Originally Posted by alankarmisra

There's a flurry of activity as the children wrap up their meal, line up to wash their hands and try to convince the waiter that they didn't get any papad insisting that perhaps he should hand them one before they leave. The waiter knows better. They have all got their papads. "No extra papad!", he screams in mock disgust. They leave grudgingly, guided by their teachers. One child remains. He has eaten little. His coach, a large man with dense facial hair, reassures him that there's no need to hurry. "I will wait for you Aryan. Eat slowly.", his voice booms. Aryan nods shyly, rocking his dangling feet, never looking up, never saying a word, thinking thoughts I do not hear. His eyes betray a glint of comfort in his mentor's words, if only for a fraction of a moment.


My thoughts turn to the coach. What is the source of his compassion? Parental instincts? An abused childhood and therefore perhaps, a desire to give what he did not get? A fortunate childhood and hence no knowledge of the alternatives? I may never know. But I do know this. I will wait for Aryan to finish.