This article is written by a student writer from the Her Campus at Krea chapter and does not reflect the views of Her Campus.
We’re told not to talk to strangers. It’s advice that stays with us. Passed down casually but firmly, like a rule you don’t question. Strangers are meant to be background characters in our lives. People we pass, not people who stay. What’s there to learn from such background characters? One would wonder. I thought the same. Until my daily regular walks from my bus stop to my nursery became something that subconsciously stayed with me over time.
Back in first grade, my school bus dropped me off at a stop about 80 meters away from my nursery. A guard bhaiya would always be waiting there to pick me up and walk me the rest of the way. Every day from Monday to Friday, I would get down from the bus, shake bhaiya’s hand in excitement, and he would walk me to the nursery. I enjoyed this 80-meter walk to my nursery every day. He would tell me about his two daughters and how the younger one had the same backpack as me, and I would tell him about how mathematics never made sense to me. He would teach me the names of the trees we would pass in Hindi, and I would tell him the names of the animals I knew in English. I always asked him questions. Funny ones, like if a tree can breathe and eat and is alive like us, then why doesn’t it have a mouth, a nose, or lips the way we do? His response was always laughter, and I never understood if it was because he didn’t have an answer or because he found my odd curiosity amusing. This odd curiosity of mine never stopped. If something stood out to me, I asked about it.
One morning, that something was our shoes. I looked down at the road as we were walking, and I took notice of our shoes. They looked similar. Both black and leather, meant to be worn with a uniform. Mine were muddy and filled with dirt from the playground at school. “If we both have the same shoes, then why do mine look more worn out than yours?” I asked. “Mine still have to go places” (mujhe aur bhi jagon par jaana hoga), he said and smiled. His pair was still waiting to see more of the world that I had seen in just a few months. I just laughed and ran ahead into the gates of the nursery, not knowing what he meant, until years later I was posed with a question. What has been the most lasting impact a stranger has had on you?