‘Buzurg hai hum…’

‘Ae beti, kuch khaane ko de de’, a familiar line that I would come across, whenever I passed the temple! The sight of two elderly women begging on the roadside was an everyday affair for all who either visited the temple or the departmental store nearby.

On a rainy Sunday, as I went through the same route, I was expecting the same line to repeat, but in vain. I looked around, and saw one of the two women, a short and frail body in tattered clothes and a dupatta covering her head, holding the rods of the temple gate and trying to glance inside, hoping for some alms. Viewing it as a photojournalistic task, I clicked her picture. She looked at me with eyes that spoke of a tale I knew I wanted to listen. I smiled at her, feeling guilty I clicked her without her permission.  She smiled back, looked at the bag I was carrying and gestured at me to give her something to eat. I searched my bag and found a packet of fresh bun. She thanked me and showered on me the blessings of all the gods of the world. I realised I wanted to hear her story. I knelt down in the sand. Knowing not how to strike a conversation, I asked her if she wanted to look at her picture. She smiled and said, “Mera beta bhi meri photo leta tha!” Without waiting for me to say anything, she continued. She used to live in Nangloi, a semi-urban area in Delhi, with her husband and son. Her son studied in an ‘English waala’ school. Her son got married and they had a daughter. Life was all good until her husband fell ill. “Mere pati guzar gaye aur mera naseeb kharaab hua.” For a month, her son and his wife looked after her, with the woman of the house constantly cribbing about how tiring it was to take care of so many members. She understood they had intentions of sending her away for a pilgrimage. Not wanting to believe what she heard, she asked her son who denied of any such plans.

But, on 17^th June 2009, they asked her to pack her necessary items. “Mujhe laga kahi ghumne jaa rahe! Par mere bête ne mujhe is mandir ke saamne choda aur kaha ki who kuch leke waapas aayega. Aur woh abhi tak waapas nah aaya.” Teary-eyed, she looked back inside the temple. The silence that lasted for two minutes was hurting and I knew it brought her painful memories. I immediately asked, “Aapki dost kaha hai?” Without looking at me, she said, “Use aapke padosi ne park mein se maarke bhagaya.”  Hearing no response from me, she looked at me and explained, “Kaafi din ho gaye. Woh park mein gayi thi aur neechi hi baithi thi. Aapke koi padosi ne use dekha aur bahot gaaliyan di. Chappal bhi nikaala use maarne! Ab humaara koi khayaal nahi rakhta hai, buzurg hai hum, mandirwaale jo dete hai who khaate hai,  aur yahaa ke log hume dekhte hi…. ” she nodded her head in dismay! “Woh bahot royi, bahot bahot bura laga use. Ek din rote rote so gayi. Aur phir nahi uthi woh!”

The scary silence returned and I found myself at a loss of words. But, it was short and was broken by the sound of ladies chattering as they made an exit out of the temple, with ‘thalis’ in their hands. She waited with hope; a hope that they would give her something to eat that would ensure her stomach would be full for at least a day.

I stood up, dusted my pants and looked if it was right for me to go away.  Yes, it was right, because my new ‘acquaintance’ was nowhere in sight. I walked towards my home, understanding that every person you see has a story to tell….a story that will shake up your conscience. 

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