The Slumdogs

For humanity,read this post completely.

He clenched his bag tightly and jerked it over his shoulder,it was too heavy. It was the beginning of his 7th grade,so he was carrying each and every book. Better yet,they were complete. Though only for a few weeks till this 'first week of school' fever wore off. He was upset,and so were Akash and Piyush,his childhood friends who stayed in his building. Last academic year,after getting down the bus,they would always have a 'kala khatta gola' before walking home. But after Akash fell ill for a couple of weeks,someone told his mother that they sat 15 minutes below the building everyday waiting for the gola colour to wear off from their tongues. And after a huge arguement at their respective places, they were prohibited from having any of that roadside stuff.

Just then, he noticed a new stall next to the stupid filthy commerce college in front of his building. It was a shabby,shanty little vada pav stall,where a lady sat with a smile despite the unpleasant smell. Hoping that this one didn't turn out to be like the sandwich man who used this very stall and once served one of the college boys a cockroach in the sandwich,he shelled out a few coins from his pocket and handed them over to the lady. The samosas were cold but oddly tasty. He smiled at her and continued walking home. Till the next academic year,they ate here everyday.She now recognised them and often asked them about their studies and exams.

One day,he noticed that she wasn't there. One week later,she was still missing.She was probably sick.
He rushed past the college people,occasionally shooting them with angry glares. He had to collect a book from a friend then go to tutions. He entered the transit camp next to the college,jumping over the piling garbage and dodging the cocks and pigs as he rushed to his place. His friend was poor,his dad was a labourer.
He entered the flat. His friend smiled and offered him a glass of water. He declined and asked him for the book. His friend started rummaging around,searching for it. A weak voice came from the corner of the room,'Who is it, son?'
He looked at the woman and their eyes met. He smiled awkwardly and walked off,without the book. His friend called out to him,he walked faster. His friend came out,he started running.
He missed class that day. He sat in the garden ignoring the snogging couples and kept staring at his feet.
He should've known. He knew that his friend was poor,but being from an upper middle-class family,he obviously didn't realize what it was actually like to be that poor. He remembered the things he saw inside the huts when he would go to retrieve the cricket ball from the slums near his old building. And what he saw wasn't pretty,he often couldn't sleep thinking about it.

He had once suggested the stall to his friend.

Today,seeing the face he knew so well since past one year in a different light made him want to cry. And he did.
From that day onwards,he jumped over wide smelly drains and walked over mucky land but never used his regular path again. Only to learn a few weeks later that the woman never again returned to that stall.
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The kid collapsed on his bed,his mom stroked his hair affectionately. They had gone to watch a movie today,Dil chahta hai. It was the first movie that he hadn't slept through,he liked it.
"Mom?"
"Hmm? Not asleep yet?"
He shook his head.
"Why do people die? Why is it necessary that everyone has to die some day?"
"Why are you asking this?"
"That scene,where that woman is in the hospital and dying,I felt bad. Some day even you will go. What will me and Abhi do?"
"You will be grown ups then,like me and your father. I'm so old and yet I have my parents. We won't leave soon,don't worry. You can take care of yourself."
He rolled aside, the pillow engulfed his tears.
"Why do the sweepers clean that filthy garbage?"
"They aren't poor. They have more houses than us. You didn't know that?"
"You're lying. I've seen them in the huge cylinder things near the main road."
"No,kusu. That was someone else."
"Why are there so many beggars? Why doesn't the government just print many notes and give it to them? Everyone will be happy. Those poor people don't get anything. Dad shouldn't have ignored that poor man who came to our rickshaw today. He was blind,mom. What happens to such people? Do they live like that always? It must feel very bad na?"
His mother stayed silent. He continued.
"Today we went there again. To take the ball."
"Today?"
".... No,day before yesterday."
His mother walked off to her room suddenly. He was pretty sure he heard a sob from the bedroom,after an hour.
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Each and every word written above is true. The dil chahta hai and the poverty dialogues happened on two seperate nights though.
My dad tells me that the first month that my mom moved in into Bombay with dad,she was continuously crying as she wasn't used to the slums and the squalor. She stopped reading 'Shantaram' mid-way,she switched off 'Slumdog millionare' before the slum scenes barely started. She still can't take it,though she has learnt to keep herself away from it.
My locality has many slums and transit camps nearby. It's tough to walk by them everyday,but now I'm accustomed to it. Once in a while,I pause to watch the kids fly 'kites' using plastic bags,or buying toffees and sweets from shops or the women chatting on the foot-path.
At one point,we may start accepting that some things prevail. But then,it doesn't make those things invisible.