The Edge

By Reeni Merlin Roy

The cries are what keep me up through the night. It’s really sad that no matter how loud they cry, no one listens. No one can listen. Except, maybe me. But worse than that is the fact that there is only so little that I can do. They don’t know that I know. They don’t know that what they fear is what keeps me awake throughout the night. And they don’t know that I too am scared, that I am not much different from them. These thoughts keep rolling off my mind not letting me sleep. I toss and turn on my makeshift bed waiting for the sun to rise. No matter how hard I try, it’s tough to get a full night’s sleep. Soon, I end up focusing on the crying and in a way, it comforts me. I guess it’s because it’s a reminder that, no matter how selfish I may sound, there is someone more miserable than I am. I’m satisfied in a way with all that I have, which is close to nothing. And slowly, listening to this wretched lullaby I fall off to sleep.

Birds chirping and the smell of flavors being cooked is what arouse me from my sleep. Slowly I get up and do my routine chores. I pack my makeshift tent and bed and hide them in their usual spot. My hands are what guide me through this while I think how to survive this day through. I slowly make my way through the alley and move towards my spot. There is a leaking pipe on the way to my destination and that is where I drink. I save myself some water and continue on my way. If I can make it through before the early rush, I might be able to eat something.

Taking each step is a brutal stab to my body but I don’t have a choice. Out of the darkness I see many glimmers but I can’t afford to get distracted. Although I try, their emotions are what seep into me no matter how hard I try to block it. I feel depressed, sad and helpless. It’s always like this. I should’ve gotten used to this but each pain has a different story. Every pain has its own depth and that’s what theirs are too. The only difference is they don’t have anyone to tell it to. And they don’t have anyone to listen to them. I see them trying every day to talk but, it’s all in vain. I see their struggle, but they never see me. I guess that’s because they categorized me as one who doesn’t listen. I have been tagged a lot but one thing that resonates between us is the despair. And……

Ufff

This is why I said they would distract me. I had landed straight into my ass and it hurts like hell. This is what differentiates me from them. People don’t see them because they are invisible. I see them because I don’t see what people see. And maybe because of some fault of my head. When I fall it takes me a lot of time to be back on my feet and that’s how I know I’m going to miss my breakfast. I grab my stick and try to get up. I land back on my soles after six tries and continue my way forward. I think there are some cigarette butts stuck in my hair but I don’t feel like caring. I make my way forward and by the time I reach the city junction, the morning rush is already in. 

They say Mumbai is a city of dreams. And judging by the morning pedestrian rush as well as the constant honking of the cars, I can say they are all striving after their hopes. I try not to get knocked down again amongst these fast-bound beings around me. I hear the familiar gong of the church and it eases me up knowing that I’m going to arrive soon. Still, not skipping a beat, I move forward although my pace may seem as that of a snail to all around me. Chuckling to that thought, I thank the heavens for a better start to what that seemed not much better. 

The smell of paan and tea alerts me that I’ve reached. It’s the stall next to which I beg. Or at times perform. It is the spot I’ve been coming to for the past 10 years. Not much has changed except for maybe the increase in the next-door stall’s customer base and the heat. I take five steps forward to the stall and take my spot on the sidewalk. I feel the wall behind and lean on it, stressed out of my expedition. Just as I’m taking a break, I see another glimmer to my left. I straighten myself up a bit more and see a couple more scattered around. I guess they too came to enjoy this rush. Comfort is what oozes through them and I can’t help feel the same. Although you don’t have anyone, being a part of such rush is certainly a release. I don’t know why I see them but I do owe them a lot. I’ve been alone for all that I remember, but, it’s them that keeps me going. 

I’ve often wondered where one would go after they die and how they ended up here. What did they do that they are still here and not on the next level, whatever it may be? I thought that once I die, all my sufferings will come to an end. But I see them and realize even in death, it’s not over. And that’s what’s more frightening. Being in the world of living, but not living. I used to call them glimmers, but I think a more appropriate term would be souls. Lost souls. They put a humungous effort to let others know of their existence. But, not much realizes their effort. I believe that’s due to them being in an altogether different dimension, but how I ended up seeing them is a mystery more than ever to me. Hearing my stomach grumble, I take a few coins and put them on my plate and I keep it down. I have always felt that seeing some coins in the plate is an incentive to some of the by walkers to put some money in it. It works most of the time and that’s how I survive. Today, however I feel a bit more experimental.

When I was younger, begging wasn’t enough to survive. Stealing was the resort to many, but for me, it wasn’t an option. Starving off for many unfruitful days, I decided I had to get more creative. On the back roads of Mumbai city, street performers are not so rare and some of the songs I’ve heard from them have stuck hard in my head. When desperation called, inspiration answered in this form. Singing was my resort. Or I should say it was an attempt to imitate what I heard. After my first few attempts, I realized that it was a disaster. Vocalizing words that doesn’t make sense in a tune is what led to this mess. It sounded so pretend. Then a realization came to me that the fault in my brain happened for this reason. The never-ending emotions of the souls that I sensed had so much content, that I always felt like letting someone know. And that’s what I did. I started singing what they made me feel. And whenever I sang for them it felt a lot better than I thought it would. I didn’t sound any better, but I always felt relieved. And I guess, the people around me also felt the same. The collection I’d get then would last me for days and from then on, that’s what I did. And that’s what I felt like doing today.

