Why insist on the Slumdog?

The characters here may not be unreal

yet they need not give you nightmares

That rooftop restaurant was one place he used to frequent often with friends. But that day he was alone. Those were early hours and there was no one save the young man at the counter. The gigantic building stood across the window. Today it wasn’t blocking his view of the past. Several years ago a thatched roof hut stood on the same place in the middle of a field full of coconut trees. One of his best pals from school days stayed in that beautiful house with his mother. Some of the most colorful days of his life were played out around those trees. Every sport known were tried out on those fields. It was a luxury, away from the packed school grounds where the bowlers with an erring line and length used to hit the wickets on the neighboring pitch!

Bottle before him was half empty; he had exceeded his usual quota. He had one last look at the title of a short column on the news paper lying on the table. It was blurred, excessive drinking probably or was it his moistened eyes? It didn’t matter for he had no trouble reading it. --- man lynched. He had already read that hundreds of times that morning! He got up and walked 'steadily' towards the other corner. From there he could catch a glimpse of the majestic walls of his alma mater. Staring at those walls he felt as if two multi color vortices were forming in front his eyes. They grew in size gradually and led him into a day in the past. He could see a large number of students in black and white crowding on top of those walls and pelting stones on the passing buses. Zooming in a little closer he could see a tall boy running around trying to stop those showering the stones, grabbing someone by his collars here, pulling someone down there and even hitting those who refused to stop. Approaching police vehicles leaned the crowd. The few who remained gathered together; to shout slogans. He was right there in the forefront shouting provocative slogans, daring the police. The large posse of police men stormed into the campus and caught the demonstrators unawares. They ran helter-skelter but the few in the core where caught in the melee and fell down. Police brutally beat up anybody in sight. He had come in for special attention. The color of his skin, his tall frame, his full grown moustache or his worn-out clothes; something about him appeared to provide an extra incentive. Badly mauled, and bleeding from his nose he was dragged down the stairs to a Police vehicle.

A leader was born that day. None of the boys called him by his name thereafter. From that day onwards he was simply the leader.

They were not slum dwellers although they lived very close to some of the most 'notorious' colonies, the local slang for the slums. His mother did household works in different places to make the ends meet. Yet he was richer than most other city dwellers, in the sense that he lived in a house surrounded by a large field. In those fields they used to play every game as per the season. And no one ever went back hungry after those games. He wasn't an outstanding student, but he had made up for that with his keenness for knowledge. He used to score highly in the inter bench quizzes that they had during free hours, history and freedom struggle being his forte along with a bit of sports and games. There was a small library and reading room nearby the ‘colonies’. He went there whenever he had an off day from his part time jobs. He had trained himself as a 'mike set operator' which provided him close access to the speeches by some of the great leaders of the left movement whom he adored. He could quote them word by word or even imitate their actions to amuse his friends. He had never seen his father. He had no godfathers either. He was a self taught communist, so sure of himself, his convictions and his ideology.

Life had taken them through different paths and they drifted apart once the school days were behind them, finding new friends and new passions in life in their separate worlds, in the same city! Years passed before they met again, in an auto(rickshaw) as the hirer and the hired. The pace was deliberately slow, but the passenger was in no hurry. They spoke about those spectacular school days, stimulating debates, staging of dramas, fun with sports and games, their first crushes and of course the student agitations and the street battles with police. He was cut out to go a long way in the Party; his humble origins, simple tastes in life; wide reading and skillful oratory all appeared the stepping stones. But he was also drunk, on an overdose of idealism. A few years ago he was stripped off his party posts and dumped.

He had been in the enemy camp since then! That was difficult to digest!!

But why he was thrown out?!

"They no longer wanted me. They preferred people who obey silently even if what they practised contradicted what they preached! They were for giving representation to a wider section of people who had embraced the Party lately. It would backfire someday. Such people would be after positions of power and personal benefits. The moment they found their personal goals were not being met, they would ditch the Party. And the very people who gave their blood and sweat and built the Party brick by brick would find themselves sidelined, isolated within it."

He was struggling to hide the tinge of sadness in his tone.

Mother no longer worked. He did not allow her rather. They no longer lived in their old house and had moved inside the colony. They had to vacate the house when the Party was in power. "It was in the larger interests of the Party. We had no claim on the land; it's case by case you see, the rights of the tenants" he smiled, without a trace of sadness.

A high rise had come up in its place, in tune with those larger interests.

But how he ended up in the camp of the sworn enemy? That refused to sink in!!

"In the social strata that we lived such a support was essential, for the very day to day existence. It had nothing to do with ideological or political differences; it was a question of survival…… the rule of the jungle prevailed down there, the survival of the fittest." he laughed out loud. "It's not that they had succeeded in buying me over to their ideology. The backing from a strong organization would provide an essential deterrent for the friends turned foes from striking at me. And of course, the enemies were more than willing to forget the past as they also needed me. So the alliance was born out of a mutual necessity." He smiled again.

Trials and tribulations of life had worn its mark on his face. But his smile had somehow retained the charm, in spite of the years.

They had parted that day with a firm handshake and a warm hug, promising to meet up someday soon, across a cup of tea and share plenty of memories again. The promise was never kept and could never be kept in this life.

With one gulp he emptied another glass. As it burnt its way within him, he heard someone whispering in his ears: "Final battle would not be between the bourgeoisie and the proletariat; but between the comrade and the former comrade"

TV was playing the Jai Ho, as he got up to leave. A gentle breeze ruffled his hair as he gazed at the hutments across the windows by the stairs. Many a saintly soul might still be roaming around those shanty houses in those shallow slums.

But why insist on the Slumdog?

When with just as much effort one can call them the Slumgods!!