Humanity

A sweltering Singapore afternoon. I was walking down Jalan Besar, in
the little India neighborhood. On one of the first cross streets
emerging into the road, from Serangoon road, a gnarled, wiry old man
was pushing a cart or wheelbarrow. Every sinew strained, his
perspiration poured out. He looked around to a few passers by, yours
truly included. I understood not what he said, but knew what he wanted
- help. He wanted to traverse Jln Besar while traffic stood still,
awaiting the green signal a few tens of meters ahead.

I thought not - I joined him, on his right. We pushed. It was hardly a
task - for me. We wound past stationary vehicles, passing a bonnet
here, a boot there. My usual caution left me, and I frankly did
not care if the signal turned and traffic awoke.

They all could wait. The cabbie looking to reject the next fare; the
brat in a car his/her dad paid for in cash; the pickup truck
spewing smoke out back from its exhaust, and up front from between its
driver's yellowed teeth; the bored bus drivers who meet a thousand
people a day, yet not really connect with one unspeaking droid.

We pushed on, reaching the other side. I wondered what else I could
do. The old man, proud and gruff, waved me away, face averted - from
me? The sun? The cruel, unfilial world?

I ran over back to the other side. Proud. Happy. Content. Sad.
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