DOES THIS SUNSET HAVE A SUNRISE?

For most, the red light at the traffic signal signifies two indignant odd minutes wait. But do you know that these two minutes fuel the life of a certain section of the society?
The traffic signal includes a microcosm of people who derive their daily livelihoods from it. There are beggars (kids and adults), prostitutes, tricksters and others who sell clothes, flowers and trinkets. Children work on the streets doing odd jobs, as rag dealers, shoe shiners and vendors. They speak quickly, act fast and operate somewhat honourably (with each other) to eke a meagre living out of the harsh metro street life.

They don’t know what their tomorrow holds. They are vulnerable to the danger of traffic and countless health hazards.

An account of a day by a nine year-old  girl, Mina living on the footpath at the traffic signal of an Indian metro.

“The shrieking horn of the rude lorry disrupted my sleep as I woke to a chilly morning. Maa was already at the usual chores, feeble after last night’s thrashing by Baba, a painful routine now. Every night Baba comes home in a drunken state and abuses Maa, primarily because she is unable to bear a male child yet.
There was still time for the Sunrise but a lot of hustle bustle had already started in the nearby tents. All our homes are makeshift tents made of plastic or gunny sacks, held by ropes. Men, women and children huddled up in tattered clothes or ‘kanthas’ with their worldly possessions in a small bundle, were slowly waking up to start another gruesome day, preparing to survive  another stretch of hardships, with eyes gleaming with hope.

Soon the sun rose in the East spreading out its warmth and I prayed for a peaceful day with atleast one square meal for all of us.

I was too hungry since the previous night. There was not a single scratch of food left. All earnings of yesterday were spent in medicines for grandmother who has been suffering from typhoid since last month. She still showed no signs of improvement and it was now being impossible for my parents to bear all her expenses.

Maa works as a domestic help in the big buildings nearby and Baba works as a ‘coolie’ at the Railway Station, though most of his earnings are wasted in bottles of alcohol. We live from hand to mouth.

Grandmother keeps coughing all night and day, which added to our woes, but we can do nothing beyond our means. There are no good medical facilities for footpath and slum dwellers like us. My little sister has a deformed skull. The local doctor says it is due to lack of nutrition at the time of her birth, but most in our community believe she is the punishment of  Maa’s sins in her last life.

Within a few hours the roads of the city were filling up with vehicles of different kinds. It was fun to observe the cars of various colours and types.

As I sat with my sister on my lap, I saw my best friend Akram approaching us from a distance. He works as a newspaper vendor to shops and homes and does some petty jobs to fill his stomach. He is ten years old, with a cheeky smile and has a shy and sombre expression. His mother died of some unknown ailment a few months ago and his father has been bed-ridden after being hit by a motorbike while asleep last week. He is the sole bread-earner for his family now. But he always dreams big.

As he reached us, he handed over the day’s newspaper to me. We sat in the chilly winter
morning reading the headlines of the day. Akram had learnt to read Hindi from a kind old man on the other side of the road, and taught me the same. We tried our best to read everything that was printed, although we could never comprehend much. Akram often says learning to read properly will help us become rich people some day and travel in big cars.       

I believe in him.

Just then Maa called me to fetch water from the tube-well. I took the two pails and one ‘handi’ we have and set-off with my little sister. The nearest tube-well is a twenty-minute walk from my place. I was exhausted by the time I returned home. Maa and Baba had already left for work.

There are no toilet or bathing facilities for us. The footpath that we call our home is too stinky and unhygienic, but we have no other options but to accept all the vagaries of life and try our best to make ends meet.

I sat down to make some trinklets and ‘gajras’ from the small white flowers I had collected on our way back from the tube-well. As I did so I observed happy children, smartly dressed, on their way to school. I dreamt how wonderful it would be in school, with so many friends, games, books and so much of fun and imagined myself one among them, wearing socks and shoes.

Although some of the customers were reluctant to pay the actual price for the ‘gajras’ and bargained, I had a fair sale today. I treated myself and my sister with some tea and biscuits, my first food since last two days.

As the day passed, the traffic increased. I have lived on this footpath for five years now, and every year the police threaten us to vacate the footpath. We are beaten up now and then, citing encroachment. But neither police nor the government bothers to construct homes for homeless like us, where we can live peacefully. What they forget is, we too belong to the community of human beings just like everyone else.

Soon it was evening. Maa was back with a little bit of cooked rice and ‘sabzi’ from one of the houses she works in. We shared it and were content after the meal. As the sun set and the darkness fell, young boys who left for work in the morning came back and gathered in a group. They collected all the earnings of the day in a small pouch to hand it over to their ‘sardar’, the betel-shop owner across the street. In return they get food and things like whitener, diluter, dendrite glue and ‘ganja’ which they fondly sniffed all evening.                                                                                                                                   

The betel-shop owner is a rude man. If any boy fails to submit his wage, he is brutally beaten up. Last year, he took a young girl of our community with the promise of offering her work. We never heard from her again.

The streets were filled with bright lights. I guess it must be some festival today. The streets and shops were decorated and dummies of a joyful, fat old man in red suit, having milky white beard and a big bag on his shoulder greeted the entrance of the shops. Children with their parents and friends moved about gaily, laughing and smiling. I went close to them asking for money, but they just shooed me away. I wonder why did they do so? Was it because of my torn clothes, or that I didn’t wear beautiful shoes like them?  Will parting with one coin really affect them so much? Don’t they understand that it can buy my weak sister some biscuits and bring a smile to her lips?

But friendship blooms even in the midst of poverty. Akram is back from his work for the day. He brought some chappatis and onions for dinner. After keeping aside some chappatis for his ailing father and himself, he offered the rest for my family.                                                       

I was overwhelmed by his gesture. I wondered if a boy who is so badly stricken by poverty, can have a heart to share, then why not the rich and flashy people be a little bit kind to us?

The streets became noisier as the night progressed. It was time to sleep now. Baba didn’t return today. I closed my eyes thanking God for the day, for my parents and friends. I prayed for a better tomorrow and my Baba to return. Soon I was fast asleep and in my dreams I was in a bright world where the sun of happiness never sets.”

Mina didn’t know it was the night of Christmas Eve, when children get gifts from Santa Claus. But for unfortunate children like her, even our dear old Santa Claus is partial to listen to their wishes. These children are still in search of the real Santa Claus who will fulfil their dreams and put an end to their hardships. So the next time you stop at the traffic signal, look at these innocent faces and give a thought to the way they live their lives.

Be the reason for their smiles.....