he who labors all day.
Amongst the city dwellers,the rag pickers,
and some factory workers, only he sweats all seasons.
Through hand held bells and powerless brakes,
arises his title- Important yet Inadequate.
Pity and cross swords cut each other,
all over that supposed exorbitant price.
A meager thirty for an eight kilometer ride,
hurts like a three hundred demanded.
While the same spent on a two meter cloth,
is what we never minded.
The magnanimous and the miser.
The overweight and the thin skinned.
All have their share to his earnings.
For some, its a ride of joy,
For me its just a compulsive act.
In the scorching sunlight,
the jute draped bottle gives heed.
In the mid of January,its the coal's heat.
The rain which has no warnings,
layers him with polythene.
With the aim to fill his belly.
In-spite of these troubles,ascents the real hero.
Directions leading to new destinations,
Its he who narrates us,the epic of his misery,
his aching muscles,his bleeding toes after dusk.
He stayed in my servant quarters,
and cried hard,aloud all night.
The wife,the child massaged alternatively,
trying to let go the pain into vain.
He would shout,squirm,fidget and quarrel.
Hoping a better tomorrow,
but as the sun rose,he had to go.
Back into the market of livelihood.
Ready for commercialization,like his circular wheel.
That one manned cycle rickshaw ride.
Yes! It has a story,a very special one.
Every time I hop on, a memory creeps in.
There are more,this was just one. :)
-Somya
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