Working Class Hero

The scorching May sun beat down burning the ground and making his vision hazy. Sweat trickled down from his temples to the side of his empty belly. The sultry heat and sweat made the dead weight he was pulling even heavier. From the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of the stall selling sugarcane juice. He was tempted to stop relax and indulge in a glass of the icy cold liquid. ‘What good would that do now’, he pondered. He’d end up even thirstier and more importantly short of 6 bucks. Such indulgences were not for men like him who earned their bread by pulling hand carts all through the day. As if the labor wasn’t tough enough; the growing presence of tempos on the roads threatened to push him into oblivion and unemployment. However he had stopped thinking about the future now. All his tribulations would cease soon.

Over five decades ago he’d come to ‘City of dreams’ when it still welcomed everyone with wide open arms. Years of droughts had ravaged his family farms and so on his father’s edict he left home, though ruefully. So here he was in a new place with absolutely no idea as to how he’d earn a living. Schools were still unheard of where he came from.

He was a simple man with humble needs. And he worked hard. Soon he had enough money to rent a handcart. For him money took precedence over all things. He did have his family to think of. His children needed schooling and everyone needed food. So, he stopped renting a room. He simply moved to some back alley every night and slept on his cart. This wasn’t only much more comfortable than his shitty room which he shared with five others but also saved him some all important cash. After all wasn’t money saved – money earned!? After the first couple of years he stopped visiting his homeland to save the three hundred bucks he spent traveling. It wasn’t that he didn’t get homesick; it just wasn’t viable. He rather simply called them up once a month. For his peers a couple of bucks implied a cutting but for him it was money which could be sent home. So he had no friends as he refrained from hanging out with them or play cards. All this made him all the more a shy and coy individual. All others in order to overcome their nostalgia would go to the small theater and catch the latest bhojpuri flick but he’d just hang around in the alleyway laughing at their stupid ways. He always ate simple and cheap meals at government run eateries whereas the others relished on the famous roadside delicacies. His colleagues always insisted he accompany them on their trips to the brothels of the city to rid him of all his frustrations and tried to lure him into the passage of ecstasy but he always declined decreeing that he was a simple man who simply loved his wife too much. Wasn’t it for this love that he’d endured all his suffering! He never smoked, drank or gambled. He was a man of virtue –god fearing but he simply believed that such masochistic ways were better left for someone else. Often his employers opined that he could start his own business and they’d be willing to help. But at heart he was a small simple man with little ambition and virtually no ego. And it was this simplicity of his that enabled him to lead his life in the manner he led it.

So today finally the day had dawned when he could give it all up. True he was stronger and as fit as anyone half his age but age does take its toll. Five decades of hard labor made his back weak and his knees hurt. Also his family was better off now. His son could study and now held a job at a nearby town. Both his daughters were happily married and well settled. True he couldn’t attend the marriage of the elder one but the money saved helped in the dowry of his young pearl. Now he just ached to get back and peacefully spend the remainder of his life with his wife as a doting grandpa.

So when he finally finished his deliveries for the day he hurried over to the contractor’s office to collect his due payment. He did have a train to catch. Pleasantries were exchanged and his boss also gave him a decent bonus so he’d buy gifts for his grandkids. Heck the man deserved it he thought. Just as he turned to leave there was a violent knock at the door. Five men armed with bamboo sticks entered and started shouting. One of them accosted him and shouted, “kay karte ikde?”. He just froze and thought they were some thieves. Then their leader came up to him and shouted something which he couldn’t decipher. The others glared at him and then all of a sudden WHAM!! A stick to his head. Immense pain shot through his body as he clutched his head in despair. His vision became hazy and suddenly all appeared black. Thud! he fell to the ground.

Hours later a press crew reached the spot. The reporter looking depressing screamed into the microphone “Another attack on the north Indian workers in the city. A mob attacked a local contractors office and wreaked havoc………..”