IN MY LANE

Earlier I had heard about street dogs, street beggars, street life so on and so forth. But that did not explain the real implications of such expressions till I myself started living in one of them in Delhi. After having lived in the posh localities of Delhi, Jamshedpur, Shimla, Kalimpong, Srinagar, Kolkata, Patna, Ranchi etc, suddenly coming to a street of South Delhi was an experience, which I had never imagined. In retrospect, I realize that my life could have been incomplete without sweet and sour experiences of my lovely street which has seen over a decade of my life.

Obviously, the residents are all poorly educated and belonging to labour class. Some 25 years back, they occupied govt land and developed this unauthorized colony. They have experienced the pain of dismantling their shelters by the authorities for illegal occupation of govt land. The vote bank politics has come as a boon for them. They have obliged the ruling party which not only pays for their votes but also gives guaranty of not disturbing their premises. Every election, state assembly or parliamentary, brings added facilities. In the nearby JJ colony, toilets were made. Earlier, one govt had allowed that every residential unit there would have one electric bulb. On the verge of another election, the lanes of their colony were paved. The land owners of my lane have exploited this leniency and constructed their pucca houses of 3-5 storeys. Till recently, they were freely using electricity. The municipality sends fresh water tankers regularly. The residents enjoy life better than in other famous colonies.

Despite a good house, the owner as per the street culture, would sit on chair or ‘khatia’ on road and enjoy sucking’ hukkah’. The small platform, constructed on the road is a permanent olace for the dustbin and shoes. His cow will also be tied on the already congested road. If it is a  Sunday or other holiday, at least half a dozen of his friends will congregate for daylong session of card playing. A lady will comb her hair on the road. Another lady will ask her daughter or daughter-in-law  to catch lices in her unkempt locks on the road. One lady will be gleaning out dirt from rice or processing raw vegetables on road. Of course, it is the birth right of children to shout and play. This scene becomes further interesting when beggars, kabariwallas and ferrywallas join the crowd. You will enjoy a number of musical sounds on the road created by these elements to attract the buyers. The dozens of street dogs and wandering bulls will add another scene to this street drama.

You may not be knowing about somebody’s daughter having eloped with a boy of another street. You also will not be knowing whose son is a pick-pocket or thief. All these information will come to you unwanted if you are lucky to see and listen two women quarrelling. The typical ethnic abuses, hurled on each other may deserve a place in literature.

The entire Dwarka colony, in which our Mahavir Colony falls, has salty water. So they fully depend on municipality water tankers  for potable water.You will get the experience of life if in your presence a water tanker comes. Everybody will have at least two to three canisters. And then he will rush to the tanker in his fastest speed to leave behind other beneficiaries. The noise created by them is unique. The people are rubbing their shoulders against one another. One pot will be hitting another pot. Nobody wants to be  left behind. And then to the surprise of the crowd, the driver would declare that the tank had gone empty.

If there is some marriage ceremony, the road is blocked and you have to come to your own residence by another parallel lane. Dj on the highest possible decibel will make life hell. One feels like moving elsewhere to pass the night with some relative or friend. The climax reaches when the barat party comes. Even the idiots in the party will dance like a Bharat Natyam expert. Crackers will add to the cacophony. The accompanying musical instruments will be producing ear-piercing noise. These people, already drunk, will have further pegs at the cost of the poor father of the bride. The close relatives of both the sides, under intoxication will be throwing currency notes on the band party. This entire scene to a stranger appears as if he has landed in a different world.

Since I am in this street for last ten years, everybody, male or female, young or old knows me personally. While going or coming back, their respectful Namaste elates me to feel something royal. I have a habit of bringing candy pieces, the Prasad of Mahavirji every day which I distribute among the street children. They will wish me Namaste and I would give them a bit of Prasad. I laugh silently that they must not be saying Namaste to their parents, but the lure of sweet is making them highly civilized. Once when I was coming back, I found two children of 5/6 years.  One of them wished me Namaste and I gave him candy. Then the second also gave his hand but did not say anything. I gave him also some candy. The first child charges him, Prasad to le liya, Namaste kaun bolega? So sweet and simple. Will any aristocrat of any posh colony allow his children to approach you with Namaste and feel happy as if there was nothing better than those few candy pieces? Will not my heart be heavy when I shall say goodby to this street?