Smell

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And when she left, she carried their smell with her.
The smell of rags and used plastic bottles, the smell of  filth and dirt, the smell they acquired while carrying peoples’ luggage at the railway station and the smell that so defined them.
The 7-year old kept looking at Aaliya and the Bisleri in her hands. She asked him, “Paani chahiye?”
“Haan. Par ye wala hi,” he answered.
Aaliya gave him the bottle and started for office. After filing her story and completing the day’s work, she reached home. The smell was still with her. It reminded her that when she will switch on the AC, the kid on the street would remove sweat from his brow all night and will not be able to sleep on the pavement due to the heat.
She washed her face and hands, changed her clothes and brushed her teeth. The smell stayed.
She called up her boyfriend and tried talking to him. He could only utter a tired goodnight. Aaliya wanted him to ask her why she wasn’t as chirpy as she is most of the times at this hour.
He didn’t. She said nothing and hung up.
She opened Catcher in the Rye and started reading. She could still smell them.
“What is it that I can do? That can change something in their lives?” she asked herself.
She felt guilt and helplessness.
There must be something she could do. This AC. She must switch it off. She doesn’t need to spend money on clothes as she has more than enough already.
She can stop wasting food and start respecting all that she has in her life.
What else?
Of course, there are other ways such as saving money and doing charity, starting an NGO, educating some street kids and helping the maid in getting hers admitted to a school.
The smell was still there. It lingered on her T-shirt and pyjama.
And then she knew.
She knew what she had to do. She had to carry the smell with her wherever she went.
Never forget it. Smell it, take it in. Remind herself of it. She must not wash it away; from her clothes, and more than that, from her mind.

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