Sin City

"Mama's in the fact'ry

she ain't got no shoes

Daddy's in the alley

He's lookin' for food

I'm in the kitchen

with the tombstone blues.."

I am getting pushed around in this concrete maze of a city. I am running away from people to suburbs of Sonarpur , Baruipur, Canning and Birati. The city does not belong to me. It never did! I come from the suburbs filling the local train everyday and spill out at Ballygunje rail station, Howrah, Sealdah and Ultodanga. I move around the city in small three legged venom spewing bug of a beast called the 'auto rickshaw'.

I wait endlessly at bus stops, train station and at offices where I make cold calls. You can spot me. I wear trousers that are politely called boot cuts, full sleeve shirt and a funny looking tie in the month of May.
I always address you in as ‘sir’ and I have credit card forms rolled in a plastic carry bag.

Yes sir I will visit you in your home, I will visit you in your office and even wait for you in scorching heat at any time of the afternoon. Occasionally you will find me selling books in front of Music World, Park Street!
From credit cards to over produced encyclopedia I sell every thing.
I work for DSA i.e. direct selling agent.
Apart from that I sell my humble origin. Yes Sir I am polite while answering my mobile phone and while making you fill the credit card form that you desperately need to cover your conspicuous expenses.

You must be wondering what my stake in this line of trade is? My stake is employment. I don’t have a regular salary. All I have is a commission – a cut, say 15 cards a month offers me a salary of Rs.3, 000 plus the travel expenses.
To tell you the truth beneath that façade of my polite conversation, I loath you ‘sofistos’. I envy you and your likes for that utter disregard of my being. For the disdain with which the city treat us. You must be wondering about those red colored strings tied around my wrists? Sir they protect me from the likes of you. From being hunted and devoured by Satan.

But in some respect we are like you.
We follow cricket and cheer for Sourav Ganguly. We fill Eden gardens to the brim, we watch out for the next Sharukh Khan flick. We too have girl friends. However we don’t sip scotch whiskey. We smoke cannabis. That doesn’t make us hippies though! It helps us to beat the summer heat! You will find us in and around Dhakuria Lake, Nandan cine complex and in numerous parks scattered around the city rolling ‘joints' in shade.
Every day when I board the train to go back to where I come from I spit humiliation on those shanties by the side of the rail track. I pity them like you pity us.
I go home and wash my disgrace. You know sir that my back hurts from politeness?! When I finally rest I try to stop thinking about the city. Then sleep comes seducing me away... into the fold of night. Faint stenches of body deodorant collide with the mosquito repellent caressing my emaciated body!
I am covered with a sense of joy-at being employed.
I feel part of this great machine that is the city – the one that employs us .The one that sucks us dry.
The city doesn’t stop at its margin. It follows me through bad regional reality shows on TV. I see my neighbor’s eight year old daughter dancing to popular Hindi film songs on reality TV.

Beedi jalie le ….
The city is coming right after me …the political parties , the land-mafias, the big honchos of industrialization ,apartment living , Marie Stopes , Raymond’s , departmental stores, shiny glass and steel all are coming after me. Small time financing firms shadow my existence. Their loan sharks are eying our small savings.

The metropolis has let its dogs lose on us! They are trailing me in government health centers and in our crowded moffusil buses .I can hear their cellular phones ring amidst the cosmic chaos of monsoon rain.
They are lining behind our manasa mandir and tea stall.
I am looking out for them..
In case they make a sudden move..
I am on my toes …