The Girl with Nine Roses & No Name

I come from the incredible India which, over centuries, has evolved into a very unique ecosystem of cultures and collective behaviors. The influence of the West on the East isn’t a myth either, rather a stark reflection of the contrast between the rising aspirations and ambitions of India’s middle class towering over the ill-fates of a larger number of low-income groups. Debating income and class differences is a different arena of reality altogether, especially in countries like India. But there exists an interesting reality, amongst many other such realities, in the outskirts of New Delhi, the capital city of India. In the hustle bustle of Noida’s Sector 16 area, within a 10-mile distance from the capital’s center, one can find all kinds of materialistic pleasures at one’s disposal, if one has pockets deep enough. Fine dining restaurants, gourmet delicacies, luxury cars, lavish shopping malls and what not. Two 5-star shopping malls and an amusement park grace the area within a square mile radius which also has the Metro Rail connectivity to cater to the footfall. More megastructures are coming up in the vicinity including a full-fledged film city by 2023. And right outside these megastructures an ecosystem flourishes, comprising cooks who light the ovens inside the royal kitchen, the mechanics who repair the exorbitantly expensive cars, store attendants who spend their days selling items they cannot afford themselves and the notorious auto drivers of Delhi/NCR infamous for their rowdy traffic manners.

It was February 14, 2016. And you guessed it right. Love was in the air. Not for me though. I was reeling under the pain of a recent heartbreak and simply despised the idea of being outside. Unfortunately, my work required me to inspect one of our sales exhibits that had been running for a week now, and I postponed it enough to find myself standing right in the middle of Sector 16 market on a Sunday, after a heated phone call from my boss. ‘Couple of hours and I’ll be back’, I thought to myself. Little did I know that I will be spending the rest of my day with sandbaggers. They are the lucky folks who have enough sales leads remaining from the past month to keep chill before the end of the month. I sneered as they cheered amongst themselves while ogling at young women who had dressed up for the special occasion. I too stood there by myself, sipping tea and simply observing the warmth of the sun brightening up the day. That’s when someone pulled my shirt and the hot tea spilled on my hands. I yelled in pain and saw a young girl, age about 10-12 years old, wearing ragged clothes, carrying unkempt ponytails and holding a bunch of red roses in her hands.

“Buy a rose. Only 10 rupees”, she demanded, waving her hands in front of me. I was already annoyed because of the tea-spill and was further offended when she appeared to be ordering me to purchase a rose rather than requesting for it. I looked at her roses. They were turning black; looked like they had been plucked a while ago.

“I don’t need one. Go away.”, I said. She didn’t budge and stood there with her arms waiving at me.

“She’s raising her hands for the money even before offering me the item. How unprofessional.”, I thought to myself, criticizing her poor sales skills and customer experience.

“I can eat if you give me money.”, she said. Now, at the expense of appearing slightly heartless, I need you to imagine growing up in a place where it was an ordinary sight to watch children your age begging on the streets as you rode around in your school bus. It numbs you after a point.

“What should I give you money for?” I asked as I paid the tea seller.

She raised her bunch of roses towards me.

“What use do I have for a rose?”

I waived my arms around to show her I am alone and then pointed her towards the string of very much in-love couples passing by.

“Don’t you see I am alone.” I emphasized on the last word.

She, however, was unfazed by what I said or did. She had her mind set to the goal – extortion. It’s her daily business and hence I didn’t care either. So, I decided to end our conversation and moved away from her. To my dismay, she began to follow me. “Shameless”, I thought to myself, cursing her in my head. At this point it was easier for me to just pay her to leave but I did not want to give in to her belligerent attitude. In hindsight, I think her audacity was a direct result of my numbness to her demands. When the more privileged sections of our society ignore the plight of the destitute, I believe it gives rise to a nonchalant resentment in the latter towards the former. That afternoon, the two of us stood on either side of a cross-sectional conflict where she believed that it is okay to sell stale; dead flowers to educated and privileged customers because they have enough money to squander (which is true) and I believed that no matter what condition or business you might be operating in, it is important to be professional (true as well).

It might appear that a part of me was oblivious to her background and upbringing, but there is more truth to the dark underbelly of Delhi’s streets then we can fathom. Neither of us budged. I looked her in the eye with contempt. A deep-rooted aversion towards her attitude had taken hold of me. I still had another hour to go and she had the entire day left here, but I was sure that neither of us enjoyed each other’s company long enough to stick around. And I was correct about it. About few minutes later she realized that I am not an easy crack and she went back to play with other kids her age who were also hanging about with flowers in their hands.

But something happened inside of me when she left. I was immediately drawn to her. Her desperate attempts to get my attention was my strength in those moments; a proof of my higher social status; my education; my dominance. But the moment she gave up, the bubble of our world burst. She no more sought anything from me or come after me. She went back to squandering her time chasing couples all the way down the street in hopes of making a sale. I observed carefully. The children operated like a ring; a gang. They were skilled at identifying potential targets and gestured at each other. Couples jaywalking together were targeted 90% of the times. Men were the obvious first choice to approach. No two kids ran after the same couple – they avoided territorial conflicts. I was surprised at this little sale eco-system created by these tiny tots without any training and just working with instincts; not only trying to audaciously sell dirty roses to a smarter customer base but also succeeding in it by manipulating the emotions of young lovers (read men). Not so different from the name brands that spent millions in advertisements to do the same. These children could have done wonderful things, only if they were in the right place. Instead, some of them performed street aerobics for coins while others stood outside air-conditioned Dominoes and KFC outlets, staring at the other half enjoying their youth inside.

