A man in a white coat had shuffled over from a modest booth tucked into the corner of the bustling station. The pop-up clinic, bordered by folding tables draped in crisp white sheets, is crammed with medical equipment and eye charts. Vivid yellow and royal blue banners bearing the Lion's Club insignia flutter overhead. A simple cardboard sign with "World Sight Day" printed in saffron yellow hangs beside the booth. Inside, an exam chair is surrounded by various vision testing machines and trays of sample glasses for patients to try on after their exams.
He introduces himself with a friendly smile as Dr. Aravind, his words and warm demeanor instantly putting me at ease. I explain my situation, and he listens intently, nodding in understanding. As I finish, he mentions that he lives in Alappuzha and generously offers a lifeline. He proposes that, since his journey back home isn't until dusk, I could assist him at the clinic until then. In return, he would provide me with transportation to Alappuzha when he leaves.
Relief washes over me as I eagerly accept his offer, thankful to trade my aimless waiting for a meaningful pursuit. Dr. Aravind hands me a stack of leaflets detailing the importance of eye exams and I know my role is to help spread awareness. Standing beside him, I hold out the leaflets, inviting passing travelers to stop in for a free eye check-up. The warmth of the emerging sun seems to mirror the warmth I feel within. The station's hustle resumes around us, but now I stand not as a solitary figure adrift but as part of a collective effort, my earlier isolation replaced by a newfound camaraderie.
It strikes me that perhaps this was more than mere happenstance. Dr. Aravind's offer, his simple act of kindness, had not only dispelled the looming clouds of my anxiety but had also reframed my perspective.
Walking through the station, I feel like a different person than the one who had arrived just a few hours ago. A group of children gather around me, their eyes wide with curiosity at the colourful leaflets in my hands. “What's this for, Chechi?” one of them asks, his head tilting up at me. I crouch to his level, explaining how eyes are like the lenses of a camera, capturing the world for us to remember. One small girl, with a gap-toothed grin, offers to help distribute leaflets. Before I know it, I'm leading a small army of earnest little volunteers, their laughter a merry chorus amid the station's constant thrum.
An elderly woman, her hair the colour of the dissipating clouds above, shares with me her tale of vision regained through such clinics. Her gratitude, woven with words of encouragement, is a gentle reminder of why this work matters. "You're doing good, child," she says, and I feel a kinship that crosses the boundaries of age and geography.
In the flurry, a man in a hurry collides with me, sending a cascade of leaflets fluttering like lost birds. He apologises and helps me gather them, his frustration softening into a chuckle. He says something in what I guess is Malayalam which I take to mean "Suppose it's a sign to slow down, eh?" He takes a leaflet with him as he strides away, a little slower this time.
A local artist, drawn to the cause, gifts us with a sign, replacing the cardboard with a vibrant beacon that draws more souls into our fold. It's as if his brushstrokes paint a brighter future, not just for those who come seeking aid but for me, in realising the impact one can have.
The day spent assisting Dr. Aravind had been enriching, immersing me in the warmth of genuine service and connection. Yet, the pressing issue of my dwindling funds cast a shadow over my thoughts. The station, with its blend of spices and myriad conversations, seemed to echo my own mix of fulfilment and apprehension.
A group of jolly British tourists catch my eye and bring a smile to my face. Decked out in a mix of panama hats, floral shirts, and loose cotton kurtas, they huddle together in a knot of good-natured bewilderment. Some brave souls sweat in full trousers and collared shirts, while others have adopted breezy kurta-pyjamas, nodding to local fashion. They attempt to decipher a map of the station, each member of the group confidently pointing in a different direction, their initial certainty quickly dissolving into cheerful confusion. As I approach them, leaflets in hand, ready to offer guidance, I mutter under my breath "A wrong stop, but perhaps the right place to be."
I approach them, confident I can help with directions after becoming familiar with the station throughout the course of the day. All they need are directions to their tour bus. I had earlier seen a brightly coloured bus several hundred meters from the station while handing out leaflets.
Escorting them to their waiting bus, I mention my predicament with the ATM. “Oh, we had the same issue!” exclaims one of the tourists, a woman with a reassuring voice. “But we found that the ATMs at Thiruvan...Theeruvan...I think the locals call it Trivandrum now, worked just fine. You should be able to sort it out there.”
She continues “We are heading back there after attending a tea-making competition in Munnar.” As she mentions the tea competition in Munnar, my ears perk up. A tea making competition? Images flood my mind - intricate tea ceremonies, aromatic steaming cups, passionate teams gathered around bubbling pots. What an incredible event to stumble upon, worlds away from my tiny town and a step closer to my destination.
As if reading my thoughts, one of the tourists asks with a broad smile “We've booked out the whole bus and have some spare seats. Fancy joining us for a bit of an adventure?”
The invitation to join them sparks a flicker of excitement in me. My heart brimming with gratitude for Dr. Aravind's kindness and a spirit ignited by the prospect of new adventures, I make my decision. This choice feels like a natural extension of the day's earlier experiences. A continuation of embracing the unexpected.
I approach Dr. Aravind, who is busy tidying up the remnants of the day's clinic, in nervous anticipation about the decision I have just made.
"Dr. Aravind," I begin, my voice tinged with sincere appreciation, "I can't thank you enough for everything today. Your kindness and the opportunity to help at the clinic have been incredible experiences for me."
He turns toward me, a gentle smile on his face, awaiting what I had to say next.
"I've been offered a ride to Thiruvananthapuram with a group of British tourists. They're going through Munnar, and there's this tea making contest...” I explain, my words trailing off, unsure of how he'd take it.
Dr. Aravind listens attentively, then nods understandingly. "Pandi, I'm glad you found another way to continue your journey. It's important to seize such unique opportunities when they come your way. You have a beautiful talent for connecting with people and Munnar is a beautiful place”.
His response is comforting, but his finger was pointing to something which truly cements my decision. There is a small quote by Proust at the bottom of the leaflet I had been handing out all day.
“The real voyage of discovery consists, not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes”.
These words echo in my mind as the bus pulls away from the station. A sense of freedom and anticipation coursing through me. The station fading behind us, I find a seat and the bumpy trip begins, the noise of Indian traffic and the exhausting events of the day catch up with me and I drift off to sleep.