So, I sang. I sang and although people were moving around, I could hear some pausing. I guess the pain is what calls out to them. But, the souls for whom I sing, they don’t hear me. They are there, feeling all the more miserable of what they’ve lost and it makes me more depressed. Slowly I conclude my performance and the sound of clapping echoes through me. It shocks me that these many were there listening but, at the same time it is saddening that I couldn’t comfort those who are in a desperate need of it. The sound of coins falling onto my plate distracts me from my line of thought and I give them all a bow, saying my thanks. Taking my plate, I move to the back and sit on the sidewalk. I start feeling the coins, counting them and it pleases me to know that I have some to last me for a week or two. I have enough to spare for the two kids that visit me sometime too. Feeling hungry I buy myself some food. I eat only once in a day for the money to last and then settle myself on my spot. Slowly I doze off to sleep.

Old age is sometimes a nuisance because when I wake up, I realize that the atmosphere has turned cold, alerting the arrival of the night. It’s too late and blind or not, it isn’t safe at night. Especially at night. I jump onto my feet and in my haste I trip. I hit my head and pain captures me in its snare. The last thing I see is the glimmers coming closer. As if they saw me. I then lose consciousness.

My head is throbbing hard and that is what awakens me. I try to remember what happened last and the only thing I remember is tripping. I curse myself to the deepest hells and try to understand what time it is. My hands search for my stick and once I find them, I feel a lot better. Judging by the coolness of the sky, night is still dominating and the need to go back to safety increases. I try getting up once again. This time I take care not to be careless and after a couple of tries I am able to start walking. I walk as fast as I can, moving through the night. I don’t know when I reached my makeshift abode, but once I reach an overwhelming feeling of exhaustion seeps through me and I drop down all set to sleep. 

The dull pounding in my head wakens me up, but along with that my heart feels heavy. When I feel myself waking, something inside me is keeping me from awakening. As if something drearier is waiting for me. I curl up into a ball and hug myself tightly, trying to ward off these desolate fears. I open my eyes and though it is pitch black for me, I have this desolate feeling in my stomach, making me feel like I am missing something important. As if there was something wrong and even if it’s staring at me, right on my face, I can’t grasp it. Pushing my thoughts aside, I focus on my routine. I feel like I’m going on autopilot and I move out, not willing to drown in myself.

Taking each step is a herculean challenge for me and I move forward, not even knowing why I’m doing this in the first place. The pain has worsened and I feel miserable. I hobble somewhere nearer to the wall and I take a breath, trying to understand what exactly I’ve missed out. Something clicks inside of me and I start searching my pockets. The dread worsens when they turn up empty. I lost all my coins. I feel myself blanking out, trying to remember where I have lost them, although it is of no use to think about something I won’t even get back. Hunger and despair give me the motivation to move forward and go to my corner. The city moves on around me all walking about, not even realizing the struggle going on right next to them. And at that exact thought, I discover what I had missed.

 I can’t see the glimmers.

It’s not just the fact that I can’t see them. I can’t sense them. Void blooms up in my chest, making it more prominent the absence of my only companion. I can’t understand why but I feel all the more alone now. All the more lost and abandoned. It seems like I am literally blind now, the bleak turning all the more black.

It takes me ages to walk to my place. The rush that had once comforted me, has given me the greatest betrayal ever, and has isolated me. I feel like giving up, each step carving deep wounds in my heart, but, I don’t. I feel like I should have reached by now, but then I don’t think I can trust myself either.

There are people before me, crowding at a spot and they stop me. In fact it’s their whispers that brought me to a halt. I move closer trying to satisfy my sudden curiosity to understand what they are saying.

‘…. Yea, it seems so. It was a cardiac arrest. I was there when he fell.’

‘Mmmm…. But, it felt so soon. He was something that I thought was a constant in this life. And now it feels emptier.’

‘I know…. I can’t believe it’s been a week since he died.’ Says a third voice.

I stood there listening to them, trying to understand why I was standing there in the first place. But, I don’t know whether to feel grateful or sad on the fact that they ignore me. I take a step back focusing on my priorities reminding myself that I was an outcast.

‘His songs really got to me though. I never thought that someone who was blind as well as a beggar could give beautiful words to emotions.’ Said the second voice.

I stopped.

‘I can relate. I used to walk past him, but, one day I heard him and what he sang about. It hit me straight into my heart. I couldn’t skip him then on. He made me feel like I was not alone.’ Said the first voice.

‘I know. In a weird way what he sung, comforted me. And I don’t know why I feel like I could have done something more for him.’

Everything that they were saying began to fade away. What I heard didn’t feel like the truth. They weren’t talking about me. I couldn’t be dead. I am right here, in the now…..

A sudden peace falls over me, calming me down. I feel the heavy burden of guilt and desolateness taken away from me as if someone was lifting it up. I couldn’t help but embrace the feeling and bury myself in its bliss. For the first time in my life I see a light, beckoning me, welcoming me. As I move forward, I smile freely, understanding the reason for all the abnormalities of life. As I step into the light, I realize what I had heard was indeed the true reason for my existence. The edge of living.

By Reeni Merlin Roy