Years ago, while going out on a tour, I reached the railway station at 11am. But just as I entered platform No 5, I heard an announcement that my train was late and was expected to arrive around 12-30pm.

I could not have gone back home for this short duration. So, I realised that I had to kill those 90 minutes somehow. I looked around to find a seat on one of the green painted wooden benches. But none was vacant. In fact, the announcement had sent several passengers scurrying for a seat.

Pulling my strolley and roller bag, I also kept virtually rolling back and forth on the platform. But there was no luck. “Can’t perch myself on the strolley for those 90 minutes” I told myself.

Suddenly, I was reminded of the musical chairs game. That might help, thought. I stood between two benches trying to figure out who among the seated persons was likely to get up for any reason, including a visit to the washroom.

My wait paid off. A middle-aged hefty man did get up and hurriedly head for the rest room. I pounced on the just-vacated seat and heaved a sigh of relief.

The huge clock overhead showed there was still an hour to go unless the train gotfurther delayed. So, I took out the morning’s unfinished newspaper. Just as I got engrossed in it, I found my shoe being tapped by a 12-year-old polio stricken boy.

As I looked at him, he indicated he was hungry. The lad implored me to let him polish my shoes to make a little earning. I melted even though my shoes had been polished only that morning. He was electrified. As he applied cream and polish, I inquired about his family.

“Sir, my father died a few years back. Now, my mother is suffering from asthma. Yet, she goes out to do odd jobs at homes. I got polio at an early age.”

The boy went on, “My mother wanted me to go to school, but they did not admit me owing to my infirmity. You tell me, Sir, if I don’t work, who would feed my ailing mother and my two younger sisters? And if people like you do not patronise me how will we survive?”

I had no answer. I looked into his eyes to ascertain that he was not lying. No, he was not. His crippled leg said it all.

“Are you and your sick mother able to earn enough to manage two square meals a day for your family of four?” I asked the boy. “Sir, we manage it somehow. But one day’s break caused by my mother’s illness or some other factor means we go to bed on empty stomach” he mumbled as he finished polishing one of my shoes.

I decided that besides his polishing charge, I would give him Rs100 (Dh6.63), knowing that it was no solution to his family’s continued ordeal.

Just then there was an announcement about my train arriving at platform No 5 and another train coming to platform No 4. I got up to move towards my bogie, while taking out money for the boy.

Suddenly, there was a sort of melee. The police had swooped down on beggars and even others like this lame boy making an honest earning by legitimate means to survive. The boy, who had polished only one shoe, vanished into the thick crowd along with his kit.

I tried my best to spot him but could not. Clutching a sum of Rs100 in my palm, I boarded my bogie, my eyes continuously scanning the crowd.

Having occupied my seat, I was still looking through the window for the boy when I heard somebody on the platform say: “Poor boy. To evade the police he jumped on the track of platform No 4 to cross over to platform No 3, but came under the coming train. He would have got away had he not been ‘langra’ [lame].”

I felt numb. I would look at the currency notes in my palm and then at the crowd still hoping to see the boy I was talking to only a few minutes back.

My train had moved on. Overtaken by shock, I almost lost my speech and did not feel like talking to any co-passenger. The imagined scene at his dwelling haunted me the whole day and night — and even after.

The boy’s words kept ringing in my ears: “One day’s break means all of us go to bed hungry.” Perhaps, his mother and little sisters would not have eaten a morsel for some days.

Lalit Raizada is a journalist based in India.