Forsaken - Introduction

Introduction
Khar, one of the perennial slums of Mumbai woke up to another drab morning. The numerous make-shift shanties, with its gunny-bag curtains flapping against the tin walls competing with the passing local train’s thunderous noise, started to come alive like a bee hive. These shanties, dotting the busy railway tracks, resemble a cheap, local made pearl necklace worn by the local prostitutes.

6:00 A.M - December 23, 2006

The cacophony of women abusing each other to get ahead in the line for water woke him up. Through the crack on the tin wall, which once served as an advertising board, he saw the regular view. Pigs feasting on the garbage heaps and splashing in the black, syrupy water of the open drains. Beyond that, the rush of Khar station, office goers, vegetable and flower vendors running in all directions to catch the next local train.

Ajit got up from the mattress on which he was sleeping. As he pulled up the smelly, soiled bed sheet, which served as a blanket as well as protection from the all-pervading mosquitoes, an empty pint bottle of cheap whiskey rolled away to the corner making a clanging sound.
He took out a beedi from the soiled khaki shirt, the uniform of a taxi driver in Mumbai.
Isn’t it ironic, that the police, post-men, securities and taxi drivers wear the same color? He mused through the coils of smoke, while grabbing a small aluminum bucket from the corner and filled it from a big vessel. The bucket resembles my life. He said to himself. Lost it’s sheen due to overuse, shrunk at the bottom and used for only one purpose. Once it had everything. Color, shape and good utility.

“Hey Ajit bhaiyya, Kya soch rahe ho? Line lambi ho rahi hai.”

(Hey Ajit Brother, The queue is getting longer. What are you waiting for?)

Called out Radhe Shyam Tiwari, his neighbor. Like Ajit, he too was carrying a small plastic bucket and was rushing.

“Aa raha hoon bhaiyya” (I am coming, brother) He replied while jumping over the open drain.

The queue at the public toilet had around ten people. Three toilets, ten people. He calculated the approximate time frame. Five minutes each and the people start banging on the door. So fifteen minutes in the queue and five minute for himself. Twenty minutes. He had to be at Chandrakanth’s house at 7:00 AM to collect the keys of the car, or there will be no car for the next three days. Yesterday night, while returning the car, Chandrakant had reminded him that he will leave for his native place, Kolhapur, at 7:00 A.M. For three days, until his return, Ajit could keep the car and drive it day and night, if he wanted to.

He threw the Beedi into the open drain. It had gone off awhile ago.

The front-liners already started banging on the door and using choicest profanities.

“Abbe, Bosedi ke, kya pooja kar raha hai kya? Jaldi kar”

Pat came the reply. “Abbe Mother Chod, itna jaldi hai to track pe ja. Time lagega”

This had become a daily affair…the long, irritating wait in the toilet line, the foul smell, the conversation with the queue mates. Somewhere from the adjoining shanties, music was playing loudly.

“Ab tere bin, jeelenge hum, zehar zindagi ka pee lenge hum,” a popular song from a super hit film of his young days.

“Now, I’ll live without you, I’ll drink the poison of life.” A sad smile appeared on Ajit’s face.

The rumbling within had become stronger and now unbearable. The pricking pain started to increase. Another fifteen minutes is not possible. He turned away from the queue and walked towards the bushes near the Railway tracks.