Kid at the crossroad

The car screeched to a halt at the traffic signal. It was a sultry day and looking at the snaking traffic in front of us, we braced ourselves for another 10-15 minutes of suffocation inside the heated tin box. Moments later, a boy, not more than five years approached the car window saying something faintly audible but with a curious droning quality to it. I was seated by the window listening to my i-pod and was jolted out of my trance by this sudden intervention. The boy stretched out his palm for money. My aunt next to me was ready with her set piece of advice that she invariably mouths when she chances upon a child begging for money. "why don't you go to school? Why are you wasting your time begging on streets? Don't you wish to learn to read and write?"  All this while, I was thinking that the matter would have been wrapped up by parting with a 10 rupee note. My past experiences, and there have been quite a few, have made me realise that words like these possibly feel like hot molten metal on ears when hunger rages like fire in the stomach. But my aunt was in no mood to throw in the towel before she had made the kid see the utter futility of his daily exercise and realise the greater good for him and his people. By this time, the traffic signal had turned green. The kid, who had already had enough of the aunt's generous dose of advice, had moved on to the next car to try his luck after a poor showing. Just when our car was about to turn right from the crossroad, I caught a glimpse of that boy. He was pointing at our car and laughing. That laughter has a queer quality to it. It was a cross between a smirk and a sneer with a tinge of mockery. Was he mocking us, our empathy which was not worth a dime for him? Or was he taunting his fate, the hopelessness of his situation, where each of his hopes and dreams were being dashed by the reality every day? Where the basics that we take for granted seem like luxury to him, and aspiring for them a sacrilege.