I do not have a voice. I am always hungry. I am mocked at. I do not have a family but I am not an orphan – I am an unwanted whatever. I am Nobody.
I am neither a hero of my story, nor a villain. But I am alive because I can breathe and my tummy is always growling. I am alive because I crave for death and want my body to decay. I want to silence the ghost sitting in my tummy, always demanding food. Where do I bring food for him? It does not understand. It keeps on demanding the food that rich people eat. It does not know that food is not for me or for people like me. I sometimes do find a rotten apple, a stale bread or pieces of biscuits laying on the road or in the heap of garbage. People told me that the food I eat is dirty. They do not know how precious it is for me. They are naive. I do not mind. I feed the food I find in the heap of garbage to the ghost sitting in my tummy to silence it. If you know how to silence this ghost, please tell me. Do not send me a letter – because I cannot read like those children who ride a bus every morning when I am usually searching the food in the trashcan kept outside their houses.
Oh! you must be wondering that who is this unwanted whatever. I am an unwanted ‘cinitzen’, no, ‘citinez.’ Wait let me recall, oh yes, ‘citizen’ of this country. Sorry, I do not know what it is. I heard it yesterday. That beautiful lady wearing clean clothes who had hired me to clean their bathroom said, ‘some citizens are born to do this.’ But I do not know what citizens are- I said citizens because that is what that rich lady addressed me as. Sorry. I do not have any definition of citizen. But oh well, I am a ‘boy’ because that is what people call me, they say “Oye ladke idhar aa.” (Hey boy, come here). I do not have an identity. I am all of those who are ‘alive.’ I do not have a name, yet I am found in every street, every corner, in every city. Have you ever watched a person sleeping under the flyover? Yes, that was me. But that’s not the only place I am found at– there are several of those places and several of them like me. We do not have any names; but the people riding bikes, and cars have given us some names. They call us- oye, chotu, chal hatt yaha se! etc. I say ‘etc’ because our names are infinite and it depends upon the creativity of every pedestrian and passer-by.
Well, if you wish to meet me, step outside your home today, look around you, you would find hundreds of them like me. Well, if not hundred, undoubtedly one. Yes, that would be me. If you still find it difficult to find me, look keenly. You would find adults trapped in the bodies of the children working as rag-pickers, cleaning your sewage, looking for food in your trash. For us, the Sun never rises, it never shines, but the Sun burns our bodies. I look dark, pale, barefoot, often rag-picking, hungry and have dry eyes. The invisible Sun sucks our blood. I am a boy who lives in the darkness – maybe underground, my story is not solely mine. I do not know what happiness is, how dancing in rain feels like, because rains always sweep away my tent. I have never float a boat in the rain water like the boys living in sky scrappers. I have never touched a blank paper but I know how newspapers feel like, or the pages filled up with ink feels like, because I sleep on them.
I have never smiled. Yes, I have teeth. No one smiles at me. I am frowned at. Everyone shoos me away. They do not touch me, but I understand. My dirty hands might spoil their clean dresses. They wear really pretty dresses. I have one pants, that is torn. An undershirt that I found in a bin. But I am happy, because atleast I am not naked. My pants are very old now. Oh, they say that I am begging in these streets for around six years now. That’s what my age is, I guess. I do not know numbers. I do not know how much six is, but once I got a paper note that everyone called ‘money.’ I was confused because I did not need paper because I do not know how to read. I saw a girl giving that paper to a shopkeeper who in return gave her something to eat. I went to the same shop. I looked at him blankly. He was about to shoo me away. I immediately showed him that paper. He said-
“Where did you steal it from. Stand at a distance, go one step back”
I stepped back. He again said – “Yes what do you want. You want to eat something?”
I was confused but the ghost inside my tummy started kicking me. I nodded. I said “Yes I want to eat”
He handed me over a pack of biscuits. I never knew how it felt to hold a ‘PACKET’ of biscuit. I tore it and in blink of an eye, I finished it. I did not know what being happy means. Happiness never knocked my door. I do see some children running, giggling, going to schools. I never laughed. I never giggled. But that day I realized the power of those papers in which an old bald man was printed.
A man who looked no different than me used to collect junk everyday. I wondered how he ate the plastics and other rags he collected. One day, I followed him. He collected the rags and sold it to a man. He gave him a paper note, that looked similar to what I was given. I asked him what he does. He gazed at me and said “Aye, chal nikal yaha se. Dikhta nahi hai, bhangaar bechta hun?” (Aye, get lost! Can’t you see that I sell junk).
Next day, I collected some junk. I sold it to the same man. He mocked at me but gave me a coin. The coin bought me just a candy. I found rotten apples and bananas. When I went to sell them, they kicked me. I did not cry. I do not cry. I am nobody and this is how people greet me. But I understood that they do not buy what I eat. Their business is the bottles and cartons. I collected more junk the next day, some bottles, some cartons. He patted my shoulder and gave me a paper note. This paper note had the same bald man that other paper notes have but it looked somewhat different than what I got previously. Hesitant and unsure, I went to the same shop. I looked at him. He said, “Kya hai be” (What is it?) I silently slid the paper note. He laughed at me. He gave me a packet of bread and a small pack of juice. Something was written on it, I could not read. It was something in colour. I do not know which colour but It was bright.
