<p>Mornings in December-January are misty and chilly. Bengaluru city seems to be shrouded in a veil of mystery which is quite intriguing. Wanting to enjoy the weather, I decided to go for a walk. As I was putting on my shoes, I was advised to ‘wear something warm’ to protect me from the ill-effects of the season. Biting back a sharp retort, I snatched a cardigan and donned it. <br /><br />Just as well, for I hadn’t walked two hundred metres when a familiar voice accosted me. Turning around, I saw Vijaya, an old acquaintance. After the preliminary exchange of New Year greetings and enquiries about each other’s family, she gave me a critical look.<br /><br />“You should cover your head to protect it from the dew.” Instantly, all my hackles rose. “You should wear a cap or a scarf,” she added, as if I hadn’t spoken. Her tone was quite stern. The picture was so ludicrous that I wanted to laugh but managed to suppress my mirth. Instead, with heavy sarcasm, I asked, “And plug my ears with cotton wool and wear gloves?” Either my irate tone didn’t register or she chose to ignore it – probably the latter. “It wouldn’t be a bad idea,” she replied, smiling benignly. I stifled a groan and deftly changed the subject. “How was your trip to Europe?”<br /><br />Apparently, it was a wise move. Diverted, she launched into the details of her holiday, giving me a blow-by-blow account of the fun she had. Just when I was mentally patting myself on the back for having side-tracked her, she returned to the original topic with renewed vigour. Blessing came in the form of a call from her husband and I was saved from further well-intentioned badgering.<br /><br />Quite pleased with the interruption, I walked on. A shrill cry drew my attention. Just a short distance ahead, a construction worker was bathing her infant. She had seated him on a cement block. Pinning him down with a firm hold on his arm, she was soaping him vigorously with the other hand. Then, she dipped a mug into a bucket of steaming water and poured the water over the child’s head. The child was yelling. <br /><br />Quite unconcerned, she went on pouring water until all the lather was washed off. Then she picked up the child and briskly toweled his head and body. The child had, by now, quietened down. Hoisting the unclad child onto her hip, she went about her work, blissfully unaware of exposing the little chap to the elements. Not that the gurgling child seemed to mind.<br /><br />I thought of the way our children are smothered in layers of warm clothing – pullover, jacket, cap, scarf along with cotton wool for the ears and long socks. How they are cosseted and molly-coddled and imprisoned in hermetically sealed rooms! The construction worker’s tiny tot was oblivious of the wind and cold! The economic disparity clutched at the heart.</p>
<p>Mornings in December-January are misty and chilly. Bengaluru city seems to be shrouded in a veil of mystery which is quite intriguing. Wanting to enjoy the weather, I decided to go for a walk. As I was putting on my shoes, I was advised to ‘wear something warm’ to protect me from the ill-effects of the season. Biting back a sharp retort, I snatched a cardigan and donned it. <br /><br />Just as well, for I hadn’t walked two hundred metres when a familiar voice accosted me. Turning around, I saw Vijaya, an old acquaintance. After the preliminary exchange of New Year greetings and enquiries about each other’s family, she gave me a critical look.<br /><br />“You should cover your head to protect it from the dew.” Instantly, all my hackles rose. “You should wear a cap or a scarf,” she added, as if I hadn’t spoken. Her tone was quite stern. The picture was so ludicrous that I wanted to laugh but managed to suppress my mirth. Instead, with heavy sarcasm, I asked, “And plug my ears with cotton wool and wear gloves?” Either my irate tone didn’t register or she chose to ignore it – probably the latter. “It wouldn’t be a bad idea,” she replied, smiling benignly. I stifled a groan and deftly changed the subject. “How was your trip to Europe?”<br /><br />Apparently, it was a wise move. Diverted, she launched into the details of her holiday, giving me a blow-by-blow account of the fun she had. Just when I was mentally patting myself on the back for having side-tracked her, she returned to the original topic with renewed vigour. Blessing came in the form of a call from her husband and I was saved from further well-intentioned badgering.<br /><br />Quite pleased with the interruption, I walked on. A shrill cry drew my attention. Just a short distance ahead, a construction worker was bathing her infant. She had seated him on a cement block. Pinning him down with a firm hold on his arm, she was soaping him vigorously with the other hand. Then, she dipped a mug into a bucket of steaming water and poured the water over the child’s head. The child was yelling. <br /><br />Quite unconcerned, she went on pouring water until all the lather was washed off. Then she picked up the child and briskly toweled his head and body. The child had, by now, quietened down. Hoisting the unclad child onto her hip, she went about her work, blissfully unaware of exposing the little chap to the elements. Not that the gurgling child seemed to mind.<br /><br />I thought of the way our children are smothered in layers of warm clothing – pullover, jacket, cap, scarf along with cotton wool for the ears and long socks. How they are cosseted and molly-coddled and imprisoned in hermetically sealed rooms! The construction worker’s tiny tot was oblivious of the wind and cold! The economic disparity clutched at the heart.</p>
