A Story untold so often...

“A little corruption. A little bribery. I negotiate with the world 24 /7. So why not an extra 5 minutes of sleep?” he told himself and buried his head under the pillow. And so began another day in the life of an Indian commoner, this time in the incarnation of a migrant Auto rickshaw driver. Yesterday evening, he had got the news of opposition parties protesting today again as Black Day against Government’s anti poor policies. “Auto rickshaws become the manifestation of this popular discontent against anything; be it government, municipality, university, multinationals or now a days even against all powerful America too, so better not venture out today with tyres burnt or glasses broken on the road” he thought. Even weather was far from relenting as chilling waves were shuddering his bones inside his tattered “Kholi”; wobbling precariously with those gutsy cold waves. A month back only Municipality Bulldozers had knocked off his Kholi as his small 8* 5 Kholi was not fitting into the Master Plan of the City. He had found a place for his Kholi near to that demonic transformer, fickling disgouging ever now and then spark of its fury against overloading by residents of that Unauthorized Colony. Last night; One of his fellow auto driver had told him a very intriguing detail of the strike that something called “IT industry” has been exempted from this strike and no one at Desi Liquor Stall has ever heard about this industry. “May be even people poorer than them work there, so are spared from the daily dose of Bandhs.” they all commiserated for those hapless “IT workers” with sloshing the last glass of liquor. Though, light had slowly started to peep from the hazy clouds, still he couldn’t muster enough courage to get out of his pillows. Somehow, he took his hands out of his pillow and switched on his FM radio. It blurred a cacophony and he mercilessly gave it a big slap on its back. Surprisingly, radio purged out a sweet and tender girly voice announcing playing a hit dance number. Last night’s hangover was still niggling and that rocking music was pricking on his mind. Another slap on the radio and it was silent to dead. A big clock hanging on the wall in front of his bed was showing nine and he left his bed in a trance as a sense of urgency crept in spite of it being a forced upon free day today. Luckily or unluckily; his family had gone to their village so he was alone. He has never felt such an irresistible need to find an excuse to kill his time like this before, he couldn’t wait this day to die its natural death second by second. There was no place to go in this big city for him though he has taken his passengers to every nook and corner of this place, first time this truth was staring in his face so point blankly. He came out of his house as if loneliness was slowly tightening the noose around him. First thing he saw was his auto rickshaw standing in front of his door; appearing equally bemused like him. At last, he got his companion for the day going through the same motions of being alone in this ever-growing crowd. He got on the steering wheel of auto and drove slowly to find his passenger for the day. Who knows he may find some of those hapless “IT People” waiting somewhere to reach to their places on this strike day