Hamina Bi's Birthday


Mehmud walked and walked and walked with a bag hanging by his shoulder; a bag made of clothes and plastic threads, covered in dirt and also torn here and there. He had forgotten the distance he had walked so far. He had forgotten the lanes he had taken. He was on a mission today. He had to collect enough valuable trash that would fetch him hundred odd rupees for the day. On an average day he would make 60 to 70 rupees which would be enough for his sustenance but today he had set his target, a full sum of a hundred rupees. Sunday of coming week was a special day for him. It was his mother’s birthday which he celebrated with all smiles and clean clothes. Clean clothes was a luxury that he couldn’t afford every day. It was one of the many things that was out of reach for people living in his jhuggi. The long tenuous day that involved mostly walking in sun from one trash pit or smelly mountain to another would suck most of his energy leaving him with no time to take care of his clothes. He would come home, if you could call it one, and just throw his bag away, eat some food (?) and fall asleep. But yesterday he had made sure to clean his clothes. He had also bought 3 rupee pouch of fabric softener — not much to soften his fabric but soaking clothes in that liquid gave it a pleasant smell, he seemed to like it. It made him feel good about his clothes and himself. How he learnt about the fabric softener is a whole other story for another day.

Mehmud’s mother on the other hand really didn’t know what was her son celebrating about. But she liked this day for this was one day in a year when her son would be with her the whole time. They would talk endlessly and sometimes go out to the nearest park, sit there on a bench next to a trash-filled can which had a strong smell but that somehow won’t bother the two. It was another matter that this would was the only bench available for their occupancy. All other benches would either be occupied or even if vacant, they wouldn’t dare to sit on them. Their kind of people were generally shooed from other benches. The people in clean clothes didn’t like their benches getting dirty. It wasn’t hygienic enough for their kids and family members to even touch the benches that people with dirty clothes had touched their butts with.

Hamina bi didn’t always have her birthday celebrated like this. It all began some 6 years ago. And ever since this has become one annual event in her life. It began on one evening when young Mehmud came home from his work (?) and told her, “Ammi, we will celebrate your birthday this Sunday.” It was Wednesday that day. It was the birthday of house lady where Mehmud went for work. His work wasn’t much. He was to clean their house, take care of their garden, take out their dog out and other similar important things in a rich household. But that day when he had reached the house in the evening to take their dog out, her son Amal stopped Mehmud when he saw him walking towards dog-shed. He said, “today is my mum’s birthday so we have sent the dog to one of my friend’s house as he was barking at guests all the time. You can stay over and help guests with their food and drinks. Just make sure they have no complaints.” And thus Mehmud stayed. He then saw how the rich celebrated birthdays. He observed keenly as they welcomed their guests, how they greeted, how they shook hands, hugged and cut the cake with a plastic knife. He always desired to live their life. A life with clean clothes, going to school, spending days with people he loved, without worrying about if you will get food today or not, full-on sophisticated life in its complete glory. He wished at least for a day to live such a life. It was at this moment that he began to think of himself inviting his friends to his home. He wanted to greet them, ‘talk’ with them, shake hands, cut cake; cut the take, that was the important part. But he wasn’t sure about the plastic knife. He feared it might not be sturdy enough to cut the cake and anyhow that is extra money to spend when you have steel knife at home. What’s the need of another knife when you already have one anyway? He first imagined himself as the birthday person but then things didn’t fit in their places. Welcoming guests by himself on one’s own birthday didn’t make any sense, and this is where his mother came into the picture. Thus she was roped into his fantasy. But he didn’t know when was her birthday. No one in his family celebrated their birthdays or any day for that matter. That evening when he went home, he asked his mother when was her birthday. She had no idea when was she born. In her world or his, people did not celebrate any days, leave alone birthdays. Every day was the same for them. Each day for them meant a struggle in survival. To earn enough to eat that day. These celebratory days required some saving to celebrate. When they can’t even mourn their dead the very next day, how would they find courage in their hearts to leave work for a day and risk going hungry? Plus, their lives weren’t significant enough to celebrate their births and mourn the deaths. There was really nothing in their life worth celebrating nor was there any money to waste on such activities of the rich. There were times when he wished he was born into one of those rich houses, to one of those rich couples. Then he too would have gone to school, he too would get nice shoes to wear, he too would get guaranteed two square meals, clean clothes to wear after a bath. How beautiful life would then be — his train of thoughts would wander and wonder. His reverie would be broken by a single thought. He loved his mother way too much. He wanted her by his side in all the universes possible, and in any different lifestyle. He couldn’t imagine any parallel universe where he would be rich and lucky without her by his side. The stories and dreams where there was no place for her would have no place for him too, naturally. He desired no such world where Hamina Bi wasn’t his ammi. She deserved a day in her name. He deserved it too. So he decided one day. That day he did not have any money in his pockets. He couldn’t ask his master as he was busy with his wife’s birthday celebrations. So he decided to celebrate his mum’s birthday on coming Sunday, the tenth of May. On Saturday, his friend Karim had promised him to lend him 500 rupees. And so his mother’s date of birth was decided. He also took another decision that day. He no more wanted to work under any master. He did not like taking orders from other people. He will start his own business. He will work for himself and on his own terms and timings. This was the moment when he got the idea of ragpicking. That’s how he became the vagabond, a vagrant on the loose.

Walking on the street, picking trash, he always wondered how different his life would have been if he was born under a different roof.

How insignificant an event but how significant its effects…!

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