The face I look at in the mirror stares back with cold eyes. The only emotion it mustered up in the past year was not a pretty one. But I guess it’s only natural. Even a plant uprooted and grown in unknown soil does not bloom as it did before. I was just human. I wash my face in hope to wipe my sorrow away. But the mirror mocks my optimism.
I walk back into the hall from the washroom and quietly make my way across to the window. Five people lived in this small apartment. All of them were asleep, but me. They all had a smile on their face as they slept. Sleep was a return ticket to home and back. We all had the same dreams every time we slept. Home, family and everything that we missed. The smiles turned to frowns as soon as the eyes opened and our hearts sunk faster than a submarine. But sleep gave us hope of being back where we belong, someday.
Snow was only fun during summer when you escape the sun to cool down at a hill station. This city is under snow for seven months of the year. The snow in this city depressed me. Not a soul walked the streets in the blistering cold. It gave the mind the impression that it lived in the city of the dead. A huge contrast to what the mind was used to back home. The only times I got to talk to myself like this was when I had asked myself if it was right to leave home to go abroad.
I got ready and collected my phone. My wallet lay open on the table and the picture of my family was staring back at me. I took my wallet and headed down to my taxi. Night shifts in this sort of weather were never profitable. I burned more fuel to keep warm than my fares for the night could buy. But it wasn’t me who called the shots.
I drove around the city in search of anyone to break my silence tonight. But my mind fought with itself. Friendliness was seldom reciprocated back by the people who rode in the taxi.
“Hello, all. Good night isn’t it? Where can i take you all?”
“All right, Ali baba. Why don’t you stop with your jabber and drop us at Halsted. First you come to our country and then screw around with us. Why be a so happy when you see us, when you want to kill us?”
I stopped at an intersection and saw the reflection of the taxi in a shop’s window. The man within couldn’t kill a fly. All he wanted to do was to earn for his family back home and get his children educated. How some events changed the way the west saw brown skinned people was sad. I knew that these things didn’t matter and I had to focus on sending money back home. But was it too much to expect people in the ‘new world’ to be understanding?
For about 20 minutes, I drove around the city. My mind debated with itself but it reached no conclusion. My attention was caught by a suited man who seemed to be in a hurry. I stopped the taxi in front of him and he loaded a suitcase in the trunk.
“Airport” he said.
“All right, sir.”
My mind, divided in two over the issue of talking to passengers started the debate again. But after about 5 minutes…
“Where you going, sir?”
“India. Excited to get there. Been a childhood dream to visit India.”
“I from India myself. Delhi.”
“I am off to Bangalore. You people have made quite the progress. Not far when the IT market will shift there permanently.”
“India always been great, sir.”
About 10 minutes passed by in complete silence as he talked on the phone. I looked at him in the rear view mirror. I was driving someone who was going to be where I wished I was right now. Flashes of home went by my mind and as was always the case, my heart was filled with hope that I would someday go back.
“Well, I just got invited to a conference in Delhi. So I will see your city as well.”
“Delhi is a great city, sir. Really beautiful.”
The taxi came to a stop at the international departures. I grabbed the suitcase from the trunk and helped the man get a trolley.
The man took a camera out of his backpack.
“What’s your name?” He asked.
“_______” I said.
“Photograph?”
I obliged with a clueless face as he clicked a photograph of us together.
“What’s your address? I am sure your family would want to see you.”
My heart filled with joy for the first time since I landed at this same airport. I took out my wallet and wrote down my address on a piece of paper. I handed him the paper.
“When you can look at the passenger at the backseat through your rear view mirror, remember that the passenger can see you as well. The mirror could not hide the tear as you heard that I was going to your city. So I figured I would help you get any message across.”
My heart was over whelmed with emotions as I hugged him and uttered a few words.
“Just tell them I will be back soon.” I said.
The man walked away into the madness of the airport leaving me with emotions aplenty. My face looked up to the heavens as snowflakes fell on my face. I took my wallet out of my pocket and removed the picture of my family.
I kissed it.
People sell their land and head to foreign land in search of better jobs and opportunities. But 95 % of them fail in this process. What they were back home, happy and content is exchanged for hardships and labor. Is there even an agency that spreads awareness about the plight of people who don’t make it?
