Poetic Stories

In the rising heat of the rising sun , the city of Kolkata was getting roasted to a crisp. The boy, Saikat, was working in a hotel near Dharmatala Bus Stand, even in this scorching sun. He has been working here for about a few months now. A boy of thirteen, working in a hotel is not very uncommon here. Even after this, Saikat has a secret, that he didn’t even tell me.

Oh! Hello! I haven’t introduced myself; myself, Abhijit Talukder, a migrant labour from a small village near Bankura, working at different construction sites around the sites around the city. I am working in the new metro railway work going on in Esplanade Metro Station, the beating heart of the city.
Now, let me go back to the story of Saikat. Saikat is a very hardworking, silent and obedient boy. He does everything here, from washing dishes and cooking utensils to waiting for orders. But he is not allowed to touch the money paid by the customers. His social status doesn’t give him enough respect for that kind of responsibility. But Saikat doesn’t care about that. He goes on working from morning to evening and takes his daily wage and wanders off to  God knows where! He works for only five days. His father is a truck driver but his mother died a few years back. Till then his father goes for long trips for about three to four months months at a time. He usually comes back home with a lot of money and buys Saikat whatever he wants.

Oh! You might be wondering how did I get to know all of this about him? Don’t you? Oh you do! Good! Then let me tell you the time when I first met Saikat. I met him at his school where we were were working at a repair job there. During the progression of the work, a  bag of cement was missing from our storage. We suspected that the students must have stolen them. Later a friend of Saikat whose name cannot be revealed here, snitched up to us and told how Saikat and a group of his friends stole the bag and sold it off for a thousand rupees. We complained the Principal and the school caught him that day. When he was asked why he did this, he told us he is doing it to buy medicines for his father for his mother. But we searched his background from his teachers and friends and found that his father hasn’t returned for three months. Neither was he poor, nor he had a bad reputation. But we never knew the actual reason for the stealing.
Later after a few months, I was eating at this hotel where Saikat was working after running away from school. That is when I see him again. His face and his silence remained the same as it was the last time. After all I knew about him I couldn’t see a glimmer of innocence in his face. His face has become that of a grown up, grown among the messy people of this messy place.

I told Saikat’s story to the hotel manager one day. He told me that he already knew about this. “Saikat’s father has told me this after he was rusticated from the school. His father said he will get entry to a better school after he returns from his trip, this time. This trip is a very big chance of earning a lot of money.”
One day, Saikat was leaving from his work and I along with my co-workers were chatting inside with other workers of the hotel. We were discussing oil price rise, the corruption of panchayats and political leaders and how we were suffering from these. Amid this heated discussion, the quite little boy was silently working in his own little universe. I always glared at him as he made me remember my recently dead son of around his age. This day I approached him and tried to strike a conversation but he just give one word answers. Finally I insisted to go with him.
For  the workers of the hotel, it was customary to take the dinner for the night from the hotel. It was cut from their daily wage. As most of them had families here and cooked food at their homes, they did not take food from the hotel. But still a few workers and Saikat took food everyday.
I went on with him after he left the hotel. I talked with him and keep on talking. I could see him not answering to my questions; I wasn’t sure if he was even listening to me. Still I kept on rambling. Saikat was walking fast but silently just like his nature.

Suddenly he stopped and turned and ran into an alleyway from the main road. I don’t know why I had to chase after him. I thought I must stop him before he does anything wrong again. I could not keep up with this kid. He was very fast and agile. Suddenly, it struck me the he has been running me in circles and wanted to trick me into something. Again with the surprise a group of kids surrounded me. They were carrying knives and screw drivers. Saikat came from behind them and told me to run off and return from where I came. I was taken aback by shock and fear. Saikat has become a gang leader of the kids in this peaceful city. Who have thought that! Somehow I manage to save my life and run back to my shelter that night. But before running I let my curiosity will over my dread. I asked him “Why are you doing this? You have enough to live an honest life.”

He replied spitting on the side of the road, “I would have left that life you are talking so much about all this time, if you hadn’t intervened. My sister would have been alive if I could buy my sister the medicines that day. You have taken away what was dearest to me. I am feeling your life only because you remind me of the father who was never there for me. I am sparing your life only because you remind me of the father who was never there for me. Now piss off before I change my decision again.” His spit was red like blood, mixed with half chewed “gutka” and pan masalas. The spit caused a scar on the perfectly crafted cityscapes.