He is going back today.
Most people come to Mumbai with a dream. Jaswant came to Mumbai with a hope. A hope to survive. To make enough money so that he could send some of it back home. And occassionally, along with the money, a toy too. His 6 year old son loves trains. He has promised to send him a toy train. At the platform, two years ago, Jaswant's wife looked at him with hope. Jaswant boarded the train with that hope. Bye, papa. Bye, beta. Train? Yes, I will send.
He hasn't sent him the train yet.
Jaswant wouldn't dare to dream big. It's a waste of time. Just do your job properly. "To dream, you need money. And I am sending back home that money", he often says. He works in a restaurant as a waiter. "Where do you live?", I ask him one day. "Here only", he says. The bar is on the 30th floor of a building. Its rooftop. Expensive. When it shuts down for the night, he takes out his mattress and places it near the tables. The sky is his roof. "It's very good, Sir", he says, "I get to sleep under the sky and sometimes when there is less pollution, I can see the stars." The stars remind him of his village. His wife. His son. His responsibilities. The train. The stars keep him awake. Sometimes he calls his wife from that rooftop. He tells her about the kind of customers he served that day. She acts amused. She wants to be with him. He wants her to be there with him. If only. "Did you receive the money?", he asks. "Yes", she replies. That's how they say I love you to each other.
"When will you come back, it's been three years."
"I don't know."
He knows. If the restaurants remain shut for another month, he will have to go. He thinks about the kind of jobs he might have to do once he is back there. He will never make as much money as he is making now. He curses the year. He curses God and then he curses himself. If only he hadn't left studying to help his dad out in the salon. He distracts himself. No point in thinking about the past. Mumbai is a harsh city. It tests your patience every day. Even the sea can't make up for the harshness of this city. It tries, though. It's 3 AM and Jaswant is at the beach. He decides to sleep there today.
Since the restaurant has shut, he has been sleeping at different places every day. Sometimes with his colleagues, sometimes at the station. Today he decided to sleep at the beach. It's not like he can't afford a chawl. He can. But he sends that money back home. So, he can't. After a long time, he is seeing stars. He thinks about his son, who turned 6 yesterday. The thought keeps him awake until he is asleep. This year too, he couldn't gift him a train.
Next morning, the news headline flashes at the tea shop, "Mumbai to remain shut for one month". He closes his eyes. Life is tough. He controls his emotions and starts walking. He climbs thirty floors. The restaurant is shut. He sneaks in. It's afternoon. He takes out his mattress and places it near the tables. He sleeps directly under the sun for the first time. He screams. No one can hear him. Nobody cares. He screams some more. He decides to jump off the building. He then decides against it.
At night, he boards the train.
He is going back today.
the beauty of your writing is its brevity. every word used had a place a reason to be there and more importantly, you can write those emotions which we all feel the helplessness the despair the pendulum between trying to be positive and then seeing the reality of the world. we cannot express it but you can. thanks and keep going.
This was just sooo gooodd....loved everything about this.