Shoes Under The Skies

December was always beautiful in Phulbani. It was freezing, dry, and red with the decaying leaves fallen all over. The temperature fell below Zero degrees sometimes making it indolent for humans and animals to leave their beds. Raju had stretched thrice before waking up. His poor, fragile body ached when he stretched. It was five in the morning and the Sun was hiding behind the darkness it was to fight. Raju rose like a Zombie. He walked straight to the half-built toilet, draped with a piece of old cloth outside their two-bedroom hut, with a towel in his arm for his routine loo and bath. Kids of his age are tempted and cheated with materials to wake up. What tempted Raju to wake up? Or has he been cheated?

He would dress up with a white shirt and navy blue half pants. His socks wrapped until his knees. Sometimes, they were solaced by rubber bands to save them from shrinking. His pair of black shoes were oil cleaned for a polishing effect. He would then pack his bag. Some old books, a badly shaped notebook, and a pencil. He would carefully place a torn shirt inside it with some cash in its pocket. He regretted not knowing how to cook. He has often seen his mother cook rice and lentils. She used to put those sun-dried woods into the stove. Burn the tiny slivers underneath with a match stick. Boil water in a dented pot. Once the vapours could be seen or felt, she used to carefully put a can of rice or lentils over it. But, she would never allow Raju to go near the chulha¹.

Now, that she is cold and sick, Raju wanted to cook for her. Day by day she has been deteriorating over her health. She would still be cautious not to let Raju feel her pain. She was a strong lady. In her dreams she always saw Raju studying hard, dressed in a white-black suit, working in some company. She knew someday he would take them away from their misery. Raju, on the other hand, wasn’t blind or deaf. The Anganwadi² didi told him how his mother has been suffering from a blood infection and how badly she needed care. Food was never a problem. They always had stoned rice and lentils with them. The government always stood by the poor in this manner. They talked about poverty, economy, votes, employment but will they ever do what they say?

Raju carefully took the medicines out of the package. He kept it on a table beside her mother’s pillow and called out on her. She responded briefly waking up immediately and held Raju by her arms. She saw him for a moment and embraced him tightly under her arms. She remarked “Tayar ho gya Raja Beta³?” Raju reverted “Ma’ aaj thoda late hounga⁴”. They talked for a while and waved at each other before Raju left for the outside.

Raju carefully unzipped his bag and took the torn shirt away. He removed his white shirt exposing his naked skin. He crammed it into the bag and dressed up with the torn one. He looked shabby. But this is how he was supposed to look in his profession. It's been several months that he has been working in this hotel. His job role included washing dishes, taking orders sometimes, cleaning tables. His company valued punctuality and tyranny. He worked hard for a promising Rupees 300 a month. He was a happy kid. He smiled at everyone. He loved talking to people. That kind of relieved his sadness, his frustration, his depression which people, because of his age would simply remark as his stubbornness.

He sometimes got slapped not knowing why! He would cry for hours and wanted to go back to his house. Sometimes he would wonder how he loved reading. Pointing each of the alphabets and roaring loud at them. He knew how to read a word but hardly could he make up for the meaning. The school was for socially balanced kids, for the rich. For him, it was difficult to cope up with school and home. That month, when they had no money left for medicines, he knew what to do. Another love that died was the love for art. He left his old papers where he scribbled and decided not to return to them.

The hotel was situated on the Highway. It catered to the needs of the late-night bus drivers, the truck drivers, of the people from the nearby village Badangi and some passer-by. They had snacks from crispy samosas to puffy vadas⁵. Tea was always prepared on a kettle over the earthen stove. They had rice, dal, roti and seasoned curry for lunch and dinner. Raju fed on the remnants of the prepared food. The hotel also had a cash counter where they collected cash and a lighter hung on the bamboo chandelier for people to smoke. Raju was never allowed to go near the counter of the fear of him looting the treasure of the hotel. There was a photo of Goddess Laxmi⁶ with extinguished incense sticks at one corner of the cash table and some newspapers and mouth fresheners at the other. At his leisure, Raju would get those newspapers and peek through them. He would hand-cut the photos he liked of the old newspapers and hide them carefully under his notebook.

