I was born in a poor family somewhere in Bangladesh. My parents died before I was five. When I was a teenager, I heard that many from our village have traveled to a distant city called Mumbai for jobs and money. I did not what nations and countries meant. I did not why borders existed. All I knew that if I have to go to Mumbai, I have to go furtively. I have to dupe the BSF folks and board a train from Guwahati or Kolkata to reach Mumbai. No, I do not have to buy a ticket for that ride too. My village folks had told me that ticket-checkers in India (Till then I knew the world is one place) are either too lazy or too greedy to check on poor guys like me. It sounded logical to me - everyone wants money and ticket-checkers also need it. I was oblivious of the fact they are given salaries and they pledge to serve the nation in the right way.
I reached Mumbai with a hope to survive in this big city. Little did I know that my small dreams in this big city would get crushed under the wheels of a big car.
Mumbai was not like what I had heard. They said you can get a job anywhere in Mumbai. There is a job for everyone. But I had to struggle. I worked as a waiter in a restaurant but soon they kicked me out because one morning, after completeing my shift the previous night at 3 am, I failed to wake up at 5 am to start off with my morning chore. I then tried my hand at office jobs. I was soon hired as a peon in a big company. But one day, when one letter went missing, they fired me. Later, they told me, they had found the letter somewhere in their stack of files but as they had already fired me, they could not take me back. That was the rule. They said that and apologized. And I was back to square one.
The footpath had become my home. I had made friends there. Some were from Bangladesh and some from south India. They were all nice people - they really worked hard in the day and drank and smoked up in the night. Some fought regularly amongst each other and some used to beat their wives every night. But they were still nice people. They never indulged in big crimes. Yes, petty crimes were okay with them. And what I liked the most about them was their attitude - they used to say that the local political leader was on their side. So they can never be evicted out of the footpath. Infact, they said that I should also go to him and ask him to make my ration card. And I get food and stuff for free every month. All I have to do in return is to vote for him during elections. Such nice people.
Some nights, I would just stay awake and see the cars whiz past. I had noticed cars going by at all time - even at the wee hours of the morning. And Friday and Saturday nights were my favorites. Cars on those nights would play loud music and drive by like rockets. Some of them would swerve and toss and bump but I presume that there is thrill attached to it. They must be sensible and intelligent to know what they are doing. They may look reckless but never has anything happened to any one of us. Yes, one friend was mentioning that some time back, some film star and some politician had run over some people. But come on, not all are like film stars and politicians.
And one fine day, I landed up with a job with one construction company. They had got a big project - that was the whisper. And I knew that I could make a lot of money. So I worked really hard.
It was a Saturday night. I usually do not sleep - I keep gawking at the big cars and listening to the loud music when they pass by. But I had a hard day's work - so sleep caught up on me. And then, 6 drunk people in a car ran over me and my friends.
I did not know that I would die this way. An inglorious and untimely death.
And suddenly, the media, the politicians and the people start reacting towards this incident. They ask for harsh punishment and cry out slogans. They do interviews and carry out polls and contests. But, in the end, it does not even matter for those big guys. They pay the money and come out of the jail. The media finds some new story; the politicians have the elections to worry about and the people have to carry on with their own lives.
And I become a closed chapter.
About the AuthorAbhijit Bhattacharya The author is a Marketing professional in the field of broadcast media for more than 9 years now.
He was born in Kolkata, where he finished his hig...Read Morefirst published:November 13, 2006, 10:04 ISTlast updated:November 13, 2006, 10:04 IST
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I did not know that I would die this way. An inglorious and untimely death.
I was born in a poor family somewhere in Bangladesh. My parents died before I was five. When I was a teenager, I heard that many from our village have traveled to a distant city called Mumbai for jobs and money. I did not what nations and countries meant. I did not why borders existed. All I knew that if I have to go to Mumbai, I have to go furtively. I have to dupe the BSF folks and board a train from Guwahati or Kolkata to reach Mumbai. No, I do not have to buy a ticket for that ride too. My village folks had told me that ticket-checkers in India (Till then I knew the world is one place) are either too lazy or too greedy to check on poor guys like me. It sounded logical to me - everyone wants money and ticket-checkers also need it. I was oblivious of the fact they are given salaries and they pledge to serve the nation in the right way.
I reached Mumbai with a hope to survive in this big city. Little did I know that my small dreams in this big city would get crushed under the wheels of a big car.
Mumbai was not like what I had heard. They said you can get a job anywhere in Mumbai. There is a job for everyone. But I had to struggle. I worked as a waiter in a restaurant but soon they kicked me out because one morning, after completeing my shift the previous night at 3 am, I failed to wake up at 5 am to start off with my morning chore. I then tried my hand at office jobs. I was soon hired as a peon in a big company. But one day, when one letter went missing, they fired me. Later, they told me, they had found the letter somewhere in their stack of files but as they had already fired me, they could not take me back. That was the rule. They said that and apologized. And I was back to square one.
The footpath had become my home. I had made friends there. Some were from Bangladesh and some from south India. They were all nice people - they really worked hard in the day and drank and smoked up in the night. Some fought regularly amongst each other and some used to beat their wives every night. But they were still nice people. They never indulged in big crimes. Yes, petty crimes were okay with them. And what I liked the most about them was their attitude - they used to say that the local political leader was on their side. So they can never be evicted out of the footpath. Infact, they said that I should also go to him and ask him to make my ration card. And I get food and stuff for free every month. All I have to do in return is to vote for him during elections. Such nice people.
Some nights, I would just stay awake and see the cars whiz past. I had noticed cars going by at all time - even at the wee hours of the morning. And Friday and Saturday nights were my favorites. Cars on those nights would play loud music and drive by like rockets. Some of them would swerve and toss and bump but I presume that there is thrill attached to it. They must be sensible and intelligent to know what they are doing. They may look reckless but never has anything happened to any one of us. Yes, one friend was mentioning that some time back, some film star and some politician had run over some people. But come on, not all are like film stars and politicians.
And one fine day, I landed up with a job with one construction company. They had got a big project - that was the whisper. And I knew that I could make a lot of money. So I worked really hard.
It was a Saturday night. I usually do not sleep - I keep gawking at the big cars and listening to the loud music when they pass by. But I had a hard day's work - so sleep caught up on me. And then, 6 drunk people in a car ran over me and my friends.
I did not know that I would die this way. An inglorious and untimely death.
And suddenly, the media, the politicians and the people start reacting towards this incident. They ask for harsh punishment and cry out slogans. They do interviews and carry out polls and contests. But, in the end, it does not even matter for those big guys. They pay the money and come out of the jail. The media finds some new story; the politicians have the elections to worry about and the people have to carry on with their own lives.
And I become a closed chapter.
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