While i was driving on the road, for some weird reason the song on the radio was "sun raha hai na tu, ro raha hu main" (may sound funny, but frankly, it isn't) and the huge stretch of the relief caps with the flood lights on and municipal water tankers painted a very sad picture indeed.
There were a couple of policemen stationed and Congress and BJP posters stuck all over the tents ( sad indeed! )
I parked my car, got down and walked towards the foot over bridge near the Mayur Vihar Extension Metro Station.
A group of farmers sat sadly on the parapet of the road staring at the vast expanse of their field- now brownish, decaying, smelling foul and with dying crop.
Scattered, floodwater-destroyed hutments lay all around.
You could clearly see the faces of the old men, tired of hard work and old age, and eyes that showed their hopelessness and the poverty that they have always had to deal with. They displayed a blank expression- synonymous perhaps with the vast tracts of desolate land that once had their crop.
I sat down next to an old man with a turban. His clothes were torn and dirty. I felt a rising sense of guilt inside me as i looked at my own shirt and wondered- isn't this the man who grows the food that i survive on and THIS is what he deserves ?
He was pleased to have company. Not many stop and ask us about what happened he says besides a few bikers who stop by to buy cigarettes/ pan from hurriedly mantled shops along the pavement to fetch them some immediate income.
The man asked me, "Sahab, neeche chaloge ? "
I was afraid. The fields were stinking and there may have been snakes around. I chose still to go down. Climbing down a steep slope, followed by i think kids who were probably the man's grandchildren, i walked down. He showed me a tumbled down hut with a smashed TV. A dead dog lay nearby. The children suddenly became busy going through the debris hoping to find their toys perhaps.
The farmer looked at the sky and sat down on a rock and said-
" Sahab, ek gareeb ki zindagi bhot bekaar hai sahab. Itni mehnat karte hai sahab , par jo kuch ho - chahe rajneeti, chahe baad(floods), chaahe badte daam, ya kuch bhi aur- maar hamesha gareeb khata hai. Faridabad se aaya hoon, aaya tha 8 saal bina ek paise ke, aaj bhi vahi haal hai sahab- mere pote (grandchildren) school tak nahi jaa paye sahab, meri behen ko cancer hua that, par hum gareeb kaha itna paisa kharch kar paenge? Humare bhai toh bhot pehle hi apni jaan de chuke the recovery agent ke chakkaro mein...fasal ke liye har baar mehnat karte hai sahab, par paanai sab barbaad kar deta hai. Dukh ki baat jaante ho sahab - jaha aaj akshardham aur commomwealth games city hai, vaha par ek time yamuna ka paani bhara kar ta tha - aaj vaha jab yeh sab ban gaya, to unhone road ke us paar paani rok diya. Dekho , yaha nizamuddin pul ke ek taraf sab dooba that , hum bebas the aur us taraf akshardham mein badi badi light jal rahi thi, tourist aa rahe the , hans khel rahe the..aur hume dekho, mar rhe hai yaha..."
Translates to :
The life of a poor man is perhaps the worst. We toil all day, but come what may- politics, floods, rising prices - it's always the poor that bears the brunt. I came here 8 years ago from Faridabad without any money, today , i am without money, still. My grandchildren can't go to school, my sister died from cancer as we being poor can't afford modern treatment..my elder brother gave his life because of recovery agents.
Sir, we work very hard for these fields, but water ruins it all everytime sir. Look across to where Akshardham and the CWG village stands- those too were once the Yamuna flood plains that were filled with water during these floods. Now they blocked it because they are buildings there. On one side of the bridge you have people mourning the loss of what was everything for them and on the other side, you see tourists visiting, smiling and enjoying. Look at us, we have nothing left.
"Garib Kisan hona bhi ek paap hai" he concluded.
I stood motionless next to the man.
This man is responsible for the food i eat.
Today, he does not have clothes to wear.
He couldn't save his dying sister because he never had the money.
His brother committed suicide because of the vicious trap of banks, loans, poverty and recovery agents.
His life's work lays destroyed before him.
And yet we all lead our lives happily.
My phone rang, it was my father anxious to know where i was.
It was time for me to leave- i shook the mans hand- feeling the warmth and the rough skin that indicated years of work with soil and tools and crops and corn.
As we climbed back onto the road, a tear rolled down the mans cheek and dropped onto the floor that was full of torn clothes, hurriedly stashed belongings and disappeared next to a wrapper of a Snickers. I thought for a moment, the bar is 30 bucks and we almost have it everyday. This man for sure did not possess Rs. 30 at the moment , i was sure of it.
With a deep sense of respect and guilt, i bent down and touched the mans feet.
" jeeta rahe mera beta" he said and those words coming from a farmer who is the reason for our survival means a great deal to me.
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| Siddharth Sinha |
I left.
"kal aaunga" were my parting words.
I came back home, and wrote this.
