Born in a mud house, I opened my eyes to see my 7 brothers and sisters around me, gleefully looking at me.
Since birth, I didn’t get the right amount of food I required to grow into a healthy man. Usually, all of us (my brothers and sisters) used to end up snatching each-others food to fill up their stomachs. Being the youngest of all, my mother used to take good care of me.
I grew up playing in sand and stones. I had no toys to play with. My eldest brother who was just 12 yrs old then, used to ride a Tonga. My father used to assist my elder brother in his early days but later he switched his job to only sitting at home and patting Hari. Hari was 20 yrs old, and was the only source of living for our family.
A brown horse, with white patches on his body and short hair on his neck-line. He was the smartest horse, I might have seen in my life. Each day when he used to come back home, we used to play together. I used to get on his back and then sit and act as if I m riding on him. My other two brothers, who were of the age 8 and 9 used to go to bangle making factory, and bring in some amount of money, which was though not satisfactory but, valuable for all of us.
When I grew to 5 years of age, I got the very first opportunity to go with my elder brothers to the bangle making factory. By that time, my father had started a small shop by the road-side and sat there as a cobbler. About 5-10 Rs. each day, was what he used to make. They were then either spent in his drinking or smoking. Mother had nothing to do or say, because my father used to beat her a lot. Nobody in the house had that courage to ask him save that money for the rest of his family.
My 3 sisters would do nothing the whole day except going to the streets and begging for some food and money. As I started growing and began understanding things in a better way, I came to know that, to live my life, I need to work for myself. My eldest brother Shyam used to love me the most. So, when I was 8 yrs old, he asked me to come along with him to ride the Tonga. I agreed. I had no other option apart from this.
Since that day, I and Hari build a much stronger bond. I started understanding his needs and he understood mine. Providing him proper food and water at proper time was most important than anything else. I might stay hungry, eat nothing the whole day, but Hari had to. Because, it was only because of him that we had a living. I, Shyam and our mother.
Rest of my brothers and sisters had left the home by now and moved to the slums of other cities in search of some better living but, nobody knew, our life, our fate is nothing else but living a life of a poor and at times, even a beggar.
At the age of 8 when I started the Tonga, our first and foremost duty in the morning was to take the school children to their school safely. I used to look at them gleefully. The wonderful school dress, the black shoes, white socks and a school bag along with a water bottle. Everybody had this in common. Each day, when I saw them, I wished I could had gone to school myself and studied something so that I could had grown to be a successful person.
But, all my wishes were in vain. One day, when I asked my brother shyam about the same, he snapped at me, saying “Forget this. We cannot afford to send you to school. Who will bring in the living then? How would we survive?”
And I felt silent. As time passed by, I mastered the art of riding the Tonga. At the age of 10, I used to race my Tonga with the others and Hari always supported me. Shyam by then left Tonga riding and got into the habit of playing cards. He would not come back home for 4-5 days at length and if he did, he would only come to find me in peace and happiness.
My life had nothing more left. When I grew to the age of 20, Hari fell sick and died. I didn’t have the money to buy another horse. I was left with nothing now. Hari was gone. I was left alone along with my mother.
I started visiting the crackers factory nearby my area. Not knowing how injurious the material is, I started working there to get some money for myself and my mother. And since then, I never turned to look at another option.
I am 50 years old now, with my one hand’s fingers melted. If somebody would look at me, he would say I am in my 70’s. The crackers factory has given me all there bodily consequences but, I have no complaints about this. And, if I do have, then, who would listen to me? Is it the government or the public officers? Nobody.
It is Diwali tomorrow and I have no money to buy crackers. My children and my wife are waiting and looking forward to see me in the evening, so that they can see what new clothes do I have to gift them for this season. But, I have nothing to gift them.
I stop at a snacks shop to buy some namkeen mixture for 5 Rs. for my family. I wait for the shopkeeper to look and listen to me, but, he is busy making the bills of some big, filthy customers. A girl is standing there, near the counter and looking at me. My daughter might have looked the same, if I had the right amount of money for her to bring her good food to eat and new clothes to wear. But, my daughter is illiterate as I am.
The young girl there, looked away from me, the whole world does the same. There’s nothing new to it but, she is thinking something; something about this big bad world and about the people like us.
I keep standing for my turn to come and after waiting for next 10 minutes, I get my mixture packed. I looked at the girl again, she looked at me, wanting to say something, wanting to show her sympathy but, certain things are better not spoken.
I leave. Walked away, to see if I can buy a diya for this Diwali.