Kindness of strangers

Saving My Daughter

My husband was away for a few days, so I had my hands full in March 2005, looking after our home, a first-floor flat, and Banu, our one-year-old daughter. I was also adjusting to life in Pune, where we’d just settled. One day, between preparing lunch, I went to the bathroom. When I came out, I took one look at Banu and froze. She was on the floor, unconscious and frothing at the mouth, the small container of asafetida I had opened that morning lying empty next to her. I grabbed my daughter and ran out—she needed a doctor immediately. I knew there was nobody in the next-door flat, so I ran down and straight out of the building. The street was deserted. I reached the main road, barefoot and in my nightdress. Just then, an approaching red car stopped. “My baby needs a doctor immediately!” I blurted out to the young couple in the car. 

“Get in,” the man, who was driving, said. He then turned the car around and headed towards the marketplace. As I sat in the back seat, cradling Banu, aware that her limbs were growing cold, I told the couple what happened. When the car finally halted near the first doctor’s signboard we found, it was a pediatrician! Taking Banu from me, the man raced up to the clinic on the first floor. His wife and I followed. He quickly briefed the doctor, who then took Banu and asked us to wait outside. The lady sat next to me, comforting me and urging me to have faith. After 15 minutes, which seemed like hours to me, I was told Banu was fine. When I went in to see her, she called out, “Mamma!”

The doctor had washed Banu’s stomach out. An overdose of asafetida induces seizures in a child, but timely treatment prevented any real harm. When the doctor told us Banu could go home, the young man offered to drop us. When I refused, he pointed out something I hadn’t realized in the midst of the emergency: I hadn’t taken any money with me. The couple paid the doctor and gave me Rs100 for the auto fare home. 

I’ve never seen them again and I hope they read this and find me—I have a lot of thanking to do. 
Garima Srivastava, Pune

Caring Hands

On a cold morning in May last year, my husband Prem and I drove off from Leh, Ladakh, to Pangong Lake with four other tourists, all much younger than the two of us. The wet road slowed us down. hree hours on, midway through our journey, we had to stop behind a long line of vehicles. 

“The road ahead is blocked with snow,” said Norbu, our driver. “Even if we get to the lake, we cannot drive back in the dark—it gets too misty. We may have to spend the night there.” We were unprepared for this—no extra warm clothes, and the  risk of altitude sickness made me worry. I suggested we turn back, but the others refused. So Prem stepped out hoping to hitch a ride in one of the vehicles turning back. They were all full, but while he was out, Prem stepped deep into fresh snow, which filled his sports shoes and made his socks all soggy. Back in our tourist vehicle, his feet hurt and we were afraid of frostbite setting in. Determined to get a ride, I stepped out this time. One car with enough room passed by, but didn’t stop. Then a Maruti Gypsy with just the driver and a passenger took us in after I told them that my husband needed help. 

As we drove along, the man in the passenger seat in front twisted himself around, leaning over the back of his seat, and ordered Prem to remove his shoes and socks. Covering his cold, wet feet with a spare jacket, he reached underneath and started rubbing my husband’s feet. “Please, I’ll do it,” I insisted, but he ignored that and carried on the rubbing and kneading for some 20 minutes all through the long winding roads, until he was sure Prem’s feet were warm again. 

He told us he was Mohamad Ali, an engineer with the J&K government’s Roads and Building division, and that he lived on the outskirts of Leh. He was returning home after being stuck since the previous day on the other side of the snow-pile, which none of the tourist vehicles could cross. As we neared his home, Ali invited us to “whatever simple lunch was cooked.” When we declined, he asked the driver to drop us wherever we needed to go. Long before that, Prem’s feet were back to normal, thanks to an engineer’s loving heart and caring hands. 
Lata Kaku, Jaipur

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