemies jeering at him while he is being taken for execution. He would not show his pain.

My eyes are still stuck at those bare feet. Nothing I own would fit him, and if I offer money, he would be offended. I can see it in his proud eyes.

So, I do the only thing I can. I buy bananas—enough to make me wonder what I would do with them. Surely, I could find some use: pudding, fruit salad, fruit custard, share with neighbouring families?

It is the market day. If he makes enough profits…

I hope he buys a pair. I pray he buys a pair so I can get out of this weird feeling in my stomach—like I have too much but still not enough.

I dare not mention the idea to him though. I dare not allude to his bare feet…

He is a proud king I dare not insult.