On my way home from the gym this afternoon, I looked up at the chawl next door. Something I don’t usually do. The chawl – inhabited by more people than I can imagine I am sure – is dilapidated and sometimes I am genuinely concerned about its safety. What if the rotting wooden beams and banisters give way one monsoon and the structure comes crashing down?

Apart from being decrepit, it – at least its surroundings and parts of the balconies and corridors that I can see – is filthy. More reason not to look in that direction.
But this afternoon I saw something else.

A pink teddy bear – with a white satin bow around its chubby neck – was being put out to dry on the clothesline outside the first floor balcony. It was hanging by its ears – with two large clothes pegs attached to them. It was sopping wet of course.
A woman was making sure that it was firmly in place while, next to her, stood a girl. She was too small to look over the balcony banister and was peering through the rotting wooden beams, putting out a hand to touch the teddy, as if trying to reassure it that the ordeal would soon be over. Or was she reassuring herself?

Half-an-hour later, when I was rushing out to work, I looked up again. The girl was now accompanied by two boys, all of the same size. They were squatting in the balcony, huddled near to where the stuffed bear hung solemnly from the nylon rope. One of the boys put out his hand now to pat the toy on the head and it bobbed a bit.

It reminded me of when, as kids, one of us would fall ill and the others would come to visit. There would be hushed voices, soft footfalls, uncertain thoughts and the over-riding wish that the boy or girl would quickly get well so that we could all play again.