Shashiraj Singh
I walk back into the hall from the washroom and quietly make my way across to the window. Five people lived in this small apartment. All of them were asleep, but me. They all had a smile on their face as they slept. Sleep was a return ticket to home and back. We all had the same dreams every time we slept. Home, family and everything that we missed. The smiles turned to frowns as soon as the eyes opened and our hearts sunk faster than a submarine. But sleep gave us hope of being back where we belong, someday.
Snow was only fun during summer when you escape the sun to cool down at a hill station. This city is under snow for seven months of the year. The snow in this city depressed me. Not a soul walked the streets in the blistering cold. It gave the mind the impression that it lived in the city of the dead. A huge contrast to what the mind was used to back home. The only times I got to talk to myself like this was when I had asked myself if it was right to leave home to go abroad.
I got ready and collected my phone. My wallet lay open on the table and the picture of my family was staring back at me. I took my wallet and headed down to my taxi. Night shifts in this sort of weather were never profitable. I burned more fuel to keep warm than my fares for the night could buy. But it wasn’t me who called the shots.
I drove around the city in search of anyone to break my silence tonight. But my mind fought with itself. Friendliness was seldom reciprocated back by the people who rode in the taxi.
“Hello, all. Good night isn’t it? Where can i take you all?”
“All right, Ali baba. Why don’t you stop with your jabber and drop us at Halsted. First you come to our country and then screw around with us. Why be a so happy when you see us, when you want to kill us?”
I stopped at an intersection and saw the reflection of the taxi in a shop’s window. The man within couldn’t kill a fly. All he wanted to do was to earn for his family back home and get his children educated. How some events changed the way the west saw brown skinned people was sad. I knew that these things didn’t matter and I had to focus on sending money back home. But was it too much to expect people in the ‘new world’ to be understanding?
For about 20 minutes, I drove around the city. My mind debated with itself but it reached no conclusion. My attention was caught by a suited man who seemed to be in a hurry. I stopped the taxi in front of him and he loaded a suitcase in the trunk.
“Airport” he said.
“All right, sir.”
My mind, divided in two over the issue of talking to passengers started the debate again. But after about 5 minutes…
“Where you going, sir?”
“India. Excited to get there. Been a childhood dream to visit India.”
“I from India myself. Delhi.”
“I am off to Bangalore. You people have made quite the progress. Not far when the IT market will shift there permanently.”
“India always been great, sir.”
About 10 minutes passed by in complete silence as he talked on the phone. I looked at him in the rear view mirror. I was driving someone who was going to be where I wished I was right now. Flashes of home went by my mind and as was always the case, my heart was filled with hope that I would someday go back.
“Well, I just got invited to a conference in Delhi. So I will see your city as well.”
“Delhi is a great city, sir. Really beautiful.”
The taxi came to a stop at the international departures. I grabbed the suitcase from the trunk and helped the man get a trolley.
The man took a camera out of his backpack.
“What’s your name?” He asked.
“_______” I said.
“Photograph?”
I obliged with a clueless face as he clicked a photograph of us together.
“What’s your address? I am sure your family would want to see you.”
My heart filled with joy for the first time since I landed at this same airport. I took out my wallet and wrote down my address on a piece of paper. I handed him the paper.
“When you can look at the passenger at the backseat through your rear view mirror, remember that the passenger can see you as well. The mirror could not hide the tear as you heard that I was going to your city. So I figured I would help you get any message across.”
My heart was over whelmed with emotions as I hugged him and uttered a few words.
“Just tell them I will be back soon.” I said.
The man walked away into the madness of the airport leaving me with emotions aplenty. My face looked up to the heavens as snowflakes fell on my face. I took my wallet out of my pocket and removed the picture of my family.
I kissed it.
People sell their land and head to foreign land in search of better jobs and opportunities. But 95 % of them fail in this process. What they were back home, happy and content is exchanged for hardships and labor. Is there even an agency that spreads awareness about the plight of people who don’t make it?
Shashiraj Singh
Thanks for sharing, I will bookmark and be back again
ReplyDeleteTalk PRO Walkie Talkie in Bangalore
What a wonderful writing ...
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