In the world where we worthlessly exist...

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Memoir  |  House: Booksie Classic
The story is a depiction of the scenerio of those slums whose houses were demolished during 2000-2010 in the period prior to 2010 Commonwealth games. Demolition of Yamuna-Pushta as it came to be known in newspapers.

Submitted: December 15, 2014

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Submitted: December 15, 2014




There is always a story….but my existence and my death didn’t have any…….these are just thoughts; random thoughts.

 Waking up to the bright rays of the sun and a scintillating view of the clear blue sky above you, I am one of those million lucky kids of India who has the privilege of this lively experience every morning.  That has been  my daily routine since a few years until some unfortunate day  the sun has been gulped in by the monstrous clouds. The morning of a summer always brings a vibrant ambience to the streets of this capital city. However it gets worse in winter as i barely sleep ; the merciless barbaric cold pierces through my skin ,crawls inside my feeble body and sucks out all the warmth .I keep trembling as I lie in the icy cold rough lanes of the big streets by the tall lamp posts whose rays strive to cut through the dense fog. That's life in a fast lane ,you know.. And yes there are these pitiless ostentatious cars chasing out something unknown undefined in the road which I never happen to see just like they dont see me. Well they do see me but they dont notice me because in their world i dont live ,I merely exist ,dragging my body someone called god has given me. they dont know where i come from where i go ,I am invisible to them. But i dont mind. Even though sometimes i just wish that they had given me that little scrape of food they were having because those frequent times i felt like i was being twisted inside out.There's always a never ending inexorable hunger in me. There are times when i feel like snatching them away and having it all by myself-there's an another me, inside, who keeps pushing me to fall prey to his vices. But I believe something good keeps pulling the reins

These streets are my second home.  I did have another home , in the banks of Yamuna. Yamuna Pushta –that was it’s name. That might just sound something  picturesque to you. but  it's not. The water of Yamuna was pitch black,filthy,there was a stinking smell all the time. But i liked it there . You know why there weren’t any of those people who roams in the lanes of the streets looking all better and  flamboyant. There were other children like me,I played with them sometimes when I didn’t have to go to work. My work will sound funny to you . I had to jump into the thick dark drain like river and get things out;things like coins and utensils,pots,metals. I had fulfilled my purpose for the day when I could find many of such things. I found it even funnier when people from the streets came to worship this drain. Perhaps their minds still preserved  the thought that it was The Holy Yamuna. There was a brigde over the river and people had mistook Yamuna to be a large garbage bin since long. So, often there are free fall of things from the bridge . Yamuna takes it all – sins or debris. The water of the river was turning darker,grubbier and thicker as days passed. My mother used to say the river was beautiful,ravishing, when she was a child.But that was almost more than 36 years ago .With the passage of time it had narrowed down and turned into a drain.. She and my granparents had been languishing their woeful lives beside the river for many years.

One fine day my mother stopped speaking about the river. Infact She stopped speaking at all ,i didnt  have any clue nor did any one. She might have caught some deadly disease .I saw my dad burning her corpse just by the banks and threw her remains into the water.I had seen many other people doing that ,people from the city. They came ,chanted prayers, threw things in the river,burned someone's body and went back. That moment when i saw the dark smoke rising up from the flames burning  my mother's body ferociously all I know was I was desolate and there was an intolerable amount of pain inside me tearing me apart. I was Screaming out to my mother ,crying out my woes looking at that God with stark despondency and a loathsome anger. I guess God could never hear me because out in the bridge above, those  swift exuberant cars were making more noise than i was ,they were stuck in a traffic jam and they could not move further. An hour later the noise subsided and the road went back to its busy self but I was left alone, dejected ,once again with no answers.

A few years after my mother's death ,one  morning while i just dipped out from the river I saw a few people in their lavish suits talking to my father and a few other men. I went near them to listen when suddenly all of us were disturbed by a loud noise. I looked back and saw a huge vehicle with large spade like front having pointed jaw like edge coming down the slope. They call it bulldozer-that brutal machine ripped off our “jhuggis “ ‘our only remaining identity in that place,like crushing a worthless insect with their huge feet. They said they were cleaning the city for some big game to happen in our city, a game of paramount importance.

Later our jhuggis turned into commonwealth games village, an eight lane express highway. Government had started a beautification project of our homes,but only sad fact was that they were no longer our homes. We have become what people call homeless. In all this process our worthless lives did found some meaning, we covered the pages of newspapers now and then,some valiant ones even fought for our cause ,we have become part of tales and books and documentaries. The bee buzzed for sometime now and then and turned into its silent mode again.

Another night of freezing winter, I found my long sought peace. As many of us lied on the pavements, a huge truck rushed and went over my body. It was terribly agonizing but slowly and silently it took away all my pain. A wave of relief passed across my mind. My body was disposed somewhere and life in the city continued in oblivion.

As I said I never had a story…I came and went away like a mystery man. You will never know my name ,my gender or my age. I think that’s quite a suspense now… be contd.






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