(Photograph by Shreya Aggarwal)
Amidst the crowded chaos of his historical workplace; the Nizamuddin Railway station, gnawing his time away; tenaciously thinking about the seraph of his life, whom he left in the Holy Buddhist land; protected by the mighty Kanchenjunga.
His gnawing came to an abrupt end; “Coolie” a voice cried, his predicament unfathomable to him. Finally he replied “call me Tawang sir”.
Ignoring any significance or attachment of his historical name, he shrewdly asked coolie to pick up the bag; follow him.
While talking obnoxiously on his latest mobile phone; his manners opposite to the clothes and the phone that he owned. He antagonizingly announced to the person; “these Chinese you see have taken even the jobs of the lower cast. Even my Coolie is a ‘cheeni’ “. Completely disregarding that he was from Tawang.
As he reached his car; the muttering came to an end; quarreling about the payment, complaining about the amount; he payed the coolie Rs 50 less. Mumbling and complaining the exorbitant fee the coolie claimed; he announced “these coolies don’t do a thing and charge so much.”
Mulkraj Anand’s soul would be having a hard time seeing the treatment of a coolie in so called “Independent India”.
Tawang was happy again; he could go back gnawing about his angel; his daughter again.
– Akshit Gupta