I went to the footpath. Sat in disbelief for a while. I saw many papers, coloured with ink, but that particular paper got me what I never got – a meal. I turned my head and saw some dogs. They came near me, snatched the packet. I could not resist. They are like me afterall. I can sell junk, but they can’t. I did not cry. I do not cry.
A lady came near me. She saw me. No, she stared. She asked me “Bhook lagi hai ?” (Are you hungry?) I did not say anything. Why was she talking to me ? No one talks to me. They either beat me or shoo me away. She was wearing a long something. It was beautiful. I do not know what it is called. She held a bag, different than mine, infact different than that junk seller I previously met. She was clean and pretty. Her hair was clean. Her hands looked pretty. She touched my head. But why did she touch me ? I do not know. She was different than all other people. She did not ask me to clean her bathroom. She sat near me. I shrugged. Is it because she found me beautiful? But I am not as fair as other children, or clean like them. Why did she touch me?
She said “What is your name?” I did not look at her. She was clean. I couldn’t. She again said, “Where do you live?” I kept mum. “Accha chalo batao aapke mummy papa kaha hain?” (okay, c’mon tell me where are your mother and father?” I did not know where they were. I did not say anything.
She cupped my face in her hands. Her hands must have got dirty. My heart started to race. Why did she touch me ? I felt my eyes welling up, but I did not cry. I do not cry.
She again said, “Look, I am your didi. I have many friends like you. You can feel comfortable with me.” Didi ? Why did she call herself my didi ? Many friends like me ? What did she mean ? She is friends with people like me? But aren’t we aliens? We do not have any names, we are nobody. She is friends with nobody?
She again said, “C’mon I will take you to our centre. There are many children like you, who are pretty and perfect. I am your Anita didi. I will take you to Pehchaan The Street School’s centre where you would be able to make friends. No one would trouble you there.
I kept listening. I did not utter anything. She held my hand softly. Her hold was not harsh. I did not feel any pain when she held my hand. But why was she taking me to her centre? I belong to street, honks of vehicles and fights of drunkards is my lullaby. I froze.
She sat on her knees. I looked into her eyes. Her eyes were beautiful. There was some black colour applied on her eyes that made them more pretty. Her face was bright and beautiful. I closed my eyes because I am not used to looking at clean faces. She kissed my hands. But why did she ? Isn’t she scared that she might catch some disease?
She said, “don’t be scared. I am your elder sister?” I ignored her because I was scared.
She stopped a rickshaw. She made me sit besides her. I am not used to riding rickshaw, sitting in clean places or touching pretty people. She smiled at me. I looked away.
The rickshaw stopped. She gave the driver same paper note that bought me food. I did not know that the bald man in the paper makes papers valuable. She again held my hands. But it was a street. Why did she call a street her centre? Is it because she is rich people and rich own everything? I do not know. I think I will get to know.
There were several of them with not so clean faces, sitting. They looked like me, but they were smiling. They looked cheerful. I could see their teeth. I do not know if I can smile. I have never smiled. I touched my mouth. I too have teeth. She called two children. Aman and Anjali. They had names. I do not have a name. They hugged her. They were dark skinned like me, but happy. They said something in a language rich people speak. They stretched their hands towards me and said “Helloww.” I have heard this word. The school going children say this word. I was confused. I do not go to school. I do not know what school is.
The lady comforted me. She said, say hello to your new friends. I was scared. I did not say hello. They could have stretched my hand and twisted it. But Anita didi held my hand and Aman and Anjali hugged me. No one had hugged me earlier. My eyes welled up. But I did not cry. I do not cry.
“C’mon my dear children, say hello to our new friend,” said Anita didi. But why did she call me their friend? I am nobody. I cannot be someone’s friend. A voice echoed. “Hello.” My heart started throbbing.
“But what’s his name,” said Aman. We will call him “Deepak.” Oh, I have a name now? No, I do not have a name. I cannot have a name. But why did they call me Deepak? What does that mean? I am nobody. “Deepak please come and meet your friends.” I hesitantly moved forward. Anita didi announced, “Deepak is our new student at Pehchaan The Street School. He is our new friend. Let’s all cheer him up.” My heart started throbbing. I was baffled and perplexed. I have a name, I have friends. I have Anita didi. But I did not beg for it like those children who beg and get food in return.
“I am Bhawna. Sit with me. Deepak, why are you so silent. Can’t you speak?” said she. I looked at her timidly. She tickled me. I burst into laughter. I had never laughed. I did not know how laughing felt like. I heard myself laughing for the first time. She hugged me. Anita didi rushed towards me and hugged me too. I never cried. I did not cry when a car rushed over my parents and killed them. I did not cry when I lost my brother in a flood. I did not cry when someone kicked me. I did not cry when drunk uncles beat me.
The ghost in my tummy was silent today. My eyes welled up. I did not stop the tears. I cried today. I howled. I wailed. I have a name now. I am Deepak. I am not a nobody. I am somebody. I have friends. I cried because I was hugged.
I do cry. I am crying. I will talk to you later.