Who says "Boys Don't Cry"? That night in Istanbul, I cried and I cried hard!

It was just like any other winter night in Istanbul - cold, dreary accompanied by a constant howling wind. I stole a glance at my watch - 9:45 pm but Divan Yolu, the main thoroughfare of Istanbul is devoid of life form. The wind cried harder, sending spasm of pain down my spine.The intensity of the wind seems to be increasing by the minute and driving everyone away.

I started to increase my pace and widen my stride. Although the boulevard is illuminated by the streetlights, the eerie silence is unnerving me badly. The few people sighted were scuttling around, as if in anticipation of the arrival of a calamity.

I am beginning to regret this really badly. Why did I leave the comfort of the cosy heated hostel for this? I should have just followed those 2 German and headed for Pirlanta Disco Bar. It happened to be one of the coolest watering hole in town and located conveniently at the basement of the hostel. However, I had never taken to the 'pubbing culture' though the beer costs a fraction of the price in Singapore. Moreover, it was my last night in Turkey and a visit to Turkey would be incomplete without a visit to the famed Turkish Baths.

Soon enough, raindrops started pelting down mercilessly. Frantically, I draped the hood of my jacket over my head and dashed under the awnings of the nearest shop. The shutters had long been shut, a dim light flickering feebly over me. I started rummaging into my haversack to search for my Istanbul map. The map, already in a very bad state, almost crumbled when it came into contact with the rain. Just at this moment, I felt a tug, a gentle tug at my pocket. Instinctively, I looked down.

A scrawny looking boy, barely 3 feet tall, was peering at me with a pair of brown eyes, filled with tinges of desperation and weariness. A green jacket over a T-shirt and an ill-fitting pant was all he wore. He was barefooted, exposing his blackened blistered legs to the harsh weather. His clothing was badly torn; holes - wide gaping holes everywhere, revealing glimpses of his bony rib cage. He was clutching a plastic bag filled with packets of tissue papers. The wind howled dauntlessly, but I was too shocked and dumbstruck to react.

He removed a packet meticulously and thrusted it towards me. I observed that his minuscule hands were trembling very badly. His hands had been brutally tortured by the freezing wind and rain. Instinctively, I grasped his hands into mine and held them tightly against my woolen gloves.

I held his hands for a really long time. I wanted badly to bring some warmth back into his lifeless body. Maybe it was the gloves, maybe it was the feeling of warmth, and maybe it had been a long time since anyone had noticed his existence. His eyes welled up and tears started streaking down.

Rains started pelting into the shelter but he didn't care - he was contended to leave his hands in mine for a long long time. He started muttering something in Turkish. I could not understand a word but I figured out that he had wanted me to buy some tissue papers from him before they got wet.

Ironically, at this juncture, I felt a sense of respect for him. All the street urchins that I had encountered in Istanbul are engaged in begging or pick pocketing activities (which unfortunately, I was a victim). But here, this boy who had been pushed to the brink of desperation and was on the verge of freezing, chose to earn his livelihood with dignity. He did not succumb to other easy avenues of soliciting for money,

"How much is it?" I blurted out reflexively. He could not comprehend what I was saying and shuffled instinctively to a dark corner. Illuminated by the dim light, I squinted hard to make out a silhouette in the corner.

A lifeless body, huddled tightly beneath a red sheet. The boy called out to her. No movement! He began to cry out her name frantically. Still no response! He started to shake her body vigorously. I sensed his panic and shared his relief when the girl opened her eyes bit by bit, revealing her bloodshot iris. I gasped - she seemed to be not much older than 7 years old! Apparently, she was in an extreme state of frostiness and fatigue. She attempted to talk but her words were barely audible and were further drowned by the ruthless ranting from the storm. She made an attempt to stand, but her skeletal body failed her almost immediately.

Without a second thought, I whipped out 5 million Turkish Lira (about S$5) and shoved it into her hands. The boy was ecstatic; the girl was too frail to display any emotion. The boy offered to me his entire bag of tissue.

I did not want to offend them and made them look like beggars. I didn?t want to rob them of their dignity so I took a packet. At this moment, I realized that they needed more than money; they were in dire need for food.

I spotted a booth 50 metres ahead. Dashing in the rain had never been fun but tonight I was dashing with a purpose - my life had never felt so meaningful till now.

It was a snack counter and the owner was packing up his stuffs. Toasted bread with butter was all the food that had been left. Fortunately, they still had lots of it and even better, lots of piping hot tea (a very common Turkish beverage). Gingerly balancing two cups of tea and half-a-dozen slices of bread, I sloshed along the drenched pavement, cautiously trying to avoid the numerous potholes. The look of gratitude had never left his face but now it had widened to a look of bewilderment when I appeared with the food.

They held on tightly to the Styrofoam cups for a long time. The fumes rose and caressed their faces gently with affection. The heat permeated their frosty fingers, invigorating them with life and feelings again. While they were gulping their breads, I spotted a faint smile at the corner of their mouths.

These children definitely did not deserve this treatment from this world. This world had robbed them of their innocence and their happiness. Childhood is meant to be the happiest period of one's life. It is a treacherous crime to deliver them to this world, only to subject them to such deplorable state of neglect and misery.

Although we did not speak a common language, our hearts did. Their looks of gratitude had transcended all language barriers and had expressed their feelings better than any spoken word. I gave them some money and food but they gave me a lifetime of satisfaction. I am indeed heartened that I had made a difference in someone's life tonight.

That night, I did not manage to visit the Turkish Baths. I had set out searching for the baths to make my trip complete. Instead, I had found the love, humanity and compassion that had made my life complete.