I’LL OWN A SHOP SOMEDAY

“Chai”, “Chai” yells Chotu as he tollers along the streets of his neighbourhood. The Sun shines brightly in the sky, as the young boys and girls line up to catch their school bus. Chotu stands and stares as the children hurriedly climb the bus. School seemed like a dream to Chotu.

As he looks at the crowded school bus leave with a splash, his thoughts wonder back to those days when he used to be a happy and content, though poor, child. His family consisted of a mother, a father, 2 elder sisters and a younger brother. His father owned a small piece of land in their village which he cultivated every year for 3 months. He also used to do odd jobs for the idle parts of the year. His mother worked as a labourer in the rich zamindar’s field. The total income was roughly adequate for two meals a day.

Chotu was a very jolly boy. He was a very good runner; in fact, the fastest among his friend. His friends used to call him “railgaddi” or “the train”. Though he never went to school, he was always eager to learn.

But the good times did not last long and Chotu’s family went into the dark. The marriage of his 2 sisters led to a lot of economic crisis in his family. They had to sell their land in order to meet the “demands” of the grooms’ family. They were illiterate and so was unaware of the fact that dowry was against the laws. Slowly, their conditions seemed to be improving, until one dreadful summer day, his father committed suicide, leaving all the problems upon him and his family. After that tragedy, he was forced to move to the city to earn a living.

He first joined a cracker making factory where he was beaten and subjected to the harsh effects of tobacco. He worked for 12 hours a day for a meager 50 rupees. Yet he was content. He dreamt of owning a shop someday. But luckily or unluckily, the police raided the factory, arrested the owner on charges of child labour and closed down the factory. Chotu was jobless.

He loitered around for 3 days without any food or proper shelter. Nobody was ready to give him work as he was younger than 15 years. Then one day, he found a job in a roadside tea shop. His work was to make tea for the passersby at Rs.4 a cup every morning.

“Ek Chai dena please!” Chotu suddenly wakes up from his thoughts. Handing a cup of tea to that kind looking lady, 12-year old Chotu says to himself “I’ll own a shop someday.”

THE SUN WILL SHINE AGAIN

“Krisha! Get ready. We have to go to the hospital, remember?”

“Yes, Maa!”

For one hour, I could not find anything to write about. The end of my pencil was wet with saliva, yet my brain neurons turned extra lazy that day. The thing was that my teacher had asked me to contribute a poem for the school magazine. I loved writing poems. But that one fine day, I kept staring into the blankness until my mother called me out to accompany her to the hospital.

And there I was – at the hospital; a place I dread. The mundane walls, the suffering patients, the smell – everything – gave me a feeling of nausea.

“Would you come inside?” asked my mother, standing at the doorsteps of the doctor, she had an appointment with. I gave it a thought. The thought itself was so suffocating that I was too pleased to refuse. “You’ll never improve!” she sighed and went inside.

I was left all alone to wander like a lost cloud in that place. “Poem! What should I write about?” I thought. Hospital? The suffering people? Or the environment...

…..“Oh! I’m so sorry!” I absent-mindedly bumped into a poor young girl of my age carrying a tearful baby. “That’s fine” she answered in Assamese. She had a sweet voice. “Your brother?” I asked politely. “No, my son.” Saying so she walked briskly past me.

Back in the car, I narrated the whole incident to my mother, with whom I shared everything as she was very open-minded. This time, however, she said “Stay away from that sort of people.”

I knew what she meant by “that sort” of people. “Yeah! I should stay away from them.”

Next morning at school, I got a sound scolding from my teacher. The deadline was the next day and I hadn’t managed to write a single line of my poem yet. “Tomorrow for sure, ma’am.” I assured her. “Yes of course! That is, if tomorrow ever comes.” She sneered.

Evening flew in quite soon. “The Environment”, that’s the topic I decided to write upon. For some ‘inspiration’, I went for a walk. Being the adventurous types, I set out all alone on the streets.

“Sigh! What a life! My childhood days are slipping past my fingers and I’m here trying to meet deadlines.” I laughed at my own lame joke. Childhood! At 15!

As I continued my stroll, I came face to face with that girl I bumped into in the hospital the previous day. “Stay away from that sort of people.” I remembered my mother’s words. A toe out of the line just for this once wouldn’t matter much. Confronting myself, I asked her “What’s your name?”

“Pavitra”

I sniggered at her name. Pavitra meant pure. And she was anything but pure.

“So….ummm…how is that you have got a…a son at this age?” I enquired out of curiosity.

She looked at me for some time, deciding whether to trust me or not. Being the confidant in my friend circle, I knew she would tell me. And so she did.

“Like you, I loved moving around on my own, carefree. When someone tried to stop me saying that a girl should never go out alone, I talked back to them. Everyone says boys and girls are equal. If boys can enjoy their lives, why can’t we?” she took a moment’s breath and continued. “It’s a man’s world, my friend, we can never be equal. One night, I was savoured down by a hungry wolf and my son is the consequence.”

I was shaken. “Why didn’t you…..” Before I could complete, she replied “I am not a murderess. My son was innocent and so was I. Why should two innocent lives be destroyed while the guilt walks free on this earth?”

That was it. My mother told me to stay away from her, but I couldn’t. I bet my mother wouldn’t have said the same had she known the true story behind it.

There were many questions left unanswered. Yet I couldn’t bring myself to ask them to her. How does she manage her life now? With whom does she stay? How does she earn her livelihood? I knew nothing. I could ask nothing. The truth was that it was not I who had lost my childhood. It was she who did.

Reaching home, I sat down to write my poem.

“The Environment”. I stroke it off, and wrote instead –

THE SUN WILL SHINE AGAIN

There are times when things go wrong.

It’s okay! Be brave, be strong.

Sometimes, you don’t get what you long.

It’s fine! Be brave, be strong.

Sometimes, you feel very low,

Sometimes your day doesn’t glow.

Just hold on and go with the flow

Coz tomorrow will be a new show.

Valleys are not the end of a mountain,

Clouds never come down with the rain.

A true soul never goes in vain,

A true heart mustn’t go insane.

Yeah! Sometimes the road breaks down,

And buildings collapse on the ground.

Sometimes, you don’t know where you belong,

It’s alright! Be brave be strong.

The Sun will shine again, when equality prevails in real sense, when the innocent are not punished while the culprits roam free, when the society doesn’t become an enemy of its own fellow mates.

I do hope the Sun shines again someday.