Sunday, December 3, 2006

Same old local

Same old local
Same old 9.56 fast local.

Goregaon. Jogeshwari. Andheri. The train started slowly and began to move very fast. If you stand at the gate and look down on the adjacent tracks, everything is so random that it makes sense.

The Jogeshwari slums and the big ‘outdoor broadcast displays’ between andheri and bandra have something in common. The people in the slums cherish the moment when a new display comes up. In another 15 days, they will get a new bed.

The material with which the banner is made is a material called ‘flex’. It has a soft plastic feel to it. Hot in summer, very cold in winter. It’s very seasonal. Like the life in slums where you literally live every season.

The train moves faster and so does everything around it. That’s what makes you think. Life is moving at a pace that’s faster than this train.

I want to do something for the slum dwellers. I want to do something for the children who sleep on the footpath. I want to do something that makes a difference to a beggar’s meal. I want to do something that will change something in the little hut, the roof of which is made up of newspapers.

Life is moving, as you stand by and watch.

Somewhere

Somewhere


This morning as usual I reached the Goregaon station 15mins earlier, to catch the fast train for Dadar at 9.45. So I had all the time in the world to have a full glass of a cutting chai.

Just when the hot tea was tearing through my lungs, hitting my gut like a fast train from Virar hits the station, I saw life, life on the track that leads to ‘nowhere’. A woman, in her mid twenties, sitting on the floor, very close to the trash bin and her baby standing just a foot away from her. The baby must have just learnt to stand up. (And when he realizes it requires energy to stand up probably he would regret learning the art). She had a small (in fact very small) piece of a veg puff (That’s what the man at the counter says. It’s a sin to call it a puff. Its jus some layers of maida). She had eaten half of it. She finished the remaining half of the puff and carefully wrapped the second puff in her dirty handkerchief.

It was not the first time I was seeing a woman like this. I have seen younger orphan girls trying to feed their hunger pangs in far more inhuman circumstances. The first question that rises in my mind when I see the girls/women on the streets, with no home to go to, with no room to change their clothes (that’s if they have any), or no toilet to use, is what do they do when they have their periods? What about the ‘highly-advertised-sanitary napkin-luxury’ that so many other women enjoy. It’s God’s biggest mistake to make any woman homeless.

In the meanwhile, a man came to the counter and asked for 4 Pan pasand chocolates. In the process of stuffing them in the pocket, one piece slipped through his hand and fell very close to the trash bin. So it was obviously against his ethics to pick it up, as it was dirty. He walked away without whining for the loss.

After she drank the free water from the counter, she picked her baby and was going to leave for ‘nowhere’. That’s when the infected Pan pasand caught her eye. She touched the packet with her big toe, to confirm that it wasn’t empty. She picked it up instantly and walked away to ‘nowhere’.

I am going to apply for a home loan tomorrow. I think 15,000 a month will be a comfortable EMI amount I can afford. I board the fast train and start my journey to ‘somewhere’.

The God

The God



“I am hungry!! My stomach hurts! The man with a big moustache has finally come. Now he’s going to throw some biscuits…yippee!! I don’t have to think about my hunger till the noon now! This man should live forever”



The dog had made the street near lower parel, his home. He was just about 2 years old. He never knew how he got to live for those 2 years. But now he lived on these 7 biscuits. Every morning at 9.30, the man with a big moustache who owned a vadapav outlet near the ‘dawn mills’ bus stop, gave the dog 7 biscuits as a ritual. He was doing his good deed. After the breakfast the dog went to the cemented floor which also had a shed and was very close to the sole bread provider’s shop, for a nap! Sleep feeds the hunger pangs!



Hours…minutes…seconds! It was an ugly world. People had only one thing for him in their eyes…hatred.



His childhood memories always haunted him. Kicks in the stomach were the most painful ones. The pain always remained for at least 3 days. Sometimes 4 as the stomach was always empty. He wanted to strike back but he was too weak. Then there was stepping on the tail. He felt the current rushing through his brain. He got instantly angry and the adrenalin forced him to bark back. But the culprits at the other end were always some kids. He forgave them.



Today, even after almost 2 years, he had to face the same fears. Though now he was bigger and even a little stronger than what he was…people were always stronger. Today in the same agony he was planning for a nap. That’s when something strange happened. A man came right in front of him and put his hands together for a ‘Namaskaar’. From what he knew of the world people did ‘Namaskaar’ in respect or when they apologized. The man’s face looked very familiar.



“Oh ya…he’s the same guy who had kicked me 2 days ago”



2 days ago he was standing next to the same guy while he ate a vadapav. His hungry eyes got him only one thing from the man. A powerful kick in the stomach.



“So he realized his mistake today…anyway…forgiven.”



After some time and a lot of contentment came another surprise. There was someone else who was apologizing to him! This time it was a small kid who had stepped on his tail the other day. His eyes were closed.



“So they don’t even have the guts to look me in the eye…” the dog smiled.



Days…weeks…months…the world felt so beautiful. Some people didn’t even have the guts to face him and the rest had respect for him.



This continued for almost a month. The dog was more than happy. He never felt hungry now! Finally…he knew he was important. He knew people cared about his feelings. They treated him like a living being.



Today he is 8 yrs old. He does get kicked in the stomach but he knows that the same man will apologize to him some day. He sees the world in a new light. He has made this ‘cemented floor with a shed’ his new home and he hardly leaves it.



Next to the dawn mills bus stop, in lower parel, he lives in a small roadside temple.

My article!

My article in a paper

http://www.dnaindia.com/report.asp?NewsID=1055091

just click on the link to read my article published in a newspaper in mumbai!



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