Raju

Raju is the little beggar who begs on the street near the FSD office. His skin is chocolate brown, the palms of his hands and soles of his feet dusty white. He has a squinty eye and a mischievous grin that makes me want to pick him up and hug him. His favourite gesture seems to be putting his hand behind his head and stretching his back. He does this while grinning sheepishly at us.


Raju wears pink plastic slippers with plastic jewels on them and they slap against the road when he runs after us—“Hallo, hallo!”—stretching out his tiny hand for money.

“Nehi, nehi,” we reply, and walk on. “Jowl,” some of the boys say to him, and try to chase him away, but I let him run between us even as I ignore him.

Today I asked him what his name was. “Apka naam kia hai?”

“Raju!” he replied, and repeated it when I bent down to hear it better.

And then, as we turned to walk into the shopping centre, he smiled and scampered off. I wonder what he thinks about.