Write a picture composition on this picture. I thought of child labour starting with a story.
Answers
I visited The Eatspot, an extremely posh restaurant , this weekend.
No, this story is not a restaurant review about the dry biryani or hot lassi.
It is not about the Rajasthani style painting that adorned the deep dark wooden panels.
It is not about the silly waiters dressed like nervous fresh MBA grads from an obscure college, with white shirts and uncomfortable ties.
It is about Nizamuddin.
The little boy who poured water into my glass and cleared out my table.
He walked around nervously with a heavy jug of water, wearing the same black trousers and white shirt, no tie. His eyes darted across the room like a scared rabbit, scanning the place for empty tumblers that needed a refill. He was hardly four and a half feet tall, not a trace of facial hair. He couldn’t have been a day older than 12. He caught me staring at him and looked back, wondering whether to smile, or look away. And then, with those wide innocent eyes filled with confusion, he gave me a slow, hesitant smile.
Something tugged my heart strings and soon enough the dryness of the biryani or the callousness of the waiter who whisked away my rejected hot lassi was not the problem anymore.