Thanks to Guy de Maupassant!

The dream job

He seldom moves from that traffic junction. God knows when he became part of that busy junction. He himself would not remember.

He had been a rickshaw-man. No one knew his name. His customers use some common ways to address him. Some call him “Yei” – a very derogatory way to address a fellow human being. The relatively kind-hearted would add “pa” at the end of each sentence spoken to him.

Conversations with him never last a long time. Talks with him are so focused; things spoken are - the place to go, the tariff and accompanying negotiations to bargain it down.

Not many knew that he had a family. His family lived in a slum nearby. His mornings began with him smoking a beedi, followed by his wife feeding him with the remnants of the previous night’s dinner. He lived with his wife and three kids – all daughters.

Over the years, it had taken hardships and loans to get his daughters married. A few years ago his wife died due to some water-borne disease. His third daughter’s marriage expense saw him pawning almost everything he had, including his rickshaw.

Now, he had nothing much to do. His old age does not allow him to take arduous tasks. His daily schedule has changed. He now comes to the same corner, near that busy traffic junction. He would think himself of being young, energetic and still owning his rickshaw. He would await customers to hire his rickshaw. The whole day goes with him waiting there. He waits there for the whole day, every day, perched by the platform.

None takes him seriously. People who had shops by the pavement considered him to be part of the setting; as much as the leafless stump of the nearby tamarind tree, the ownerless stray dog, or the road-side sign-posts. None knew where he lived now and how he comes there every morning.

The day he fails to come, he was sure that he is not going to be missed. But, that had been his workplace, and that place had seen him active as a young lad with vitality and strength to carry challenging loads.

The place must be giving him the solace that his life may not have.

None knew.

The city was getting ready for another evening. The tube-lights were getting switched-on in the shops and people were hurrying to return home.

He knew his “work” for the day is over. He slowly got up from the pavement, and in an unhurried manner, began his walk.
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I wrote this short story recently. It had been my long-time wish to write such things, ever since I read the works of the legendary Guy de Maupassant. My close friends know that I enrolled self to learn French after reading his translated works. They also know I could only complete only the first level of exams in French :)

Thanks for your inspiration, Mr. Maupassant!

Luv,

Vijay