Renu Thapa
People love to see others in pain, I mean I think so. Never in my 17 years of existence have I ever met any human who has ever been kind to me. Not complaining; rather disappointed.
“What will you do now? Why did they do this?” I was surrounded by journalists with their filthy cameras pointed at my face. Ready to record my reaction and make a piece of big news about it.
I decided not to answer them and went back to where they had burned my rickshaw.
I do not understand politics nor do I understand any planning or plotting. I only understand poverty which has made me do plenty of jobs. I don’t like to multitask but anything for a hungry stomach!
Most of the days I sleep on my rickshaw, my only home. I do not remember if I had parents but I know that Maulvi Sahab used to feed me as a kid. Now, Maulvi Sahab is no more but I still park my rickshaw near his mosque. The colony seems to have no problem with me parking my rickshaw there either but it gets scary during nights, so to avoid any misfortune I have chopped my hair. Or should I say, I like my hair that way better. No hassle to comb or oil, just put on a headband and you are good to go. Also because it is terribly hard to survive in the streets of Delhi when you are a girl and even harder when you are a Muslim.
I began my work as, usual today, and came near the Ashok Nagar area. Judging by the passenger’s luggage, I think he came directly from the Airport. He asked me to stop my rickshaw near a shop to buy something for his family members. Isn’t it beautiful to have a place to go back to and even better when you know someone is waiting for your arrival? I envy that.
I dropped the passenger outside a huge building.
“How much, Chotu?”
“30 rupees, Bhaiya. I am not Chotu; I am a lady.”
He was having a hard time looking for chillars (change) inside his wallet and he kept digging it.
“Well…you are too young to pull rickshaws.”
I thought inside my head, too young or too feminine for a rickshaw puller but I did not say anything.
After dropping him off at his place I turned my rickshaw towards the busiest lane of Ashok Nagar but all of a sudden a mob of angry people chanting names started marching behind me.
“What is happening, Chacha?”
“These are the doings of rich people, we poor don’t have anything to do about this, Razia. Actually, you should not be here. Take passengers from Mayur Vihar but don’t come around Ashok Nagar today.”
I did not understand what he meant but after a couple of seconds, the mob jolted down my rickshaw.
“Bhai Jaan, what are you doing?” I shouted.
That was the moment when I knew that I had put myself in trouble.
The mob turned their heads, dragged me from my rickshaw, and burned my rickshaw down. I could not process what had happened but some men started beating me. Maulvi Sahab had told me once that I should never reveal my religion but I never really listened to him.
Today, I could see my rickshaw, the only thing that I could call my own in this world burning in front of me. My eyes were swollen and I was about to pass out but the Chacha made his way inside the crowd and informed them that I am a girl and not a boy.
“Lord saved you today. You are lucky, Jiha*i. We don’t hit women.”
My whole world was destroyed in these 5 minutes and I was just lying on the road with only an eye open watching that angry mob shouting and moving forward as if nothing had actually happened.
Although Chacha helped me, he was not really the best person either. He left with the mob too.
Soon a crowd started gathering around me and I could only see people talking and commenting on my religion, my outfit, and my guts to pull a rickshaw even though I am a woman. I wanted someone to help me get up but I ended up bawling like a baby. I had tried really hard to control my tears but it was just too much for me to handle.
A Muslim pathetic tom-boyish girl bawling like a baby in the middle of the street, what a sight to see! Soon the faces turned into these big cameras and mobile phones. The shuttering of lenses and the sound of cameras clicking was getting annoying and to avoid any further discussion, I took my handkerchief out and wrapped it around my face.
The worst part about the entire incident was that I knew that I would survive. Maulvi Sahab’s words came flashing in front of my eyes and I was just so pissed at myself for crying and giving these people from media, a story to discuss about.
The reporters kept following me but no one offered me a hand to help.
I think life for poor people like us is just unfair. Neither someone helps us nor do they sympathize. We don’t need sympathies, but we appreciate kindness. It has been like this all my life, I know I am too young to get such thoughts but the world has taught me a lot, has dragged me into the battlefield a lot of times.
And now, I am just tired.
Am I at fault, though?
I am tired of this world. Maulvi Sahab please take me with you.
[Renu Thapa is currently majoring in English at Gargi College, Delhi University.]