The light has turned
red!
I gather my iron ring
and move into the spaces between the cars. The act comes naturally to me –
years and years of practice have made it so. I go through the motions automatically
– contorting my body to pass through the ring, doing cartwheels, handstands and
what not.
In the short time, I
have before the light turns green, I have to do all this and also go to as many
cars and collect money. It is a demanding task given that the majority of the
drivers are amused by my antics but few are willing to part with the money.
Some people call me a
beggar, but believe you me; I work harder than most people who say so and I
earn my way through life. My usual work hours are between 7 AM and 9 PM or
later – no off days, no planned breaks, no vacations. Performance is strictly
monitored – there are no awards for good collections but often the penalties
for failure are painful – restricted food, beatings, and worse.
I don’t know where
the cars come from, I don’t know where they go and I don’t care either way. I
hate the days that cars are not there because those days are not productive and
that means a bad day at what I call home. As long as cars are there I am in
business. I am thankful for the cars. Strike-days, “bandh” days are terrible.
The cars have all
sorts of people in them. Happy people, tense people, angry people, romantic
people, bored people, scared people – all living in their own world!
I love the young
couples – they are most likely to shell out money, not to help me out but to
make a good impression on their partner. Sometimes the girl prods the guy to
pay so that they can be rid of me quickly! Doesn’t matter to me, for the money
has no labels attached.
There are all sorts
of people. There are the usual solo office goers – some on bikes, others in
auto rickshaws, and some in cars. The bike people are the best – most will, on
some days, shell out a few coins. The poor guys in the auto are the worst – but
probably because they have difficulty in reaching their pockets while hanging
on for dear life.
Those in the cars act
as per their current mood – and definitely will shell out only if they are not
busy speaking on their mobile phones. A lot of them are now on their phones
while driving – what is there to talk about so much?
Weird people!!!!
The best ones are the
fair “firangs” (foreigners) and the Bermuda clad “desis” (Indians) with water
bottles. They do not deal in coins – the minimum is a ten-rupee note and sometimes
even a hundred.
The look on their
faces!
Priceless!
They almost get a
halo around their head once they give. If only they could see the good laugh,
we have at their expense later. For us selecting the right car is vitally
important. If we miss one of the cars with the firangs, desi or otherwise, it
means a sound trashing!
I have no friends. However,
I do have a family – not born of the same parents not even having permanent
members – but while we are together, the bonds are strong.
We share the same
“home”, same food, same pain and above all the same fate. The only permanent
members are Abbu (Father) and Khala (Aunt).
Abbu is not really
our father – it is just a name we call him for want of a better option.
Similarly, Khala is not really our aunt. Abbu is more loving than Khala – for
he beats us less often – that is Khala’s job! I believe she relishes it.
Abbu also does very
little. Khala takes up the entire domestic workload of the family. I do not
know what Abbu does but at times, he goes off for a few days. When he returns
there is usually an addition to the family - another brother or sister.
Where they come from,
I do not know. Then he trains them – initially with patience but the training
later on turns ugly and violent.
These are the worst
times; when the new recruit has learnt a few tricks, but is not able to
progress further. The free lunch period does not last very long – the new
member has to learn quickly to earn his keep!
I sometimes wonder
how my own entry would have been. I do not remember anything from my early days
but I have seen marks on different parts of my body, which make it clear that I
must have also gone through the same initiation.
I was lucky. I was
naturally supple of body and took to the tricks easily. There are others who
have no real skills and they struggle with the begging – making a sad face with
longing eyes to eke out a living. Those poor souls have the hardest times of
all.
There are others with
a different skill. They work as a team and the quickest one with the most
nimble fingers is the star. They have to be quick of the eye and fleet of the
foot – grab opportunity as it presents itself.
In the age of mobiles
– they have a better chance than earlier. Once a kill is made – it is our job
to create as much confusion as possible to allow him to get away. The air-conditioned
cars have placed a hurdle in their jobs – what with the windows usually rolled
up – but the best ones have developed new strategies to get around this
problem. Diversion, timing, teamwork – all form part of the strategy. These
artists also have another issue – once a kill is made, they cannot operate at
the same spot for a few days.
Rains are both the
cause of difficulties and of opportunities. The opportunities present
themselves in the form of jams and stalled cars. The jams meant that the window
of opportunity becomes longer – the other side being that the people inside the
cars are more irritable and less prone to shelling out.
The stalled cars mean
that they have to be pushed out of the waterlogging and present a chance to
demand payment instead of groveling for it.
The negative impact
of rains presents itself at night. Finding a dry place to sleep is difficult. The
limited number of clothes means an uncomfortable night.
With the advent of
gated colonies and high-rises – places to sleep have shrunk gradually. The
flyovers have somewhat redeemed the situation but they come with their own
associated problems. If you are not with your family – the “sickos” are likely
to get their hands on you. That is to be avoided at all cost – that is
something one learns fast on the streets.
There are things,
which puzzle me. I do not understand them and it worries me. At the same time,
there is no one to ask. Asking too many questions means trouble. There are
sisters who are more grown up than I am.
But they are the
miserable ones – those that look terrible. The good-looking ones just disappear
one day - some never to return! Some return later but they seem broken and
there are marks on their bodies and faces – marks of cruelty! Some return with
small babies who will then later become part of our family. Where do they go? Why
don’t some return? Who gives them these scars? Where do the babies come from?
All this I do not understand!
Then there is
Bhaisheb! Bhaisaheb is not one of us but yet one of us. He comes around once a
week in his ramshackle car. Still – he is the only one who drives a car. He comes
alone – always.
He hardly looks at
us, has a word with Abbu, collects a bag (probably money!), and drives off.
Sometimes he comes with a couple of people and the people thrash one of the
boys or sometimes one of the girls too! Why this happens, who he is, what
relation he has with Abbu – I do not know. I do know that Abbu and Khala are
both scared of him.
The police do not
usually bother us. Probably they are scared of Bhaisaheb too! But once in a
while a really bad one will snatch away a part of our earnings. If this happens
we all gang up and abuse them, but the abuses have no effect on them – they
just laugh it off.
We have our fun too.
Especially if a “baraat” – a wedding procession takes our route. There is a lot
of light, music and dancing. In addition, coin throwing! We rush to collect he
coins and join in enthusiastically in the dance until someone objects and we
get our ears boxed. If this happens – we fall back and start our abuses – we
have a good collection of abuses and usually we are paid to lay-off. “Baraats”
are fun!
What is to become of
me? Where are my parents? Will I live long? Can I have a better life? These are
not questions that occur to me! I mention this only because the TV “Didi“ was
saying this into the camera one day. She did pay me ten rupees to perform my
stunts while I became a TV star.
Bholi
was also paid to put on a miserable expression.
I
do not know what happened after that, but I never saw her again.
I
only know that I exist in a world where I am unseen, invisible. People prefer
us to be invisible.
I
have no idea about the answers to the questions that TV Didi was asking.
I
do not know whom she was asking these questions.