Column

His name is Imran. A soft-spoken wiry boy of ten or eleven, who hitched a ride from me from Haji Ali to Doordarshan Worli, when my car had stopped at the street light. He was selling copies of Midday. It was late afternoon, very hot outside.

How many of us have the presence of mind to monetise our situation? To take an opportunity and make it work for us? I once sat on a transatlantic flight besides a global media tycoon — but it took me an entire journey to come up with the courage to outline what I thought was a brilliant media solution — and by then it was too late. Landing was announced.

Imran was not so slow. In less than a minute he said “Is there any work you can give me? I have dropped out of school to sell newspapers for the last two months because we're going to be thrown out of our chawl if we don't come up with the rent.”It was so sudden and so swift that I was caught off guard. What work could I give an eleven-year-old? I tried to come up with a suitable response. Office peon? Odd job boy at home? I was thinking in fast forward because I knew in a few minutes we were going to turn off from the main road and he'd be getting off.

“Yes, I could look for some way to help you but what's more important is to get your address or number” I said. This is how simple children can be. “I live in Siddharth Nagar on the hill with my mother — my father died two years ago — anyone will show you where or you will bump in to me selling papers…”

For someone used to appointment books and PDAs, this sounded so vague that it was almost foolhardy. “How on earth will I find you again? “ I asked. And so before we turned off the road, I scribbled my mobile number. “Call me” “I said, and drove off.

That was two days ago. He's called me since, a small frightened voice calling from a public phone booth. “Shall I bring my landlord to meet you?” he asked.

I knew I could pay off his rent — even for a year — but after that what? That would be a stop gap measure — and at best a handout — a cop out.

I called my friend Nandan Maluste at CRY. Could something be done for Imran? “Yes, give us his particulars — normally he should have been in our net — but I will see that one of our people contacts him on Monday morning.” So, I've sent Nandan the address that Imran gave me, knowing wheels will be put into motion and a boy will be put into school and a family saved. But I am more concerned that I have no way of telling Imran that help is at hand, and that above all there are still good people who will not let him capsize.

I have no way of telling him this — so if you see him on the high streets of Mumbai selling newspapers — you tell him to hang in there.

s_malavika@dnaindia.net