Darkness descends

I remember the first time i opened my eyes. It was in a dark, dingy room replete with the smell of expired medicines. That was the first time i saw my mother and those eyes. Those beautiful almond shaped eyes. She clutched me close to her heart, tears pouring down her cheeks. I saw several other women there, all bubbling with glee at the new arrival. That was my first moment in this world.

I lived along with my mother in a little shanty just off a road beside National Highway 7. I never knew who my father was. My mom mentioned it just once, in a fit of rage, that he was the same truck driver who had infected her with the deadly virus. It was in those early days of my life that i began to understand the necessity of love, the glory of friendship and the gift of life. I would often wonder why i had to spent every night with the numerous women, whom i had adopted as my aunts, whereas my mother would walk away towards the old, dilapidated large shanty in the middle of the slum. I would cry and long for her in my desolation, night after night and at the first light of dawn, would scramble towards my home. I would always find her there, dreary and broken, but her face would light up with a bright smile the moment she would spot me and she would take me in her loving embrace, as the world would dissolve around us in mellow celebration. My mother showered her love over me just as my neighbours gifted affection. She tried her best to pull me away from the misery and the heinousness in her life. She would place me in her lap as she fed me and told me wonderful stories about fairies and dragons. She would tell me about people and honour, the good and the evil that this world is made of, and most of all she would tell me about the beauty of dreams, for that is all that the hopeful can hold on to.

But life had its own stories to tell.

Soon, word spread about her fatal infection and the malefic disease that she was carrying. Then came the isolation and the silent taunting. In the hope of a better life, my mother left that place and brought me to Mumbai.
It was in this glittering city that i first understood how encompassing the world truly is. It was here that i came to know what a school is. It was here that i began to wear my blue and white uniform and hop off to the place where i learnt the magic of education. And soon we settled into the monotony of life, save for one thing, my mother's failing health. Day by day, my beloved mother, she with those almond eyes, slid deeper and deeper into the dark chasm of death. And then one day, as i returned from school jumping in the little puddles of water, my water bottle hanging from my neck, i came across a half cooked meal of my favourite lime rice.
And nothing else.

With no one to support me and no one to spare me the rod, i fell on to the dismal and bleak streets of Mumbai. Now, here I am, seven years of wretched misery, lonely and forsaken.

As people came to know that i was infected with the same baneful virus that had claimed my mother, i learnt the meaning of loneliness. Now, every where i walk, people shy away, grasp their babies closer to their chests, as if i am devil's messenger. Then, there are the eyes. Everywhere i turn, all i see are those hideous stares, those looks of utter contempt and malicious scorn. Sometimes, i wish that some bird strike me blind with its talons. Atleast, it would stop the stares.

Sometimes, all i wish for are those almond eyes.

Eventually, i found myself on the roads, begging for a living. But when the beggars came to know my illness, they hounded me, threatening me, cleansing me with wooden sticks, lest they lay their hands upon my foul skin.
Now, all i do, is wait behind the stone chair beside the dustbin, unmindful of the stench, waiting for some grateful soul to discard a half eaten apple or a rotten banana. Sometimes, i go back to my slum, when some poor dweller there is celebrating his daughter's wedding with a little fanfare. I sit there, watching the people fill their plates with desserts and sweets. I sit there, alone and forlorn, swallowing my saliva over and over and over again.

Once, a fellow beggar, stole a rupee from my torn trouser pocket. I ran after him, not because i wanted my money back, but because i had finally found someone to talk to. But the moment the boy saw my emaciated body and the discoloured and blemished skin stretched across my gaunt face, he dropped the coin and ran away. I kept running behind him, languishing and wailing but i lost him. I lost the only friend i could have made. That night, clasping that one rupee coin in my palm, under the relentlessly pouring sky, swallowing my bitter tears, i cried myself to sleep.

Why? Why? Am i so ugly? Am i so vile that the air around me turns to lead? Am i so disgusting that water doesn't trickle down your throats?
Am i so repulsive that your eyes burn when you cast them upon me? Am i devil's reflection?
Am i cursed?

One night, as i slept on the dirty pavement, i slowly slipped into numbness. But, it was different this time, not the one i was used to, not the one i was comfortable with. Something scary. As if an icy, black claw was dragging my seven year old body into hell.
And i find myself grateful for its embrace. I find myself giving in.

Maybe death will grant me something which my life never could.


My name.




Anand.