Bringing Routers and Modems together in style
It was a sweltering Tuesday afternoon in Chandni Chowk. The narrow lane near the Sisganj Gurdwara was a symphony of chaos: rickshaw bells, the sizzle of samosas from a cart, and the nasal drone of a kiteseller. Rohan, a Class 9 student of St. Stephen’s School, was walking home, his school bag heavy with the weight of an unfinished Physics worksheet.
As he turned the corner near the old clock tower, he saw a crowd. A small, dirty-fingered boy, no older than eight, was sitting on the pavement. He wasn't begging. He was selling matchboxes. They were arranged in a neat, pathetic little pyramid on a torn newspaper. His name was Munna.
Munna stared. He didn’t understand. Rich people didn’t kneel. He touched the money, then touched Rohan’s shoes. “Sir, your shoes are dirty now.”
Rohan’s brain began its usual argument. Side A (The Self): “You need that ₹300 for the phone case. If you give him money, you’ll be short. Dad will say ‘I told you so’ about wasting pocket money.” Side B (The Human): “The phone case is plastic. This boy is buying dinner. A matchbox costs less than a toffee.” english bbc compacta class 9
He walked away. The Physics worksheet was still unfinished. The phone case was now a distant dream. But as he stepped into the shade of the Gurdwara, he felt a strange, quiet warmth. He realised that for the first time that week, he wasn't calculating anything.
Rohan ignored him. He had seen a thousand Munna’s before. But then, the boy did something strange. He didn’t shout or cry. He just carefully straightened a crooked matchbox, looked up at the grey sky, and whispered, “No rain today, please. If the matchsticks get damp, no one will buy.”
His pocket, however, was light. It contained exactly three crumpled ten-rupee notes and a half-eaten packet of digestive biscuits. It was a sweltering Tuesday afternoon in Chandni Chowk
Then, he pulled out his wallet. He took out the three ten-rupee notes. He took out the change for the bus. He took out the emergency fifty his mother had pinned inside for ‘just in case.’
He decided on a compromise. He walked up to the boy, bought one matchbox for ₹10 (a steep price, he knew), and started to walk away.
He felt a pinch. Not guilt. Just… a thought. Stephen’s School, was walking home, his school bag
“Bhaiya! Give it back!” Munna screamed, scrambling to his feet. “That’s all I have!”
He was saving for a new mobile phone case. Every rupee mattered.
“Bhaiya, ten rupees for a dozen,” Munna said, his voice hoarse.