Broken, unrepaired streets naked beneath the sun,
Blisters on bare feet, still got to run,
Pulling the carriage with passengers and two wheels
This is my prayer, joy, work for a day’s meal.
Here I stand at the railway-station
And across the Howrah river, this damned city of the nation
Condemned, crucified, colonised and looted
Surviving all with a vigour unlimited
Is Calcutta city a jewel of thorns
You don’t walk here but run and just go on
Pull, push, breathe deep and strive on
No horse, no bull, yes you’re right you saw
It’s me the tired looking man with my rickshaw.
It was this one hot day in June
I smoked the last of my cigarette too soon
For what I heard and saw had me torn
My soul crushed and my heart forlorn
“Hey Rickshaw” said the old man a voice familiar
How far it seemed and yet so near.
This father’child in a convent school
Learning to be a gentleman ah O fool
For its me here this rikshawman
Yes I am your son, don’t give me your hand
No good I was, no good I have been
Its thirty years I know we haven’t us seen,
Not alone is he this damned old stag
By his side stood this tall man with a Bag
His skin fair, his hair light brown
His gait could tell, a stranger in town
“S…” was the name his mother him gave
sometimes she had loved me, long before she went to her grave
would she know her son and his father are to meet
After twenty years on a dirty, broken Calcutta street
Yes I know have guessed it right
What I behold is an unusual sight
My father and my son both together
stand seeing me and not knowing who I am
Their kin, their blood, a bird of the same feather
Taxis, Tongas, Rikshaws, Bicycles in this traffic jam
So much confusion I know they see with their eyes
And in this chaos whoever could recognise
A man with sunken cheeks, torn clothes and 50 kilos
of an unbroken body alive
Could fine gentlemen to this outcaste be having family ties.
The only son I was, of a rich merchant
Spoiled, much loved, for many whims, several servants
My mother died at childbirth, so I grew up alone
I rebelled against all I had, and exhilarated for the unknown
Labour, poverty, illiterates interested my soul
For fine education, and my father’s wealth I was a black hole.
It was then not unforeseen
That at twenty years and of knowledge keen
I ran away from home only to tell
Thru a postcard, that in Germany I dwell
For months, for years I worked around
Cleaning dishes, serving tables and other jobs I found
Meanwhile here there was sex to discover
And the white girls their bodies to uncover.
To one of them I also got married
Some years of fidelity and then she got carried
In love of another but took my son with her.
“A fine fellow he is” said she “so unlike her father!”
Those many years in white man’s country
Of hard labour and life as sultry
Made me long for my third world origins
For men of valour and loyal unemancipated virgins.
Then one day…
Could eat here dust and sleep on sand
And after all who gives a damn
If they drink champagne in the West
Nevertheless it does not make them the best
I kiss, I embrace this Earth beneath my feet
It’s warm it’s summer I’m enveloped in heat
Yes I am home, here I was born here I would die
I must rejoice, there is no reason to cry.
The city of Calcutta in its crowds to drown
In its clamour is peace, is joy I found
My love when I was small was a rickshaw ride
Today it’s my profession, my existence, the crest in my fortune’s tide.
No religion I profess, no class I belong
No wealth I seek, no joys I cherish
I’m just a rikshawman, kind of a sad folk song
Searching that eternal truth of our lives between sex and death
And my labour has been my enlightenment, I do not brag, I just confess!
Two irrelevant episodes I recall and here I relate
Of some passion and of suppressed hate.
Once a young damsel for a rickshaw ride she hailed
A white lady from the West she came
“Four rupees” to my hotel she bade
And very soon we were speaking in her native German
“I am aghast” she exclaimed ” you’re a living Sermon
“I’ll guide you to my hotel room from back-stair”
“We must talk alone quietly up there”
No one saw us and we managed to her room.
Although I appeared filthy, I still felt like a groom.
Closing the door shut in my ear she whispered
Her speech incoherent and voice slurred
“I don’t give a damn perhaps you have leprosy and I have Aids.
All I want now is to get laid.
Fifteen days must have been I hadn’t washed
The sun, the dry wind had my body scorched.
What am I doing here; myself I cannot trust
My mind and body is guided by carnal lust
It did not take very long
Like one of those half-written song
A quick shower subsequently I did take
Wear again the shreds and did fake
A warm unhurried good-bye kiss
This kind of sex I know I do miss
One of those joys white woman can give
Just thinking of it makes me stiff.
Gently I closed the Hotel room door behind
And set upon the stairs to find
Two hands held my neck from back
“Beggars son have you lost your track
Or have you taken now to stealing
Tell us in what trade you’ve been dealing”
Two room-service waiters had me pinned
The big dark one gave an ugly slap
Spat on my face and meant I was a dirty chap.
What makes the likes of you come here
Following damsels looking innocent and fair.
The clamour outside her did wake
She risked a glance and in anger did shake
In bitterness and disgust she cry
“Let the poor fellow bloody well go
Yes, I felt cold and very low
To run away from it all I did try
Where are the stairs please do show
I must leave here I must go
I am no thief please hit no more.
To be here I know I have done wrong
To the streets outside I do belong
O lord give me strength for I feel weak
My head whirls and I hate these carpet floors
All this clean stuff I know for sure
Is for people who are just about dirt
For they have given no joy only pain and hurt
To all those who on pavements sleep
And search the gutters for bread but do not weep
And do not anger but do feel
We are human and worthy of a well earned meal.
That is to us for years being denied
In God’s name here in Calcutta they have lied.
The young man and the aged I here converse
Says he “The Rikshawman is old and weak
Perhaps another job less arduous should he seek”
Then they talk of Calcutta, Europe and the weather
And of all the souvenirs from India the young man must gather.
My heart palpitates and misses beats
I sweat and shiver despite the bloody heat
The wounds beneath the ribs are not healed
And gradually the shirt is stained with blood not to be concealed.
For it happened during the religious festivities
When there is celebration and an undercurrent of enmities
Between the diverse classes and communities
And this was very recent
My friend Abdul secretary to his religious party
Had his name on killer’s list
So him his old mother, younger brother to my quarters I hid
But Abdul fearless walk outside he wants to do
Stay put I say and get the night thru.
I managed a cough and raised my voice
We have to wait here there is no choice
The streets were bare, quire and the air tense
To get out now would make no sense.
Moths and mosquitoes played around the street lamp
Barked a few dogs chasing a female tramp.
I see the neighbours peeping thru windows with suspicious eyes.
They seem to guess well who are my guests tonight.
At the still midnight hour someone struck and broke open the door.
Two unshaved men asked “what’s your name” and pinned me to the floor.
“Abdul is my name” I lied and raised myself
“You are not wanted here so get out”, I yelled
One threw chilli powder in my eyes and another showed a knife
Half-blinded I saw Abdul come from behind to join the strife.
With a broken chair he tried to stop their attack
He hit them on their faces and on their back.
Then in a fleeting moment I felt deep gushes of cutting and pain.
And the blade of knife came tearing in again and again.
I saw the guys running away before I fell
And the pain made me think of crushed souls in hell.
My breath falters and my eyes are blended by the sun.
I can’t see the street and my legs can’t run.
The wounds are opening under the bandage
I sense beside me presence of an aged sage.
He is walking with me with luminous blue light
Is this the final dawn, the last sight.
The old man and the grandson perplexed
Descended quickly to help the rickshawpuller.
Shocked, panicky and a little vexed
Were finally to realize
That to this man after all they had family ties.
To his son the rikshawman with faint smile addressed.
Your visit certainly will include performance of funeral rites.