The Irony (529 words)

 Krish crossed this traffic signal every day on his way to work, and almost without fail, he got stuck there.

He had grown up watching beggars and hawkers swarm the junction, but over the years, the scene had become increasingly overwhelming. The chaos was no longer just a part of the city’s character; it had become a public nuisance.

Swarms of children and young women, some with infants clinging to their hips, all in tattered clothes barely offering modesty, moved swiftly between the vehicles. Grimy children with running noses and matted hair, frail mothers cradling emaciated babies, the lame, the leprous, and even able-bodied boys and girls pretending to sell trinkets like combs, car swipes, magazines, and goggles, knocked on car windows and wiped windshields without being asked.

They couldn’t be ignored. They were persistent, sometimes even aggressive, and they darted dangerously through traffic as the lights changed, undeterred by the risks.

Krish felt a deep ache watching them. Offering a few coins or a sympathetic smile felt futile, a meaningless drop in an ocean of suffering.

He thought of the children who should have been in school, not wandering barefoot on sun-scorched roads or begging in the pouring rain.

It pained him that even after several decades of independence, poverty remained a harsh reality, stubbornly untouched by countless development plans and government schemes.

He felt a radical shift was needed, something bigger, something that would go beyond charity, and touch the root of the problem.

A sudden chorus of honking horns jolted him from his thoughts. The signal had turned green, and the beggars, too, had rushed off to the other side, where a fresh batch of vehicles waited.

The image of those faces stayed with him all day. His mood remained heavy, and when he met his colleagues at the office, he spoke only of what he had seen, of poverty, and what must be done to end it.

One colleague suggested banning begging outright.

Another said beggars should be jailed to “clean up” the cities.

None of it sat right with Krish. He longed for a day when no child would need to beg at a traffic light, when every child would have a home, an education, and a future.

That evening, Krish left the office early. He had promised to take his wife and son shopping for school supplies.

After picking up some stationery from Staples, they stopped at Bata to buy the boy a new pair of shoes, as his current ones were slightly tight. The old shoes, still in usable condition, were packed up and handed back to them.

“Let’s give these to some poor child at the signal,” his wife said kindly.

By then, it was already 8 PM. As always, their car halted at the signal. Krish lowered the window and looked out, scanning for the familiar sight of begging children.

But tonight, the crossing was empty.

Not a single child. Not even an adult beggar.

His wife’s face showed quiet disappointment.

And in a strange, bitter twist of irony, Krish found himself hoping, just for a moment, that at least one child would appear, if only to accept the shoes.