A peep into a different reality

Living in the capital city if India, Delhi, I thought life was all about excellent educational facilities, lucrative jobs, shopping malls, VIP establishments, national happenings and all the big things. When I woke up in the morning one day, I did not know that a trip to my sister’s place would change my perception of people around me forever.

A detour on my way back home introduced me to what foreigners often term ‘Real India’ and where the majority of that ‘real’ Indian population strives.

From the wide and neatly demarcated roads, I was led into narrow and not so clean by-lanes. I was greeted with a row of tire shops with tyres hanging everywhere with the miasma of rubber in the air. Turning off the exhaust was no avail as the rustic tyre market was followed by a fish market. The stench was unbearable and I wished to make a quick exit.

But my wish was not going to be fulfilled too soon for my car came to a halt at the entrance of a particularly tight lane. I wondered that even if I did manage to usher my car into it, will I be able to get it across ? I was just trying to figure it out when I noticed a sweat-soaked fruit vendor pushing his fruit cart. It was shocking to see how this fellow was struggling to make ends meet and feed his family and with the household demands rising as ever. Dust, heat, haggling, being under paid by some over smart customers…what all he had to go through.

Anyway, I decided to enter the lane and a small child ran across the cramped road. ‘Mothers make sure their little ones are safely locked inside the house away from the traffic. Look here, for the poor, it’s his playground.’ I would not have been so shocked had I known what lay ahead.

And it was then that I was rudely awakened. The tight lane opened into slums. Two rag pickers were hunting for polythene bags among a heap of garbage. They would sell it off for a very meager price to be re-used or recycled.

Life is strange. Some people work so hard in dirt, muck n filth and earn so less while others sit in air conditioned offices and work their brains once in a few months and earn millions. God’s plans for men are unfathomable.

In the next few square yards lay a small town of the meanest of the mean with all means of living. A tailor threading a needle, young men drying wheat, people playing cards, women cooking in tiny shacks, kids playing, tired men sleeping, elders chit-chatting, a barber shaving his client with two more in waiting, children attending to the calls of nature, butchers, a daily supplies counter and cows.

Their means and perhaps their desires too were so basic it made me wonder how I could fuss over not finding a good designer for my fittings, non-availability of a good book store in my locality, my car gone to the workshop or even that summers were approaching.

The corner quartered children studying. Good staff, reputation, previous years results, extra curricular activities, individual participation…a list of endless requirements. And all these children want is to learn how to read and write. A single stretch of wall accommodating almost every basic need and all basic human actions.

The place was called Khayala Gaon and I still wake up at night and wonder how did I ever think life was tough. Rich or poor, everywhere people are surrounded with problems. After that day, I respect people around me, who in spite of everything they are facing in their lives, manage to put on a smile and set to work. The scale of problems may be different between the people living in the village and cities, but the situations are identical. A little strength, a little smile and a little more love is all that is needed to go through this wonderful journey called life.

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