At the grocery, I waited, as the line at the cashier crawled. The evening had brought in a collage of people together. I feast on such sights, my hyperactive mind preying on people and their interactions, trying to glean tidbids from their lives. Momentarily, I am a part of so many stories. I become one with the mom who chides her little girl, the newly weds who walk with entwined fingers.
The sly old woman who breaks the queue, using her old age to her advantage, irks me but interests me nevertheless.
My attention is drawn to a toddler playing with the string of lollipos hanging near the chips stand. Suddenly without any warning his breaks out into an incomprehensible, high pitched baby babble. Fat tears roll on to pink cheeks defying gravity and settling there without falling.
The trouble is easy enough to assume, he wants the lollipops.
Caught unaware is the toddler's little sister who must have been left in charge as the parents shopped. She looks discomfited and apologetic at the same time. Her eyes search the throbbing aisles of the shop in desperation, yet she hushes her little brother and tries to calm him down. Her face looks helpless and guilty all at once. My heart goesout to her.
It led me to question, if girls are genetically programmed to be carers. The little girl was no more than 5, yet not once did she lose patience, not once did she go running to look for her parents. She accepted the tantrum of her brother. Tried to make the best of the situation by soothing him. Felt guilty for no fault of hers. Apologised to all the people around by looking around and smiling weakly. Responsible and caring, she displayed a maturity level much beyond her age.
What amazed me more, was that she neither complained nor asked for a lollipop herself when her hassled parents arrived.
If I had a crown , I would have put it on her curly head there and then. She was 'My everyday queen '.
01 August, 2014
The lollipop kid
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