Skip to main content

The Little Girl


The little girl smiled.  Her father noticed it though he was leading her by hand to their car in the parking lot.  He was taking her home after school.  He noticed her smile because he saw the bearded man sitting under a tree with a book in hand smiling at his daughter. 

“Who is it?”  Father asked the daughter.

“Who?” asked the girl in return.

“The man who smiled at you.”

“Don’t know.”

“Why did you smile at him then?”

“Because he smiled.”

“Don’t smile at strangers,” he said sternly as he helped her on to the seat.

“Why dad?”

“Because,” he hesitated.  How is he to explain to a four year-old child why strangers are potential enemies.  “Because, strangers may not be good people.”

She looked at him.  Did she expect an explanation?  She had started asking a lot of why’s these days.

How can I explain this to you, my daughter?  How can I tell you that most smiles today carry poison?  Invisible poison.  You won’t even understand how smiles can carry poison.  Do you know the meaning of fangs?  You have never seen the fangs beneath smiles, have you?

A time will come when the world will teach you about fangs and their poison.  Do you think I don’t like smiles?  If only people could smile like you, the world would be as lovely a place as Monet’s Garden.  But even you will lose your smile as you grow up.  The world will steal it.  The world’s smoothest tongues will lick it up.  Because all smooth tongues stick out from some masks.  Masks, my little girl, masks rule the world. 

PS. A real incident motivated this post.  I’m taking the liberty to post a second entry to Indispire’s current theme of #masks.  Interestingly, I was averse to the theme and had not voted for it.  I find myself making a double entry now.  :)




Indian Bloggers

Comments

  1. A sad world we are living in..where we have to warn our children about strangers smiling..where four year olds are introduced to a society that dons masks..hiding the evil within :(

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. The real situation is much more formidable than what I have written. Masks are inevitable. What about the assaults girls face? Even little ones are not spared.

      Delete
  2. Replies
    1. Precisely. But how much is concealed is the problem.

      Delete
  3. So many types of smiles are there... i wonder when i think, so many types of mentality there....

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. That reminds me of a lady who was my boss for a couple of years. She could smile in umpteen ways. Some of her smiles meant termination of services!

      Delete
  4. Smiles are deceptive these days!

    ReplyDelete
  5. This post deepened my sadness. If only smiles were pure, and innocent!

    ReplyDelete
  6. Probably she would grow up to raise an indelible smile, that would stand the test of poison and saliva of deception.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I doubt. The world steals our smiles. Loss of innocence is necessary for growing up.

      Delete
  7. Very touching and sensitive scenario. And so sad but so true! Irony of life.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Children are lovely because of their innocence. If only the innocence could last!

      Delete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Pranita a perverted genius

Bulldozer begins its work at Sawan Pranita was a perverted genius. She had Machiavelli’s brain, Octavian’s relentlessness, and Levin’s intellectual calibre. She could have worked wonders if she wanted. She could have created a beautiful world around her. She had the potential. Yet she chose to be a ruthless exterminator. She came to Sawan Public School just to kill it. A religious cult called Radha Soami Satsang Beas [RSSB] had taken over the school from its owner who had never visited the school for over 20 years. This owner, a prominent entrepreneur with a gargantuan ego, had come to the conclusion that the morality of the school’s staff was deviating from the wavelengths determined by him. Moreover, his one foot was inching towards the grave. I was also told that there were some domestic noises which were grating against his patriarchal sensibilities. One holy solution for all these was to hand over the school and its enormous campus (nearly 20 acres of land on the outskirts

Queen of Religion

She looked like Queen Victoria in the latter’s youth but with a snow-white head. She was slim, fair and graceful. She always smiled but the smile had no life. Someone on the campus described it as a “plastic smile.” She was charming by physical appearance. Soon all of us on the Sawan school campus would realise how deceptive appearances were. Queen took over the administration of Sawan school on behalf of her religious cult RSSB [Radha Soami Satsang Beas]. A lot was said about RSSB in the previous post. Its godman Gurinder Singh Dhillon is now 70 years old. I don’t know whether age has mellowed his lust for land and wealth. Even at the age of 64, he was embroiled in a financial scam that led to the fall of two colossal business enterprises, Fortis Healthcare and Religare finance. That was just a couple of years after he had succeeded in making Sawan school vanish without a trace from Delhi which he did for the sake of adding the school’s twenty-odd acres of land to his existing hun

Machiavelli the Reverend

Let us go today , you and I, through certain miasmic streets. Nothing will be quite clear along our way because this journey is through some delusions and illusions. You will meet people wearing holy robes and talking about morality and virtues. Some of them will claim to be god’s men and some will make taller claims. Some of them are just amorphous. Invisible. But omnipotent. You can feel their power around you. On you. Oppressing you. Stifling you. Reverend Machiavelli is one such oppressive power. You will meet Franz Kafka somewhere along the way. Joseph K’s ghost will pass by. Remember Joseph K who was arrested one fine morning for a crime that nobody knew anything about? Neither Joseph nor the men who arrest him know why Joseph K is arrested. The power that keeps Joseph K under arrest is invisible. He cannot get answers to his valid questions from the visible agents of that power. He cannot explain himself to that power. Finally, he is taken to a quarry outside the town wher

Randeep the melody

Many people in this pic have made their presence in this A2Z series A phone call came from an unknown number the other day. “Is it okay to talk to you now, Sir?” The caller asked. The typical start of a conversation by an influencer. “What’s it about?” My usual response looking forward to something like: “I am so-and-so from such-and-such business firm…” And I would cut the call. But there was a surprise this time. “I am Randeep…” I recognised him instantly. His voice rang like a gentle music in my heart. Randeep was a student from the last class 12 batch of Sawan. One of my favourites. He is unforgettable. Both Maggie and I taught him at Sawan where he was a student from class 4 to 12. Nine years in a residential school create deep bonds between people, even between staff and students. Randeep was an ideal student. Good at everything yet very humble and spontaneous. He was a top sportsman and a prefect with eminent leadership. He had certain peculiar problems with academics. Ans

Nakulan the Outcast

Nakulan was one of the many tenants of Hevendrea . A professor in the botany department of the North Eastern Hill University, he was a very lovable person. Some sense of inferiority complex that came from his caste status made him scoff the very idea of his lovability. He lived with his wife and three children in one of Heavendrea’s many cottages. When he wanted to have a drink, he would walk over to my hut. We sipped our whiskies and discussed Shillong’s intriguing politics or something of the sort while my cassette player crooned gently in the background. Nakulan was more than ten years my senior by age. He taught a subject which had never aroused my interest at any stage of my life. It made no difference to me whether a leaf was pinnately compound or palmately compound. You don’t need to know about anther and stigma in order to understand a flower. My friend Levin would have ascribed my lack of interest in Nakulan’s subject to my egomania. I always thought that Nakulan lived