There were all kinds of visitors. Some rich, some poor. Some kind, some cruel. Some passionate, some lazy. Mangesh was a familiar face in the hotel. He was a man in his late twenties and he worked for “societal upliftment” of the nearby villages. He worked with the government and local NGO’s and looked for the problems that they faced. Raju liked talking to Mangesh. He told him about trees, water, waste, toilets, about life in big cities, about motorcycles and everything. Sometimes he offered Raju candies, he brought from cities. He was a regular customer and roamed around with his RX 100. Raju always wanted to talk more but the resentment in the face of his owner restricted him. He would shout someday “I am not paying you to talk to strangers” and this terrorized Raju to cut his way off.

There was news about the Chief Minister visiting the place, everywhere. They said he was a man of power and money. He could remove difficulties from the life of fellow villagers. Raju wanted help. He wanted to talk about this to Mangesh. He carefully took the paper below a table and tried to cut the photo of the chief minister, while in a rally. The crisp paper made a rustle and crack noise. Raju was caught cutting the newspaper clip. He was bashed hot and blue. The owner sold these old newspapers at Rupees five per kilogram. He couldn’t stop his anger. It felt as if he was robbed, robbed of his possessions, his properties. He held Raju by his ear and kept on slapping him for his misconduct as if slapping the bum of drained wheat for skinning a rumali⁷ roti.

Raju was in terrible pain. He shrieked, shouted and cried. This didn’t convince the fat owner. He poured hot water over Raju’s hand. Rising vapours and bruises could be seen. For a moment the pain killed Raju and then death soothed him. The pain evaporated. In the thin line between life and pain, Raju knew how cruel the world was. Wasn’t his pain sufficient? His malaise lucified him. But his age deterred his actions. He stood perplexed, panted. The pain inside killed the pain outside. His hands were bound, contused. His mouth was dumb. His eyes had tears rolling down. He stood numb. He got back to picking plates. He got back to cleaning tables. He got back to standing high.

He didn’t cry in front of his mother. His strength and her weakness didn’t allow him to. For the entire night, he had his eyes opened. The cold air over his stark skin alleviated the pain. Nature knows it all. Inside his head, he had questions and answers. He knew he had to fight. Yes, he was deprived, unfortunate, but not broken. The sun could be seen blazing. The darkness was slowly conjured. Winters had long nights but not perdurable. Everything had to end; happiness and sadness. Every night had its end and every morning a beginning.

He woke up from his bed. He looked at the eternity, at the Zodiac lights. He scented freedom. He dressed up with his white shirt and navy blue pants. His socks wrapped until his knees. They didn’t require a solace by rubber bands. He didn’t bother to pack his bags. He wore his shoes, stood by his mother and whispered, “I love you Ma’”.

He walked to the market with his old notes. The bizarre of noises repelled him. There were all kinds of shops there. The vegetable shops, the fish shops, the sweet shops, the cloth merchant sweeping his shop, the tea stalls. He saw the happy faces of the children, carried to schools on cycles. He saw the boatmen at the coast of river Salunki, offering to cross the river for some pennies. He saw the old mechanic repairing radios, cleaning dust. He saw the men with a horn selling loaves of bread in his bicycle. At the end of the road laid the newspaper shop. He walked straight to him. “How much for a newspaper?” He asked. “How much for the bundle?” He asked again. His shoes were not bound to the sky anymore. They had feathers, they had hope. They were like time, stubborn and inexorable.

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Footnotes:

1.    Chulha: An earthen oven used for cooking that uses woods as fuel

2.    Anganwadi: A centre that provides care for mothers and children in a rural area in India

3.    Tayar ho gya Raja Beta: Did you get ready son

4.    Ma’ aaj thoda late hounga: Mother, I will be a little late today

5.    Vadas: An Indian dish consisting of a ball made from ground pulses and deep fried

6.    Laxmi: Goddess Laxmi is the Hindu goddess of wealth, fortune and prosperity

7.    Rumali: Thin, soft, flatbread made up of flour.