“Walking down the streets of “independent”
India, I saw people who were happy. Some were happy because they got a
vacation, some were happy because they got themselves a nice august 15th
sales offer and some of them were happy just because they have to look happy on
such an important day. Then I took a right into inner streets and I saw the
people who were imprisoned. Imprisoned in their own hearts. Imprisoned by
falling rupee and growing crime rates, imprisoned by infamous politicians and
famous sadhus, imprisoned between the line of poverty and rich people. Then I
took a bus to red fort where the flag was hoisted and they created an
artificial wind to keep it flying. I was a fool to search for independence in
the nation where the flag of the nation has no independence to fly on its own. ”~vivek
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Bheekhu saw more people these days in Bade Sahib's office. Ravi, his
co-worker (a very modest coinage for another domestic help like him) informed
his in a smart tone that it was an election year, so they will have more chores
to do in the house alone. He had worked in Bade Sahib's house for almost two
months; Ravi had been there ever since he was five, but even he had still not
seen as much furor as this. He had overheard the driver talking about "a
return to power" or some homonym. While doing the dishes, Ravi once again
bragged him about Sahib hoisting a flag some day next week. Bheekhu asked what
was the occasion, cursing his negligence and his naive nature. While Ravi
howled he, told him it was 15 Agast.
Bheekhu was an illiterate, but he was still not stupid enough to ask Ravi what it meant. But he was curious boy, and eventually rounded the cook in the late hours of a dopey afternoon next day. With a bundle of bidi he bribed him successfully. But his answer was really terse, and left more questions than it answered- it means being free, the Angrej left the country and we were free to do whatever we want.
As the day progressed the skies grew grey. He finished doing the dishes, ate his food and took his place on the kitchen floor. He looked out of the window, the lightening, the downpour being incessant. Free, the word had echoed in his mind throughout the day. He dare not discuss it with Ravi, he made enough fun of him already. But free was not a difficult word. He knew it alright. He knew that it meant doing something out one's own will. He wondered what it could be like to free for a day or two.
Would he be allowed to dress up in a smart uniform and board a shining yellow bus for an Angreji school? Would he have two square meals each day? Would he get a a proper bed to sleep on? Would he get to see his poor parents again who had sent him to the city for some cash? Will he ever get to dress up in crisp and colorful clothes like these city folks do? Will he ever own one of these cars which run like raging bulls on the roads? Or a shiny handsome bike, which the Chota Sahib owns? Will he ever learn to read, something that he desired with all his heart. Will he ever be free of his limp, the one which he had carried since some polio thing happened to him. Will he ever be free of all these constraints that hold him back and live life as he should- free.
Bheekhu was an illiterate, but he was still not stupid enough to ask Ravi what it meant. But he was curious boy, and eventually rounded the cook in the late hours of a dopey afternoon next day. With a bundle of bidi he bribed him successfully. But his answer was really terse, and left more questions than it answered- it means being free, the Angrej left the country and we were free to do whatever we want.
As the day progressed the skies grew grey. He finished doing the dishes, ate his food and took his place on the kitchen floor. He looked out of the window, the lightening, the downpour being incessant. Free, the word had echoed in his mind throughout the day. He dare not discuss it with Ravi, he made enough fun of him already. But free was not a difficult word. He knew it alright. He knew that it meant doing something out one's own will. He wondered what it could be like to free for a day or two.
Would he be allowed to dress up in a smart uniform and board a shining yellow bus for an Angreji school? Would he have two square meals each day? Would he get a a proper bed to sleep on? Would he get to see his poor parents again who had sent him to the city for some cash? Will he ever get to dress up in crisp and colorful clothes like these city folks do? Will he ever own one of these cars which run like raging bulls on the roads? Or a shiny handsome bike, which the Chota Sahib owns? Will he ever learn to read, something that he desired with all his heart. Will he ever be free of his limp, the one which he had carried since some polio thing happened to him. Will he ever be free of all these constraints that hold him back and live life as he should- free.
Bheekhu turned and tried to
catch some sleep, and secondly the floor was damp while facing the window. He
suddenly remembered that he had to wash Sahib's car next morning. He closed his
eyes, he was not free; not yet.
NISHANT CHATURVEDI,
ELECTRICAL,
FINAL YEAR.
Awesome way Nishant. You put it right. I had felt this emptiness.
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