Ever looked at that common man on the street, the one in tattered shirt he wears everyday. Non-chalant of dusty winds and beside a swanky building. Not deep in thought, for he has to survive. Just waiting on the street before his next step.
Yes, that's where you are more likely to find him, on the street. He represents the majority of this nation. And he lives on or close to the street..
He was most likely born there, on or close to the street. His parents loved Him, and perhaps found Him as one of the few reasons to love their life. But they were forced to put Him to work to make ends meet. That is, to ensure He gets fed and clothed. Though regretful, they could not afford to send him to school. They did though, for a few years till the time he turned around 10. And then they needed him to work, as they aged early and got weaker sooner due to a life of hard labour. He had to start supporting family by the time he was 10..
Life on the street makes one hard. It's not easy to stand below the scorching Indian sun the whole day and not lose patience. You come to get cynical to the bone. Humanity comes later, the hungry stomach first. He learnt to steal, curse, defend himself, then beat up others. Smoking and drinking led him to a few of life's pleasures, times that could make him forget, to de-stress. Or else he'd have turned into a suicidal psychopath. He was not at the bedside during the last moments of his father's life. He just could not bear to hear anymore the coarse, dry cough his father suffered from. He'd walked away while his father coughed to death. There was nothing he could have done anyway..
Believe it or not, fear of the Indian policeman straightened him. Little credit comes by the way of the common hawaldar, about whose state we chuckle when we see him walking with his baton (flattering name to what should just be called a long stick). He was beaten up black and blue the first time he was caught. Then he kept getting recognized by the hawaldar posted at the street. He'd get beaten up or scowled at, sometimes for no apparent reason. The only escape was to avoid the hawaldar's sight, which was less likely. Or to just stop his vices, and get his face wiped out of the over-stressed hawaldar's memory. In the adolescent years, the latter path was easier..
As He grew stronger, his self-esteem picked up. No, the cars on the street or the celebrities on posters hadn't really disturbed his mind much in life. It was only around when he had to stop school that the feeling of self-pity had inflicted him. A feeling that was quickly solidified to stone by the stroke of heat quickly followed by the embers of a cold moon. The people in the cars, and even buses, were looked at by him, as an ant views humans...
But the cause of self-esteem was that he could work, and also earn a full-day's labour rate. He resumed some of his vices like smoking or drinking with buddies, but the fear and scars of beatings by the police evoked enough fear of punishment in him, to not go to illegal means. He earned the respect of elders he shared some of his earnings with, either when they were unwell, or even if by buying them a bidi. And thus he was made to marry (and support) another bonded labourer, a woman...
Life began to come full circle. While the pleasures of married life and sense of purpose starts melting you at first, the reality of supporting common needs begins to hit hard. It is at this point, that some of those in whom even though the fear of punishment is fixated, begin to find illegal means justifiable. He wants to be worthwhile, give his family some comforts. Even getting beaten or killed sometimes feels worth it, if just for a few days he could afford his family a good meal, small luxuries that he never got, nor would care for. But for his wife and child, can't he even get them this much...
Of course for such people, these pleasures are short-lived. They die a quick death, a knife or gun-shot wound. Or a slower one in jail, when they keep hearing of the hardships the loved ones undergo in the outside world.
And for those of weaker will (or strong enough to live in this guilt, depending upon how you look at it), they continue with harder and more labour to be able to support family. Breaking their back working round-the-clock, and yet feed a measly meal to the ever-crying, ever-falling-sick child.
The rest you know, you've read it above..
As we welcome the new year, do first reflect, before you resolve what to prioritize.
When you celebrate the India of culture, the India of hospitality, do stop to pause. And look at this man on the street.
When you celebrate India the land of democracy, tolerance, spirituality, do spare a moment for this man too. And try to look into his hungry soul...
