Street Stories

The train gradually slowed down and halted at a place with vast paddy fields on either sides of the railway track. The next station will arrive after 20 minutes of journey. Almost deserted green lands with one or two cows grazing and the prevailing silence appeared to be in sharp contrast to the hustle-bustle of city-life. The place was definitely not familiar to him. All these years he has been staying in the pulsating city of joy- Kolkata and such an aesthetic sight all around filled him with ecstasy. This morning when he woke up with the first kiss of the gentle rays of the sun touching the city, nothing seemed fortunate to him. His heart was sinking with depression. He wanted to run away, away to the carefree lands. He is not ready, not ready to bear the qualms of life.

He is a street beggar, a child between the ages of 6 to 8 years. Brown, lean, dust laden body and a bright expressive face, his innocence is adorable. Initially as an infant, his mother would carry him along while begging, later as he learnt to walk properly and had friends, they could accomplish their job all by themselves. But he was different from his gang members. The art of begging was definitely not his cup of tea; there are better performers on street than him of his age quite well mastered with a style for begging. He may have a name too but what’s in a name! Dressed shabbily, in torn and rugged t-shirt and shorts, he always held a naughty, beautiful smile across his face. That’s where he defied the norms of his profession and was often hit hard by his master for such under-performance at a growing age. They must not smile or else people would not sympathize with them. Though not allowed by his mother yet he dreams. Often about those days when they might not be crying for a meal just once a day or not worry of the rains while he falls fast asleep. He often wonders how it would be to go to the school wearing tie like those rich boys do or how does it feels to eat at a restaurant! He has often stood near the food stations in his locality smelling those maddening aroma from those restaurants’ kitchen chimney!

Last night, the sight of a road accident left him shattered. Though born and brought up in the streets and introduced to hardships since birth, his tender heart could not bear the ruthless killing of his fellow beggar. He often finds it difficult to cope up with the insensitive realities of his life. He never likes the pungent odor coming from his father’s mouth every time he cuddles him neither does he likes the stares of other men at his mother’s body passing by their slum. They had never bought any clothes; it has always come from their masters. No, not the colorful ones they sell in the markets but those old, faded ones, those that others have worn and then rejected for them to wear. He often thought if some day he could earn more money, he would buy a saree for his mother so that she no longer has to wear those torn clothes revealing and highlighting her private parts, then those ugly men might not stare at his doting mother. But all seem a distant dream.

He could hardly rest his soul even for an hour last night. Before breaking dawn he woke up in trauma after a nightmare, sweating terribly, it was then he decided to run away. The first morning train will reach the station soon. Carefully avoiding the ticket checker’s glare, he boarded it. After an hour’s journey, the train slowly halted at a place with vast paddy fields on either sides of the railway track. His first train journey and in a slow pace last night’s misery seems to fade gradually with new experiences of the man-made world. He has never travelled anywhere out of the city. He remembers those stories by his mother of her childhood days, how she described a village; all those imageries flashed upon his memory. He got down the train.

The place was synonymous to his mother’s description of a village. He walked ahead. Crossed the paddy fields and landed on the mud roads. Fresh air! Breathing was so easy and satisfying there. There’s no smoke that choked throats and pain lungs while respiration. He came across another sight similar to his mother’s stories. Under the shade of a huge tree there was a group of young boys of his age chanting the same table after their teacher. They still study like this here? His thoughts proceeded. Here must be enough rice to eat all day long. Immersed in deep thoughts, he moved ahead towards the pond.

“Stop that sound! Stop that sound, mother, tell them to stop that sound!” he restlessly whispered while his eyes remained closed. Worried his mother woke him up. “Don’t worry dear, calm down son, it’s the usual honking!” she comforted him. “If life at village was so happy mother, why didn’t you stay there?” he murmured with a curious expression.“We didn’t have money my boy!”(Sigh) regretted his mother. “We don’t have money here in the city as well, mother!” he exclaimed while transcending in deep thoughts.