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Move On Up
2 years ago
Monday, July 05, 2010
Another story by the Ghats
It never filled him with remorse, or anger, when he saw him work all day long to earn such nominal pays. To be very honest, he didn't even like him too much.
He was a bit too much of a hypocrite in his eyes. He saw his father sing out praises about the deity's magical powers, and how she made your wish come true if you pleased her with special puja baskets; while in fact he was, but , an atheist.
At times , he felt ashamed to be living under the same roof as a liar. Somewhere down the line, it had inculcated in him this innate urge, to find a place of his own. Somewhere far away from the place where he had spent every waking moment of his entire childhood.
And then there was his mother. Since as long as he could remember, he had always walked into his hut to see his mother cooking, or cleaning their small abode, in silent suffering. He couldn't help but feel sad and disgusted at the same time. After all, she didn't have the right to suffer if she had never worked against it, did she?
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As me and my father, cautiously made our way down the mossy steps in rolled up chudidaar and jeans, and an empty bottle in each hand; he came up to us midway up the stairs.
"Can I help you with those bottles?"
"How far will you go?" , enquires my dad.
"I'll go up till the middle of the river"
My dad looks convinced, and hands him both the bottles.
"What's your name boy?", my father asks him as we three slowly make our way down.
"Lalu"
"Like Lalu Prasad Yadav eh?", my dad tries to joke.
He doesn't look amused, no crinkle of a smile even.
We continue our trudge downstairs.
I interrupt the silence, "How old are you?"
"15"
"You go to school?"
"Yes. I will be giving my 10th exams this year."
"Oh. Good good"
He barely listens to my reply as he jumps into the cold river.
I soak my feet in peacefully, and splash a few drops on my head. I look out at the magnificent river, to find him out at the middle of the river taking deep breaths and diving inside with two bottles in his hand.
By this point of time, a number of kids are surrounding me with big smiles on their faces as they continue floating in the river, asking me if I need help. I tell them I'm waiting for Lalu. They all go back to their ways.
That scrawny 15 year old returns, shivering out of the river. He was wearing nothing but a pair of shorts in the gloomy weather.
He hands me the 2 bottles.
"When did you learn to swim?"
"I knew it since I was a kid. Since I was 4 maybe."
"So since when have you been doing this then?", trying to inquire further as I hand him a ten rupee note.
"Since I learnt to swim."
And he walked away to help a few more people, without giving us a second glance.
I met Lalu by the banks of Ganga, that day.
And something about him, stuck a different chord in me.
And why wouldn't it?
After all, what do I know of hunger?
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5 Comments (+add yours?)
Ashmita doing what she does best! Narrating stories :)
The Bongo litterateur!
Impressive story telling...I personally love dabbling around with atmospheres, so I might have wanted a vermillion red sun setting into the 'married river' parting of the river banks, but then, thats me...maybe you left it out intentionally...
great stuff though! :)
Scribblers Inc.
P.S.- I could have continued, but I need to get away from this page, cuz the sight of the delicacies below is causing a menace in my tummy! :[
You have a quirky style. I like the unpretentious story telling !
Though as Pratap says-i need to get more of the stories then.
@ Pratap : You are far too kind czar!
@Scribblers Inc. : Oh yes. Atmospheres. Had completely blanked out on that aspect. Thanks for the suggestion. Shall keep that in mind for the next time :)
@Shraddha : Thanks :) Lets hope this keeps on.
Aah! Back to doing what I consider what you do best- writing narratives.
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