By Naba Bhattacharjee
Many of us have experienced the discomfiture in and around Khyndailad, of being stalked like a shadow and consistently tugged at the sleeves by young children to part with a few rupees. The child in them lost forever with those who brought them to this world. I tried to befriend a few. Most of them are rag pickers while a few fortunate ones are engaged in odd jobs. They stay overnight in sheds or verandas of shops. These children are reconciled to their fate and have learnt to deal with the reality, driven by the instinct of survival. The moment favoured with a rupee or two, they rush to a corner cigarette shop and in an expansive manner order for a cigarette and a tube of dendrite. The flair and style with which they light their cigarette to dialogue delivery and mannerisms – are all efforts to live the reel life as a distraction. Denrdite, a strong adhesive is a cheap intoxicant which is inhaled. I could gather that its use kills hunger and allows them bliss for an hour or two.
Last December they were not seen for over a week. I thought the cold must have forced them to leave Shillong. Then one evening I saw two of them in the corner cigarette shop. They were sitting on the steps, quiet and withdrawn. I enquired with curiosity, “Where did you disappear?” They did not answer but instead asked for hundred rupees. “What!”, I replied with irritation, “Now your demand is increasing ten fold.” I asked, “Have you started drinking?” Both of them stared at me for a moment and one of them suddenly got up took hold of my hand firmly and pulled me across the road. I was annoyed but an inner feeling told me something was amiss. They led me to the MTC workshop, down the road where a few others were sitting around a fire emanating from a half burnt tyre and garbage steeped in lubricant. Lying on one side was a body wrapped in gunny bags. “Maa”, they called in unison. A pair of bright eyes opened and closed immediately. The frail woman, their adopted mother, was terminally ill since long. I handed over the hundred rupee note with which the boy ran and returned with some eatables and about a dozen dendrite pouch and not medicines. Immediately they started administering the inhalation on the women as I walked away, with a lump in my throat, realizing that the group was on the verge of being orphaned again.