I spent the next few hours watching them little devils. I was, in fact, waiting for a friend who had called during the day to make plans for a movie. After taking care of work, I was finally free to leave. And that’s when I noticed her again; the little girl. She was running on the toes of a young couple, probably in their mid 20s. They were dressed nicely and walked hand in hand – easy spotting. I couldn’t help but smile at her never-give-up attitude. I remember thinking she would have made a good salesperson; in facts all these children would have with a little training. I was shaken awake from my thoughts by loud yelling.

“Don’t you understand you idiot. Get away from us.”, yelled the young man whom the girl was trying to sell a rose. Scared, she desperately grabbed the dress of the young woman the young man accompanied. “Get away from me”, the young girl shrieked and jumped to take cover behind her paramour, who instantly carried out his protective duties and shoved the little girl to the ground. I gathered my belongings and made advance in her direction to help her. I heard a few more people yelling – some at the young man and a couple of others cursed the little girl and asked her to run away.

She had gathered herself and left the spot before I could reach her. I lost her in the crowd. I looked around but couldn’t find her. I wanted to call her out, but I realized I never got her name. Why would I? I saw a couple of her little rat friends meandering nearby with large garbage bags on their shoulders; collecting anything they could. I hesitated to ask them about her. “I don’t know these people well enough to chase one of them. After all, someone must be operating their gang.”, I thought. All of us had heard stories about children being abducted and forced into the streets by the evil men. Well it was that or all men were evil men; all of us; yours truly included.

Soon my phone buzzed with my friend’s incessant calls for being the most unpunctual individual ever. I turned back with a heavy heart. I was meeting him after a long time, so both of us were really excited for a fun evening. And it turned out to be a great one. Soon I forgot everything about the little girl without a name. We drank together and played video games in an arcade; then we headed over to the movies and laughed our hearts out in a horror screening. We finished the evening with some heavy sugar power, which I found awful. "There goes my evening down the drain with a bad dessert", I thought. The city has some of the worst bakers living inconspicuously somewhere between its dark alleys. I wasn't vocal about my complaint since I wanted to head home asap. After finishing our dessert, I and my friend bid good-byes to each other and I headed back to the metro station to catch a ride back. "I wish I has chosen a different dessert", I kept thinking on my way back.

To my good fortune, at the entry gate of the station, sat the little girl from earlier with her siblings. They were sitting with a few elders, who looked like they just returned from a hard day’s work. They were having dinner. The little girl had her bunch of roses next to where she sat feeding her toddler sibling. I cannot say for sure, but it looked like her sales techniques were not the best after all. I gestured at her to come. To my surprise, she happily obliged. She picked up her bunch of flowers and greeted me with a smile.

“How many roses did you sell today?”, I asked curiously. “Three”, she replied with a smile.

“I’ll take them all.”, I declared.

Perhaps, I was still a little drunk, but I am sure I would have made the same decision otherwise. She didn’t believe it first. I could tell because she didn’t react. “One?”, She asked.

“No. All of them. How many are there?” I asked with intent. She counted nine. I grabbed my wallet from my back pocket and pulled out a 100 rupee note.

“But I have a condition.”, I said. She listened eagerly. “You will not touch people without their permission in future”, I was clear. “Not hands, not legs, not clothes, nothing. You will greet them nicely with a safe distance. Okay?” I asked. She nodded. I gave her the 100 rupees note. Her face instantly glowed like the moon. She handed over the flowers to me. I gave her the money. “Keep the change.” I was proud of myself. She nodded her head many times; smiling continuously, though I suspect that she was just eager to get away from me and show her earnings back home; be proud of herself.

“Come here”, I asked her and raised the bunch of roses towards her. “Keep them.”, I said. She smiled in confusion but responded with the same charm as before, “No, you keep them. They are yours.” Not that they were the most beautiful roses in the world, but she would have found a better use for them than I would’ve. With me, those roses would have been in the trash by the next day if not the same night. But they might have found a longer and a better purpose in her hands. “You are my valentine, and this is for you”, I told her with as much confidence as I could. For a moment I thought she couldn’t believe me, but then she accepted the flowers, without any hesitation and with a smile across her face. I handed them over and walked away saying goodbye.

And I again felt something inside me; maybe I made a mistake. Maybe she was not a nice person but an opportunist like all of us. Maybe she had been taught by her parents to be nice to gullible people like me to make money. After all, I saw them use their tricks on people that entire day.

“Sir?”, she called me out; only one rose in her hand instead of the bunch. “This is for you. Happy Valentine’s day. What is your name sir?”

What I felt in that moment is indescribable. It was a mixed bag of emotions overall, but I remember feeling guilty for succumbing to class divides. However, that wasn’t the highlight of the day. It was her name - Madhuri. It means sweetness. Indeed!