The Boy At The Dairy

I hate milk. I feel sick just looking at it but since it’s good for health, Mom insists that I guzzle some down at least once a day. I remember this one incident that happened years back when I was in school. It brought me to shame.

I had been to a nearby dairy to buy some curds. I placed my order and the vendor and got busy preparing my parcel of fresh, malai-filled curds. Just then, a small boy of about 5/6 yrs came to the counter. His hair was tousled and he had a small, round face. He wore and old, tattered vest that looked unwashed from a few weeks. He wore dark brown shorts and was barefoot. He looked up to the milk-vendor with a his innocent eyes and gave him a handful of coins. The vendor made a face and silently counted all the coins. On being satisfied with the exact change tendered, the vendor passed a huge, steel glass of milk to the boy. The tyke clutched the glass with both his hands and with a look of pride, drank it all up at one. With every gulp, his eyes shone and a slight smile escaped his mouth. I took my curds packet and walked away but the picture of that poor chap remained in my memory.

Some of us are lucky to have so many luxuries, we take them for granted. Some, like the little boy, for whom even a glass of milk was a huge treat, cherish every bit of it.

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