the invisibles

I don't know why do i feel like writing about them all the time! May be because I see them everyday, every time I step into the streets of mumbai I see them. Sleeping, begging, searching for scrap which might fetch them some food at the end of the day. But seldom did I try to rememebr their faces. At least untill now. They were just another species. Homostreetians -- human beings who live on the streets.

But this idea of remembering faces was not a decision. It just happned. And these things happen when we start living with a routine. Wakeup>gotooffice>sitinsideoffice>comeback>sleep and repeat this mantra everyday.

Now I rememebr some of their faces. That old man who sits at the extremely busy overbridge ramp at the 'CurreyRoad' station. that blind --beautiful if bathed-- young woman who sits on the steps of ghatkopar station (she was laughing at the sounds of two drunk people's fight yesterday) Those kids who come and ask for money infront of Lower Parel station. And they're almost invisible for all the people who stand in a queue for the sharing taxis. invisible kids. ugly-looking if visible.

Now, about what made me write this story. I was at 'Ghatkopar' station standing in the queue for tickets. And there was this really old woman standing next to the counter begging each one who left the counter. She stood there like an automated mannequin that we see inside shop windows; moving her arm repeatedly as the motor inside her revolved. she looked sad. Cursing about something else while she begged mechanically. Life goes on. She stood there as if she was crying without tears. an old lady. very old. may be she doesn't have any more tears to roll out.

she just stood there... invisible.