Yesterday, I saw two young girls complaining on not being seated in a microbus — the so called government subsidised public transportation in Nepal. They were hearing impaired. I could only see in their silence the grumbling for the reservations provided in the vehicle. She would stare with annoyance and the other would conform to her muted anger. A plump lady with wicked looks to her face sat on the reserved seat as if she had no idea on the reservations … or, perhaps refrained from leaving the precious seat. To her side were two school children, aged around 18, and right above her head was the shiny and ever-so-alerting ‘reservations for differently able ones’. I forgot to tell you that I was also not seated. Their discussions — perfectly executed with their artistic hands — was beyong my capacity of understanding but the fire in their eyes and some fingers directed at other passengers were certainly displaying the rage against them being devoid of their rights. I saw one of them signaling to say that the passengers were insane, saying how humans could be such ruthless and unkind. And then I thought to myself, how would I have reacted to the situation. I could certainly have left the seat for them or … would I ? How in the world would I reiterate their disability reminding them of their own gruesome experience of the unforgiving world to offer them a seat? How would I make an offer for their muted words? Would that not be awkward, a sympathy that would only add salt to their chronic wounds? Thus, I pondered over what was better: self-esteem, conscience, or sympathetic votes.