Dear Sansa, I recently met a guy, a junior from my university days. He looked healthy, dressed smartly and looked happy every time we met. Today he opened his heart to me and told me the story of his life. And was I taken aback! Life is so unpredictable baby. It breaks your expectations every once in a while. People who look happy may not always be. While I was talking to him… with each new sentence he spoke … he broke the image I had of him in my mind. He reminded me of myself. It suddenly dawned on me, isn’t that how I am with people I meet every day. With a big smile on my face and a thousand promises in my little wallet. I remember so many people walking up to me and telling me that they felt jealous of my life. That I lived such a wonderful life. I wondered if any of them would ever come to know of the sorrows that I slept and woke with every day? How could they know about the nights I could not sleep because I was hungry and had just 12 Rupees in my pocket? Ate a samosa and drank water thinking that I wouldn’t be hungry anymore but an hour or so would pass by and just the knowledge that I could not eat more and didn’t have money would make me hungry. And I would spend the whole night waiting for the free breakfast in the hostel mess. Or later when I left the university and started living alone. I would wait for a specific shop to open so that I could buy from them on credit. Some biscuits, cookies, whatever. Would any of them ever get to know about the struggles I faced living in that small dark room I talked about in our last letter? They wouldn’t baby. We rarely get to know about people’s struggles though we always celebrate their glories. In the meantime, we get so entangled among ourselves that we forget about the person sat next to us. We do not realise that with his life comes his share of struggles too. Struggles so different and heavy that we may be unaware of their mere existence. I will tell you a story about my first teenage break-up. I felt like the saddest person alive. When you grow up to be a teenager baby that will be the most miserable state of your life… getting separated from your first love. I left the city for awhile and went to the nearest hill station. Unfortunately, I had forgotten to take my phone’s charger and left the ATM card in the room by mistake. What followed is a story for another letter but I will tell you something else. I will tell you of a conversation I had with a beggar. I was taking a walk on the bank of the river. It was a religious city filled with religious saints who begged to live. I suddenly saw such a saint-beggar sitting on the stairs of the ghats and eating bread with pickles. He looked like a fraudster. I knew he would go upto to people and beg for their sympathy and whatever money that he could get. Still, I went up to him and talked. But I was feeling angry baby. I could see that going forward my life would see a lot of struggle before I could find a course to run my livelihood. So I naturally felt angry with him frauding people to gain his living. He looked perfectly healthy to me. I thought, why couldn’t he work to live. I waited for him to finish his food. As soon as he was done, I went up to him. I asked him: Do you live here? He replied: Does it look like I live at one place? I asked: Where do you live? He said: Wherever life takes me. I asked: Why do you beg? He smiled wickedly. I felt angrier. I said: You look perfectly healthy. Why cant you work somewhere and earn money like all of us do? Why to rob people of their money by begging for sympathy? He smiled more. I almost shouted: What a waste! As I started to walk away… he shouted from behind. I turned back. He told me to sit with him. I had nothing better to do so I sat with him. He asked me: Where do you live? I said: New Delhi. He asked: Which area? I replied: South. “Ever been to north-central?” I said yes! Of course! “Heard of Vajirpur?” I said yes! “What have you heard?” I knew of small industries there. “What kind of industries?” I remembered and asked steel ? “Yes”. Dissatisfied with this turn in the conversation, I pressed on, ”so” ? He replied: Rolling, melting and pressing of steel. Hmm. He slowly went on: 2200 small factories. They hire workers on a day to day payroll. No registers, no proof. It’s dangerous to work there. There are no safety measures. When the steel is pressed, small pieces of steel are thrown out of the machine and sometimes they hit the workers and injure them. He then opened his shirt. There was a huge cut mark right on his chest baby. Around six inches long. I asked: You worked there? He replied: Yes! So did my wife. I asked: Where is she? “She worked in the melting section but met with an accident and died. I wasn’t even present that day. A decade ago they would just dump the bodies near the rail-track that passed Wazirpur. I couldn’t even find her body. Some say they threw her body in the melting chimney. I could not work for three years after this injury too. I had a fracture in my chest. And even after I was well, I couldn’t do any physical labor. And I had no reasons to stay in that city anymore. No attachments whatsoever. Neither with the city nor life my son! I do not even beg. If I am lucky, I find some food. If I am not, I sleep hungry. I do not care.” He said all this without shedding a drop of tear baby. His face without emotion. I asked him, quietly: How long has it been? “12 years.” How long were you married? “Three months.” He didn’t say anything after that. I sat silent and kept looking at him. After a few minutes I stood up and started walking. He held my hands and asked, do you have a cigarette or a beedi? I said I did not smoke and walked away. After a few steps I saw a shop, went there and bought a packet of cigarettes and returned to him. I gave him the pack. He laughed and said: Maybe I should share my life’s story more often. I get free cigarettes that way! I smiled and I didn’t. I felt sorry for myself baby. I felt sorry that my parameters of joy and sadness were so low, so shallow. Whenever you feel sad baby, remind yourself of this letter and the thousands of and millions of people who live lives that u and me could never imagine… whose hardships would never touch us. With love, Dad Letters to My Daughter Sansa - Pushkar ( #letterstosansa )
Posted on: Tue, 05 Aug 2014 15:30:26 +0000
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