The Boy and The Bicycle

“I want it. I want it so bad. Please get it for me”, he pleaded, his voice bubbling with excitement.

The little boy’s father looked at the joy in his son’s eyes, and his heart melted. The boy struggled to stand still at his father’s side, his gaze darting back and forth between his father and the toy he had just fallen in love with.

The father held his son’s hand tight as they walked towards the display where the little toy bicycle was kept.

“You really want it that much?” Father asked.

The little boy nodded in glee.

“I’ll tell you what,”, he continued…

Read the full story here

Mapas

11:25 am, my watch reads, and I’ve already begun to panic. Reporting time is still five minutes away and I’m pretty sure most of them will make it on time, but I’m so used to panicking five minutes before an event that it’s almost like a reflex now.

This isn’t going to be so hard. A regular visit to the old age home, serve some food, share some stories; nothing we haven’t done before. I’m just worried about the people joining us for the first time, the ones I haven’t met yet. I wonder what they’re going to be like. I wonder if they’re going to stay with us for a long time or if this visit is going to be a one time thing for them. I wonder if I gave them all the instructions correctly. But most of all, I wonder if they’re going to be on time.

I don’t know why, but punctuality is important to me in this organization. And although I tend to fall short of that discipline very often, it still means so much to me.

11:29 am

The volunteers arrive; even the new ones. I’m so relieved. From here, I can focus. But wait…one of them isn’t here yet. One of the new members is still missing. I browse through my phone to check if I sent her the right text message the previous day.

“Tomorrow, we meet at the Little Sisters old age home, Richmond road at 11:30am. You can also google map the place. Nestin Vas”

Yup, that seems to be right. I wonder why she’s not here yet.

I call her and she picks up.

“Where are you?”, I ask.

“I’m lost. I’m on Richmond road but I can’t find the place”, she replies.

“Did you try looking for it on Google maps?”

“I did. But the map shows the place is somewhere in Spain”

“What! Okay, that’s crazy”

“I know, I don’t know what’s wrong.”

“Okay, if you’re on Richmond road, please ask someone for the way to the old age home, and they will guide you.”

“Okay, will be there soon.”

11:45am

She walks in. “I’m so sorry I’m late”, she says, “there seems to be something wrong with the map on my phone”

Well, fifteen minutes isn’t so bad. Smiling, I greet her, “That’s alright. I’m Nestin Vas by the way”

She just stares back at me. She’s got this completely bewildered expression on her face. It’s almost like I’ve offended her in some way.

“Something wrong?” I ask her.

After a few more moments of silence, she whispers, “Your name is Nestin Vas?”

“Umm, yeah”, I reply.

She looks down at her phone, at her maps –

“I thought that’s what the old age home is called”

Touched

When I was little, I remember I was at a packed bus stop one day, waiting to get home. A stranger, much older than I, came up to me and started talking to me. He told me I’m beautiful and I, as any kid would, thought of it as a compliment. I smiled at him and said, “thank you”. He said he really liked me and as I looked at him, I began to feel a little uncomfortable. Before I could respond, he began to touch me. I sat there in silence; confused and afraid. I tried moving away but somehow, the fear didn’t let me. Time seemed to slow down as I waited desperately for someone to look and help me out. As he slid his hands in my shorts, I begged for the bus to come; but it didn’t…

Thankfully, his did. He invited me to get in and come home with him and luckily, I had the sense to refuse. I pushed him away and ran through the crowd.

But that wasn’t the only time something like that has happened to me. Unfortunately, most of us know that incidences like these are not too rare. The only reason we don’t know about it is because most people are afraid to talk about it.

I remember another man in particular – the bus conductor, who repeatedly told me that he thought my scouts’ shorts were very ‘wah’. He’d touch me inappropriately all the time. This went on for at least 3 months until I decided not to catch the bus anymore.

Years have passed. I’m not sure how all this has affected me; I’m not sure if the choices I make now, the way I think or the people I trust have anything to do with what happened back then. But I do know this….

When I decided to stop catching the bus; when I got back home and when I went to my room, still confused and afraid, hoping to forget that it had all happened, hoping I’d never have to talk about it, there was another Man who came up to me. He sat with me, smiled at me and told me I’m beautiful. He told me that everything was going to be alright. And as He held me with His nail pierced hands, He washed my fear away. He too, told me He loves me, and it was the most comforted I’ve ever felt.

I was touched again, but in a completely different way…

“No power of hell, no scheme of man,
Can ever pluck me from His hand;
Till He returns or calls me home,
Here in the power of Christ I’ll stand.”

What anyone would’ve done…

“I only did what anyone else would’ve done”, he said, trying not to look into their eyes directly, “it is not fair that you make a big deal about it”.

The crowd surrounded him. “Tell us what happened”, they demanded.

“This is so strange, leave me alone”, he said. But they didn’t budge.

He gave up; he had to. He began to explain what had happened the previous night.

“I saw her walking on the street. It was well past midnight. Why was she out so late? She should’ve known it isn’t safe.”

The crowd went silent, listening to him attentively.

“She wore a tiny little skirt. It was obvious she was drunk by the way she staggered. I don’t think she had any idea where she was either. It looked like she’d just come out of a party. These college students & their parties. Who knows what they do there.

I’ve noticed her before. I know where she lives. She’s so pretty. But last night, she seemed so dazed. I knew she wouldn’t remember anything when she woke up this morning. I’ve seen people get this drunk many times.

It was dark and she was alone. So I did it.

I rode towards her, pulled her onto my bike by force. And brought her here; to your house, to her house”.

They stared at him in silence for a while.

“You’re a hero to us son”, the crowd, her family said,, “we’re so grateful it was you who saw her and nobody else”

The little boy looked at them, smiled and left. He walked towards his cycle and rode away, confused about why people made a big deal about what had happened.

It was what anyone would’ve done…

It was what anyone should’ve done..