In the daytime, I sell tea by the roadside, and buy hope for my son and daughter, back in the village. And for their mother too, waiting patiently, thinking this big city is paved with gold.
In the evening, I pray to my Devi in the small shrine inside my shack, to keep them safe.
Then at night, I cook my food, and tired, fall asleep, often to dream of the policeman, with his outstretched palm, and the local tough ones too, who let me be, for a few cups of tea.
In the morning I boil water, and ply my trade, day after day, praying it does not rain.
I know they'll come and demolish my shack any day soon, but I have seen another place, and paid someone there. My belongings are few and I'll move again, and again, perhaps till one day, I can move no more.
But till that happens, I'll sell tea, by the roadside and buy hope for my son and daughter, and their mother, back home.
May our Devi keep them safe.
Kishore Asthana