Guilt-ridden in Delhi

What Delhi opened in front of me last week was as unexpected as my visit to the capital.

The long stretches of slums was something I had read a lot about. The simple luxuries of the dish T.Vs or the washing machines or the coolers in these shacks keep the populace cheerful, despite the filth that engulfs them.

On reaching Delhi Deccan, me and Aibhi got into a cycle rickshaw. During the bargaining process I didn’t have a clue that the lean, weak man was to peddle us for some 15 minutes bearing more than 120 kg and ofcourse the heavy traffic! As he agreed on Rs 15 each, my friend signaled me to follow him to his rickshaw parked on the other side of the road.

The sudden realization that I was getting into a cycle rickshaw excited me. That was my first rickshaw travel. But the excitement soon faded away as we started our ride. The busy, activity-packed Delhi roads blurred as the rickshaw- valla’s body loomed large in front of my eyes.  The sheer nature of toil and sweat frightened me.  As he peddled along, bearing us and our quite heavy luggage, all I could see was the sweat that was soaking up his old, tattered shirt and the tightening muscles on his face and neck. I shared my angst with my friend whose Delhi upbringing had saved her from sparing even a second’s thought on the terrible plight of the rickshaw –vallas. Absorbed in the music on her mobile she just gave a passing smile. I do not blame her. She is part of the crowd that I see all around, largely oblivious of the heart wrenching labour unfolding in front of them.

I couldn’t hold back my tears as I searched my wallet for some money. I had a 500 rupee note which I decided would give him when we get down. He halted the rickshaw as we reached the traffic signal. And soon we were joined by other rickshaws. The one on my left carried a much bulkier load and the man looked more emaciated and weak. The rickshaw-valla in front of ours wore a much more tattered shirt and his face had a sadder story to tell.

These are the people who earn their livelihood through struggle and pain. Without rest, their ride goes on…Bargaining hard for an extra five rupees before they start the tedium of another ride.

For the fifteen minutes that I was on the rickshaw, I had the most wretched feeling that I ever had. He helped me put on my back-pack with a warm smile before he cycled his way back with much ease. With the contentment of having earned thirty rupees in 15 minutes, he left me with his thoughts to ponder for days.

 I regret not paying him that 500 rupee note.