I walked to the elevator consumed in my own world of thoughts. The price of everything had gone up and this grocery seemed a little more expensive than usual. I held onto the bread and eggs for the morning breakfast waiting for the elevator with two men awaiting the slow carrier impatiently.
Just as the elevator opened three young boys in their early teens appeared from nowhere and cut my way to rush into the lift. I looked at them with a little annoyance but they completely ignored my dislike for their act. The door to the elevator closed and we started our flight upwards. Their faces looked bruised for some time now with marks to show. The tallest boy flickered his lashes a little too often and clearly was a little slow with his reactions. He seemed quite evidently a child with special needs though the intensity of his problem didn’t appear too acute.
As I watched them, it was disturbing to see the two dark complexioned boys bully the more vulnerable third party by slapping his face every two seconds. He could not defend himself well and did not react to their aggressive behaviour. They laughed at his discomfort and were completely careless of our presence in the small space with them.
I waited for a few seconds to see if the men in the elevator would react but to my surprise they stood watching the hurtful game. And just as the rowdy one slapped the victim harshly, I burst out with anger, “Stop It! What are doing?” He looked at me while the companion just kept on laughing like a foolish follower. “He is my friend,” and he slapped him again. There was more laughter.
The elevator stopped at the 15th floor and the two gentlemen got off escaping the unjust scenario. As soon as the doors closed, I rushed to stand next to the tall boy who slipped a little behind me to feel the shelter provided. They pulled him back, slapping again and speaking in their own language ridiculing his sissy behaviour. I could make out from their familiar words of “Ummi” as “mom”. They caught my eye every now and then and slapped him. They were harassing him when the elevator reached my floor. I held the doors afraid to let them go. I asked the boy, “Which floor is your home?” He started to join in the laughter of his friends and ignored my question. The doors closed and I heard slapping and rowdy shouting.
I entered my home quite disturbed. I should have stayed inside. I should have dropped him to his home and informed his parents about it. Now I don’t know where he lives and whether it’s happening often. How could a child with special needs be left in such company? How could he travel the elevator alone with no help? I myself had felt like whacking the two boys slapping him continuously for their mere amusement. They wanted to show off their strength though they were much shorter than him. And knew of his inability to react.
The next day as I went down to pursue my evening walk, I found all three boys standing and playing outside the grocery store. The tall boy followed the other two around who were much more civilized that day and engrossed in some digital game. Later on, I noticed them often together, smoking at the stairs to the building or running wildly hitting each other mercilessly. The most aggressive of the three seemed to have absorbed my attention to their actions and often went an extra mile to present himself as a determined dare-devil.
And then one day, late at night, I opened my refrigerator to discover that we were out of milk. It was important to arrange that for the morning breakfast. I picked up to call the grocery to deliver it but could not get through. Therefore, I decided to get it myself. I was lucky to find the little store still open and as I strolled to the elevator, I saw a group of people waiting and amongst them all, the short bully with his back to me. He didn’t see me and as we all entered the small lift, I was huddled in a corner with him. He saw me as the doors closed and I could immediately sense his discomfort. He was alone today with no one to break the silence and shout and laugh off the biting conscience.
I stared at his face as he stared in the air sensing my eyes. His face carried many harsh marks and bruises. His body was lean and strong and he kept on fidgeting with the plastic bag that carried some fizzy drinks. He had a white bandage covering his right hand. I found my chance and asked him loudly, “What happened to your hand?” He was struck with panic. He looked at the people around him who expected some form of conversation to follow. His breathing became audible and he kept on looking in the air without giving any answer. I asked again, “Does it pain you?” His eyes were abnormally wide open and the people around could not make out the reasons for my interest and his discomfort. “Did you go to a doctor?” Silence followed but this time he caught my eye and I gave him a smile. His ego was quite high but still he could not help smile at the situation that I was cashing upon. He was surely an intelligent child who understood my plan of action. The elevator stopped and he practically jumped out with a smile hidden at the corner of his eyes, glimpsing back to see if I was looking at him, which I was with a little friendly grin!
I realized in that moment that he was probably still approachable and maybe somewhere I had registered myself with him as someone who had the ability to also look at his bruises and scarred face. He did not want to appear weak or helpless and alone that’s probably how he always felt.
Now every time I cross these lot of boys, they jump to their feet to begin their crazy act to annoy me, but find it strange to find the leader of the pack just simply look the other way.
I’m sure the bullying has not stopped yet and probably will continue to do so for a while, but I was happy to find some hope in the form of compassion and acknowledgement, the very tools that I believe have the power to reach beyond the stubborn bruises and the frightened scars.
