You wouldn’t
recognize her if you saw her a second time. She was just another face on the streets.
The harshness of life had wiped out all innocence from her face. At 14 she was
already a woman. Her ragged clothes displayed hints of abused flesh. The sound
of the arriving train was her only comfort. She leaped into it before it could
make a proper halt. This was her heaven, her fortress of solitude, amidst the
hustle and bustle of daily life.
She fidgeted
with the pebbles that were her source of earning a living while she thought
what song is it going to be today.
She began
with her daily routine. Some old hindi songs you might’ve heard her sing but
never really listened to. She made her way up and down the general coach her
eyes gazing at every face eagerly. You might’ve flipped a penny her way but you
don’t know whom you gave it to. Because you wish she hadn’t been a part of the
same society you belonged to. Because people like her are not meant to be seen,
heard or spoken to. You heard her sing but you wouldn’t spot her in a crowd. She
was like that old broken radio that no one cared about. It sputtered out few
words at times but you never knew who the face behind it was.
A few coins
jingling between her dirt ridden fingers and she was ready to try her luck
elsewhere. She got off the train and you didn’t even ask her, her name.
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