I don’t know whether I had a father or not .My mother never told me. I never asked. Well, maybe I was one of those unfortunate who didn’t have a father. Anyway, ma never let me feel like that. She was both a father and a mother. She was my everything. She worked hard, very hard for me. She worked in this place where they made biris. Ma always told me never to smoke biris. He said it killed a person. I was small then. About six or seven. Then one day, ma came home crying. I had never seen ma cry before. She was a strong woman. She told me that very soon we had to vacate the house where we were staying. She didn’t have the money to pay the house rent. Later she told me that she didn’t have a job anymore.

 I realized, why she had been crying. The next day we left home. I didn’t know where we were going. I didn’t know where we were going. I told myself “Wherever Ma took me I would be fine.” I realized life wasn’t going to be easy. The first night we slept under a big round thing, which was hollow inside and had holes at both ends. I didn’t know what they called them then. Now I know. They are called pipes. Next morning, Ma took me to this road and we sat on the pavement, beside it. She took out a bowl and kept it in front of her. Thousands of people passed by. Some looked at ma, then turned their face and looked ahead. Then on seeing me decided to drop a coin or two. Others didn’t even look. Some looked and a thing or two, under their breath and walked on. While some put their hands into their pockets, took out empty hands, made a sad face and walked on. 

The sun was up in the sky now. With whatever we had in the bowl ma bought something to eat. After this, ma took me to a different place. Here people were kinder; they put notes into our bowl. This went on for many days. Sometimes we got quite something, sometimes nothing. Some nights, I went to bed hungry. But Ma always saw that I got my food, even if it meant sacrificing her own. Then one morning Ma never woke up. I tried waking her up but she wouldn’t get up. Then I began crying. I cried a lot. 

That was about ten years ago. Now, I am big but I still beg. I tried hard, but then people find it rather difficult giving a job to a beggar. Why, he may run off, after stealing something. I hate begging. To be honest, it’s boring. I shout sometimes in anger, cursing everyone. Maybe, it would have been better if I had died too. At least I would be with Ma today. I get quite enough now to buy at least a meal a day. The number of people has increased and they also give more today; especially school children, of my size and my age, but cleaner, happier and not lonely. Sometimes I wish I were like them. I wish I went to school. I wish I had friends. I wish Ma were alive. Maybe one day I’ll grow up to be like them. Maybe not in this life but in the next; I’ll be luckier. But then for now, “Ma look over me so that I am strong enough to survive, to fight it out, to not give up.” I remember she once told me, “God helps those who help themselves.” Well, I am doing my best by not giving up. * MA : Mother


Written for my English Project when
I was in Class 9C. (1999)