It was raining fiercely and there was a strong, almost violent, wind blowing. Darkness pervaded everywhere. There were no lights in the corridor. I was searching for the keyhole when somebody shouted from behind, making me jump. "Akka, you want flowers?" I turned to see a frail girl with a half-full basket of jasmine flowers, so dark that she merged into the darkness readily. Her eyes sparkled, like those of a cat. I felt annoyed with her. "Why do you shout? I am not deaf! No, I don't want flowers." "Akka, please... I will not shout. Please buy flowers for at least 10 rupees." "What? Rs 10! No, no! I don't want flowers. I don't wear flowers in my hair. See, it is so short!" I went in, closing the door behind. I don't think more than a couple of minutes passed before the bell rang. It was the girl again. She had a tragic expression on her face. "Akka, but you can buy flowers for your God. Please Akka, please..." she begged. "I have so many flowers left today that I do not know what to do. The rains, Akka, I could not sell flowers because of the rains. Please Akka ..." One could see only bones on her body. She wore a faded green blouse and a faded blue skirt with flowers on it, which reached to her knees. "How old are you?" She looked so tiny, I wanted to know her age. "Twelve. Will you please buy some flowers?" I bought flowers for Rs 5. She was so elated that she flashed me a bright smile. She had extremely white, even teeth. Her eyes too were very white and shiny. "You have very white teeth." I said. "I know, Akka. Everybody asks me how I got such white teeth when I am so dark. I am dark like the night, am I not?" She laughed. I felt there was music in her laughter. And her name, to suit her laughter, was Sangeeta. She lived near the beach in a fishermen colony, quite a way from where I stayed. I am sure she would have to walk at least 20 minutes to reach home. I felt worried for her. How could a little girl go alone all that way? But she was unfazed. After all, she had been walking in the dark for so many years. She came the next day with some flowers for me. After that, there was not a day that she did not ring my bell. She never pestered me to buy flowers. She came to talk. She sat outside the door with her basket by her side. I sat nearby. I loved listening to her, and she loved talking. She talked about her grandmother, who was an invalid. She talked about the sea as her friend. She talked about the sand as her friend. The dark sky also was her friend. She had made friends with the stars, the moon, the moonlight and the darkness. She was an amazing little girl who had only friends in the world. My neighbours found it quite amusing to see us talk thus, every day, for at least 10 minutes. "Why should I be scared to go alone at night, Akka?" she would ask me. "I love to look at the moon and walk. The moon and the stars are my friends. I feel so happy to walk at night when there is silence, when there is tranquillity. Then the trees, the breeze, the silence and the night talk to me." Her wild imagination interested me. Had she gone to school, I am sure she would have become a writer. She loved the roar of the waves. At night, she would go and watch the waves and listen to them after her grandmother fell asleep. She would watch the waves 'dying' in front of her. I found her expression, 'waves dying', quite extraordinary, especially from a girl who had not read anything in her life. She was illiterate and very young, but her outlook to life and nature was exceptional. Her philosophy of life, her positive approach, her dreams, her visualisations and her expressions astonished me. Everyday, she astounded me, stunned me, shocked me even, with her thoughts. The lively interactions I had with her, I think, made me a more positive and courageous woman. I would tell her whenever she came running late in the evening, "You are very late today. No, I am not going to talk to you. Run home, fast." My fears amused her. "Oh!Akka, you are so scared! Nothing will happen to me. When I have the moon, the stars and the dying waves as friends, why should I worry?" One day, she did not come to me with jasmine flowers in her basket. Two days passed. Then three days. There was no news about her. She must be ill, she will come tomorrow, I consoled myself. Every evening, I waited for the frail girl who shared her unusual thoughts with me. After a week, I started getting worried. What if... no, I didn't want to have any negative thoughts. Then, unable to bear the waiting, I asked the watchmen whether he knew her. "Oh, that girl! Madam, I don't know whether to believe or not, but everybody is talking..." "What?" I almost shouted. "I am not sure. It is only talk," he hesitated. "I have heard others talking. Seven or eight days ago, a girl was raped at night on the beach. I think it was your friend..." "But how can you say that it was my friend, the flower girl? It could be any girl!" "I am not sure, madam, but everybody's talking..." I didn't want to believe the story. I preferred to wait for her. Will anyone rape such a tiny girl, who had nothing but bones on her body? I don't know why but I didn't go in search of her. Four years have passed. I have not seen my flower girl again. Her image started fading from my memory. That's life. But whenever I see a woman or a girl selling flowers, I think of her, my flower girl. Sometimes I wonder, why did her friends, the moon, the stars and the waves, fail her? Madras-based Shobha Warrier loves writing human interest features Tell us what you think of this diary
HOME | NEWS | CRICKET | MONEY | SPORTS | MOVIES | CHAT | BROADBAND | TRAVEL ASTROLOGY | NEWSLINKS | BOOK SHOP | MUSIC SHOP | GIFT SHOP | HOTEL BOOKINGS AIR/RAIL | WEDDING | ROMANCE | WEATHER | WOMEN | E-CARDS | EDUCATION HOMEPAGES | FREE MESSENGER | FREE EMAIL | CONTESTS | FEEDBACK