Choti
(Based on a true story)
She stood on the platform, a safe distance from the edge. She had one eye in the direction where the train would come from, and the other on the boys. This was her regular spot and the train was the same one she took every morning, yet today was special. Today she was taking the boys on a picnic.
Her name was Munni, last name unknown. But no one really called her by that name. To almost everyone she was just choti (little girl). A ironic name in her opinion, as she was the eldest of the three siblings and she (to herself) was a big girl. She stood a little less than five feet tall and she was eleven maybe twelve years old - she wasn't sure. Ramu, her second in command was about two year younger and the smallest of the siblings still unnamed was called chotu (little boy) and was five years her junior.
They were all dressed in old faded clothes, with mended holes in more than a few places, but the clothes they wore were clean - Munni would see to that. The three siblings were also clean, their hair washed and combed and Munni even had oil in her hair. Despite all this they looked what they were - poor people. Three of an endless supply that Mumbai seemed to generate.
"Come on, get ready" she said as she saw the train approaching. The boys knew better than to cross her, they both held her hands and stood by her side. As the train crawled to a stop, they board the relatively empty train. The time was still seven thirty in the morning, the rush hour would not start for a while yet and they only had a short way to go.
Just as the train began to move, a young woman in rags climbed on with a naked child barely hanging on her side. Yet another work day has started in Mumbai, even for the beggars. This woman was also what in Mumbai was termed in general poor people, but there was a stark contrast between her and Munni. She wore dirty clothes, stained and torn, that managed to hang on by stands of thread that were a poor attempt at mending them. Her hair was dirty, her eyes bloodshot. The last time she had a bath would probably be more than the days in a month. The little girl saw the baby, no more than a few months old, with not a stitch of clothing on its tiny body and she could not resist herself.
"Hey," she called out to the woman, "why do you beg? You have such a beautiful child, work and buy some clothes for him, and give him something to eat! "
The young woman, was left speechless for a moment by the confidence in little girl's voice, was taken by surprise.
"You too are just like me!" she said, looking at Munni and her brothers with disdain. "You too are a beggar."
"We are nothing alike, I work, I have a job, " Munni said, feeling disgusted. She rooted in her pocket and brought out a two rupee coin and held it out for the girl.
"Here take this," she said, "feed him some milk."
The girl snatched the coin and gave Munni a sullen look and walked away towards the end of the compartment as far away from her as she could. Munni looked after her, and couldn't help but feel sorry for her.
She sat down with her brothers in the corridor and looked out of the door at the city waking up, and let her mind drift away.
She imagined the city was a giant, and the people living in it were the tiny parts it was made up of. Every morning with every part waking up, the city would wake up with a roar, and every night save the few parts that would not sleep, the city would fall silent again. As old parts would die, new ones would be born to take its place. Ever growing, ever expanding, the city thrived on the lives of these parts. Some parts got more nutrition and worked less and others worked more and got less. She knew she fell into the latter category, and distance between her and the former was unimaginable.
She lived in one of the cities' many slums. These slums were the tumors of the city. The city and it's slum would be in a constant battle, the city trying to destroy these tumors and the tumors trying to survive. She however did not mind living there, sure there was no electricity, or running water and it smelled something terrible if the wind was blowing in the wrong direction. But for her this was just a station in life much like the ones the train she was travelling on passed without slowing down.
She lived with her parents and her two brothers in the small shack, which would have little room when they slept shoulder to shoulder. This room was a little more than an attic, the one that her father's friend let them have nearly a year and half ago when they had left their village to find a life in the city after her father lost his farm and land to creditors. He had also helped get her father a job that lasted for a whole month. After that her father never managed to find or keep any job. Since then she remained the sole bread winner of their family.
Every morning she would wake up at five and take her bath at the public bath. She would then carry two buckets of water to her house. This water would be used through the day for washing and cooking. At six she would cook a small meal for herself and pack it in a box along with some rice or they were lucky, some roti. At quarter to seven she would leave her meger dwelling and take the forty minutes walk to the railway station. She worked at a factory making glass bangles, twelve hours a day and would be paid three thousand rupees a month. Of this money she would keep half and the other half she'd give to her family.
She had been working at the factory for a little more than a year, and her savings were almost intact. 'Six more months' she'd tell herself, 'then I'll be free'
Although no one had ever told her she knew from the way her father's friend looked at her; that her father had promised her hand to him. She was young not stupid, she knew in a city like mumbai, where no one cared for anyone but themself and where no meals we free, no one would let them stay in their house scot free.
Yesterday she caught her parents whispering when she came home. They hushed up immediately seeing her and she knew that she would have to make her move soon.
So today she wanted to take her brothers for a good time, one last time. Her parents might not be able to do that for them. But perhaps all she wanted was for them to remember her by this one last day. She would take them to the eateries and let them eat as many sweets as they wanted and ice creams and feed them chicken and treat them with sharbats. She wanted them to see the city, to breathe in its endless potential, to bathe in its energy, to show them a new realm of possibilities.
Tomorrow, she'd be somewhere else doing something else. From tomorrow she would not be 'Choti' anymore.
You might see her on the streets hawking stuff, or even catch a glimpse of her going to night school. You'll know her by the light in her eyes, or by the way she holds her head up. She might not answer to Munni or Choti, but she might be that girl.
