SMILE
Yonder, across the grand highway, stands one of the biggest and the best Medical College & Hospitals of the country, run by the government of the people, and for the people.
And here, on this side of the grand highway, lie i, a citizen of the nation, near an ancient pile of garbage; debilitated, starved, and with foul sores all over the body, except on the right leg- which does not exist.
I don’t belong to this metro. No poor man belongs. The metro belongs exclusively to the underworld goons called dons, and the overt-world goons, called builders and politicians. The large humanity teeming around is no more than the maggots teeming in my sores.
It happened last month, when i was asleep on the footpath, as usual drunk and stupefied after twenty hours of bone-breaking labor. Past midnight, i learnt later, some celebrity in high spirits, had driven his limousine onto the footpath, crushing a few luckier guys to immediate death, and leaving us to face life with a limb, or a rib less. We did make headlines and breaking news the next morning; a day later, amnesia took over everyone, and i lay ignored and abandoned.
Unable to move, i blocked the footpath. The beggar, to whom that two-square-foot slot at prime location belonged, dragged me with my remaining leg, to a non-obtrusive corner; he left me there, and proceeded with his business.
Life around me goes on as usual. The metro, always on toes, need not stop for a guy who has lost his leg. Busy people walk around me, look at me with contempt, wince, cover their nose with scented hankies, and then shrug me off. Perhaps, later they write tearful tales about me; or, may be, discuss social justice in air-conditioned auditoria.
Dogs lick the oozing remnant of my amputated leg. My own stink revolts me. Flies bother me continually. Their hairy legs prick my open sores. Their drone irritates me. Bugs crawl over my dry, dehydrated body giving me intense itching. I scratch my body violently, and my overgrown dirty fingernails hurt me further. My lips are parched painfully. My belly burns in its own acid.
The worst pain is in my right leg, which does not exist. It aches, it throbs, it burns; it makes me dig my teeth deep into my parched lips, till they bleed. The agony that the invisible, nonexistent limb gives me, makes me cry my heart out.
Mercifully, i soon lose my senses. I stop smelling. Flies, now well-nourished on my oozing sores, lay multitude of maggots in them. I become as insensible to their presence on my body, as to my body hair. I stop moving my lips, and they pain no longer. Hunger has eaten away itself. How amazingly life adapts to reality!
The best adaption to life is death. It is sure lurking around, i do hear its footsteps, but, perhaps it too enjoys toying with my misery. The waiting drains me more. My consciousness gets nebulous, and is then lost in nescient limbo.
And now..i do hear the footsteps. The footsteps, still tentative, still uncertain, come closer. Hope stirs in me a painful effort to open the eyes, sticky with dried up secretions.
I open my eyes. Bright light from the heavens almost blinds me. Leans over me a face: a tender, childlike face of an angel of pity, sent by the Mother to carry back the damned soul of Her poor, wretched child.
I open my eyes, now adapted to see better. I see someone in a white apron. . .A young medical student, still almost a child in her innocence and sincerity, timidly leans over me, her eyes moist with pity, lips trembling with compassion. She stands at a distance, with shaking legs, uncertain and helpless. I smile at her; the parched lips gave excruciating pain, but i smile at her.
Even the faint smile exhausts me. ”God bless you, my child. Grow up to become a good successful doctor, but never outgrow the timid, tender child within.”
That is the first smile that ever touched my lips, since i left my family- years before- and came to the metro; that is my last too.
Soon i die. Even i do not know, when.
The metro lets me lie there sick, hungry and thirsty; rotting and festering; crying and wailing in agony; licked by dogs, and eaten away by maggots for days; however, it is prompt in disposing off my dead body.
Yonder, across the grand highway, stands one of the biggest and the best Medical College & Hospitals of the country, run by the government of the people, and for the people.
And here, on this side of the grand highway, lie i, a citizen of the nation, near an ancient pile of garbage; debilitated, starved, and with foul sores all over the body, except on the right leg- which does not exist.
I don’t belong to this metro. No poor man belongs. The metro belongs exclusively to the underworld goons called dons, and the overt-world goons, called builders and politicians. The large humanity teeming around is no more than the maggots teeming in my sores.
It happened last month, when i was asleep on the footpath, as usual drunk and stupefied after twenty hours of bone-breaking labor. Past midnight, i learnt later, some celebrity in high spirits, had driven his limousine onto the footpath, crushing a few luckier guys to immediate death, and leaving us to face life with a limb, or a rib less. We did make headlines and breaking news the next morning; a day later, amnesia took over everyone, and i lay ignored and abandoned.
Unable to move, i blocked the footpath. The beggar, to whom that two-square-foot slot at prime location belonged, dragged me with my remaining leg, to a non-obtrusive corner; he left me there, and proceeded with his business.
Life around me goes on as usual. The metro, always on toes, need not stop for a guy who has lost his leg. Busy people walk around me, look at me with contempt, wince, cover their nose with scented hankies, and then shrug me off. Perhaps, later they write tearful tales about me; or, may be, discuss social justice in air-conditioned auditoria.
Dogs lick the oozing remnant of my amputated leg. My own stink revolts me. Flies bother me continually. Their hairy legs prick my open sores. Their drone irritates me. Bugs crawl over my dry, dehydrated body giving me intense itching. I scratch my body violently, and my overgrown dirty fingernails hurt me further. My lips are parched painfully. My belly burns in its own acid.
The worst pain is in my right leg, which does not exist. It aches, it throbs, it burns; it makes me dig my teeth deep into my parched lips, till they bleed. The agony that the invisible, nonexistent limb gives me, makes me cry my heart out.
Mercifully, i soon lose my senses. I stop smelling. Flies, now well-nourished on my oozing sores, lay multitude of maggots in them. I become as insensible to their presence on my body, as to my body hair. I stop moving my lips, and they pain no longer. Hunger has eaten away itself. How amazingly life adapts to reality!
The best adaption to life is death. It is sure lurking around, i do hear its footsteps, but, perhaps it too enjoys toying with my misery. The waiting drains me more. My consciousness gets nebulous, and is then lost in nescient limbo.
And now..i do hear the footsteps. The footsteps, still tentative, still uncertain, come closer. Hope stirs in me a painful effort to open the eyes, sticky with dried up secretions.
I open my eyes. Bright light from the heavens almost blinds me. Leans over me a face: a tender, childlike face of an angel of pity, sent by the Mother to carry back the damned soul of Her poor, wretched child.
I open my eyes, now adapted to see better. I see someone in a white apron. . .A young medical student, still almost a child in her innocence and sincerity, timidly leans over me, her eyes moist with pity, lips trembling with compassion. She stands at a distance, with shaking legs, uncertain and helpless. I smile at her; the parched lips gave excruciating pain, but i smile at her.
Even the faint smile exhausts me. ”God bless you, my child. Grow up to become a good successful doctor, but never outgrow the timid, tender child within.”
That is the first smile that ever touched my lips, since i left my family- years before- and came to the metro; that is my last too.
Soon i die. Even i do not know, when.
The metro lets me lie there sick, hungry and thirsty; rotting and festering; crying and wailing in agony; licked by dogs, and eaten away by maggots for days; however, it is prompt in disposing off my dead body.
A cliched statement- but honestly, i liked it.
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