Wasted

For Ramu, it had turned into a daily routine now to rush to the nearest bridge early in the morning, just as the dawn crept in, to fetch heroin for his father, his own blood-related father-Suresh who was an huge burden on him and his family. Every morning at four, a lanky and dark man peddled heroin to a selected number of his daily customers, stealthily and quietly, hidding from the eyes of our so called police officers. The memory of Suresh thwacking him ruthlessly when had first denied to glean heroin, sent jitters down his spine. He was only a boy of ten then. His family encompassed his ailing father who couldn't talk properly and behaved like a maniac when he didn't find the right dose of heroin at the stroke of six early in the morning. Ramu's mother worked as a maid in upper middle class families to earn a few bucks. Ramu added to their monthly earnings with a meager amount of 50 bucks per day which he drew from begging whole day near the railway stations, temples and tourist spots. For a fifteen year old boy, it was a matter of shame to roam around in the streets, stopping every second stranger, begging them for a few bucks and ultimately getting rejected. But for the sake of his family and growling empty stomach, he had to go down the levels of humiliation and mortification.

Five years had passed and Ramu was still tolerating his drug-addict, unemployed father who did nothing but mouthed foul phrases throughout the day. He always pondered over the reason behind Suresh's survival till date. As far as he knew swallowing and intaking heroin for five years never guaranteed a life after that. But maybe Suresh was a lucky bastard. As he settled himself in a corner of the Chhatrapati Shivaji terminus, he recalled how his father used to beat his mother mercilessly when she used to prohibit him from consuming drugs. She still protested and he still beat her, though the intensity of the thwacks were now less. Domestic violence was what he witnessed everyday, every single day! His father thrashing his mother, bombarding different things at her, shattering and breaking the household necessities into pieces and what not. The list seemed endless. His mind now picturised his house, which was one among the millions in Dharavi. Yes , the dingiest Dharavi, that's where he belonged to. Asia's biggest slum, stationed at of the heart of the 'Mayanagari'-Mumbai(The City of Dreams) as we call it.Dreams, here are often crushed and lie caked deep underneath the hearts of many. Mumbai forecasts a great contrast, a place where we find people like Ambani is the same place where we fail to notice people like Ramu, who are struggling for a livelihood.

As the sun descended in the far horizon, Ramu prepared to leave.He quickly counted the notes and coins and was happy to find that he had made a profit of thirty rupees. Instead, of fifty his steel bowl showed up a whole amount of eighty rupees. He made a rough calculation in his mind of what different he could eat today with those thirty rupees but then he was reminded of his father who needed heroin. He once again counted the notes, this time hurriedly hoping for an extra note to appear magically from nowhere but his hope never bore fruits. He picked up his torn and tattered bag, dusted himself and headed towards his destination, his house in Dharavi.

As he neared his house, he could hear some horrendous noises coming out. Some people had even gathered in front of his house. Terrified, he rushed in, only to find Suresh beating his Mother once again. "You bitch! You just simply got me misfortune! Why are you still alive? Die you slut and take away with you, this filth too!" Suresh roared and smashed the cane once again on Lata, Ramu's mother. Ramu ran and wrapped his arms around Lata. She clung to her son like a baby. He could hear his mother's suppressed sobs. It pained him. She clutched him tighter, it pained a lot more. He felt helpless. The feeling of helplessness crept in, once again! The helplessness of failing to protect his mother from the clutches of this fiendish devil, whom he acknowledged as his father. His so called father!

The night passed by with Ramu and Lata sleeping on the floor with two mattresses laid and Suresh coughing and puking blood into the tin bucket placed near his bed. Five years of heroin consumption had taken a toll on him. It had reduced him from an auto rickshaw puller to the condition of a beggar. Just as the sunlight peeped through the broken asbestos, Suresh bawled,"Where the hell are you, you son of the bitch? Run....Run for my heroin, I'm dying here, you asshole!" Ramu got up with a shock and ran to the place near the bridge as always. The man was already there, his mouth full with 'Safal' flashing a cunning smile at him. Ramu took out his wallet and found those eighty rupees arranged neatly. He then lifted his lids and faced the man. Examined him from top to bottom, took a deep sigh and placed back his torn and old wallet safely in the right pocket of his trousers.He turned and took the way back to his house. He had finally decided to face the sleeping bastard at home like a valiant and fight for what he deserved. The man kept calling him but he never looked back. Within fraction of minutes he landed at his home where his ears gasped the most dreadful moans of Suresh. As he proceeded further, he found a trail of blood and at the end of it lay his mother. Alarmed and perplexed, he sat on the floor clueless. He spotted Suresh, sitting at a distance laughing like a maniac or a satanic bastard may be! Lata's blood was still there on his face and clothes. It reeked a rusty and smoky odour which made him nauseous. He couldn't digest these events which were hitting him hard. He felt restless and suffocated. A feeling of fear passed electric shocks within his body. He then realised that his mother was dead. The only one who loved him, who cared for him, now went to an eternal sleep. Urged by the feeling of revenge and hit hard by reality, he caught hold of the knife which was already dripping Lata's blood and pierced it into Suresh's chest, a little towards left. Suresh looked at Ramu with astonishment and fell on the floor, struggling for his life. His howls merged with silence as Ramu penetrated the knife again into his body. He repeated the same thing again and again till he was satisfied. It felt good. There was a hint of smile on his blood-smeared face. He kept butchering his body, it soothed his soul which was blazing fire. A laugh was born, the very laugh of a devil or a monster. He kept laughing like a mad and stabbed Suresh's already dead body, time and again. The grief of losing his mother made him do so, the pain of surviving without his mother made him do so, the fear of being called an orphan made him do it....he didn't do it!

The next morning arrived as usual, nothing changed. The people at Dharavi still fought over the community water but this time a fifteen year old boy was arrested for murdering his own parents. Somewhere, in some corner , behind the bars, lay a young life wasted!