A Face In The Crowd
Part 1: He had always been a poor man for as far he could remember. Always short of money, always trying to make ends meet.
“Is it fair to categorize a poor man as good or bad?” He always thought to himself, “Is it not enough that he is poor already, that his entire day is spent trying to make the ends meet? Where is the time really, time for justification, time for categorization, time to wonder, time to decide; where is the time to think what is good and what is bad? But if the society must differentiate, then how do you define good? How do you term something bad? Is it not true that there is no such thing as good, there is no such thing as right? We live in a world based on the concept of food chain where dog eats dog so the only choice is to choose the lesser wrong. But if society must insist on “good”, then what is good really?”
Ho pondered on the same thoughts as he went through the same routine, day by day. For him the only difference of good and bad was of days. The day when he was able to feed his kids before putting them to bed was a good day, the day he couldn’t earn enough was a bad day. The day he could buy something for his kids was a good day, days when he didn’t have the money to do so were bad.
He glanced at his wife sleeping next to him and then at the clock on the table right next to their bed. It was 5 AM, same time that he always got up without ever needing an alarm clock. His sight came back to his wife’s face and rested there for a few minutes. It was always in the mornings that he realized how beautiful she really was, her face like an angel as she slept peacefully. It was always in the morning that he thought of himself as lucky for having such a beautiful woman to call his wife; for rest of the day he would mostly find her busy with household chores, mumbling to herself in frustration, fighting with the neighborhood women, yelling at her husband for one thing or another, her beauty replaced by misery. Yes, it was only in the morning that he thought of her as beautiful and himself as lucky.
He got off the bed and walked over to the cradle in the center of the room, right under the ceiling fan. For the next few moments he just stood there, rocking the crib and watching his four months old daughter sleep without a worry.
“Your daughter is growing fond of bangles” He heard his wife and turned around towards the bed. She was awake, sitting on the bed, tying her hair behind her head and smiling at him.
“Already?” He smiled back.
“Yeah, keeps pulling at my bangles all day long. And not just me, even with the other women. The moment anyone picks her up, she goes right for their bangles”
He laughed and bent over the crib to kiss his daughter’s forehead.
“My daughter doesn’t need to pull anyone’s bangles, does she?” He said to the small child in a low tone, cautious of not waking her up, “I will get my daughter her own bangles”
“Do not bring the glass ones, she will break them and hurt herself. Get the plastic ones” His wife said as she got off the bed and walked to the stove in a corner of the room.
“Ok” He nodded in agreement.
This is how most of his days were spent, in the same routine. The same battle he fought each day, battle of earning enough to survive. He didn’t even remember the last time something different or interesting happened in his life. Each morning he would get up, get milk and other groceries, have a cup of tea and something to eat, roam around in the city all day long hoping to find some work, return home each evening tired, have dinner, spend some time with his wife and daughter and go to sleep.
And the same routine would follow the next day.
“Give me a pack of Marlboros please”
He was standing at a pawn shop, lighting up his Bidi when a long, shining black car pulled up. The tinted glass of the window rolled down and a hand holding a Rs. 500 note came out, followed by a voice asking for a packet of Marlboro cigarettes.
He looked at the arm pulling out of the window of the car, with interest. Fair in color, golden watch on the wrist, golden rings on three fingers, and a Rs. 500 note held in between them. Oh it was the arm of a rich man, he thought. One look and you can tell, it’s the arm of a rich man.
Then he looked down at his own hands. Rough, dry, chapped and blackened by everyday’s hard work. It seems the dirt had now settled in deep within his skin and turned it black. No matter how many times he washed his hands, the dirt and the black never seemed to go away. His were a laborer’s hands, a poor man’s hands.
Part 2
“Here you go. And make sure everything goes as planned, no mistakes. We are putting our trust in you with this”
He nodded his head in agreement and picked up the black colored bag.
“Give a call when you are done. No need to come back here, rest of your money will be delivered at your door step tonight”
He nodded his head again to the second set of instructions and stepped out of the door.
It was late September. The weather had started to change already. Morning and evenings were pleasant but days were still hot.
“It gets very hot here. Winters are now just limited to December and January, rest of the entire year is all summer. During the mid-day, the temperature gets so high that if you stood in the sunlight for a few minutes, it would almost burn you down to your bones” A friend had told him when he came to the city years ago and pretty soon he realized that how true this statement was.
Cities are so different than villages, he often thought. When he was back in the village, he had plenty of time for everything, for everyone. He used to spend his entire day with his friends, roaming around on the narrow streets of his village. They would visit the fields, bathe in the village canal, chase rabbits, pass remarks and whistle at village girls. There was no fear, no hesitation, and no worry. But all that was 15 years ago, ages ago.
The last 15 years that he had spent in the city had turned him into a part of the crowd that rushed through its roads each day. Millions of faces wrinkled with worries of their daily lives. Back in the village, his face was familiar to everyone, his name known to everyone. But here in the city, no one knew him, no one cared about him. Millions of eyes would touch his face everyday but none had the slightest of the signs of recognition, love or sympathy. Here, his face was just one among the millions, a face that had long lost its identity, a face in the crowd.
“Welcome to the city my friend. It is an entirely different world altogether, very different from our village. It is where the opportunity awaits the hard working. So work hard brother and one day you will be driving a long shiny car on these roads” This was another statement made by another one of his friends 15 years ago when he first came to the city. Oh how wrong this statement was, how wrong his friend was. He had been working his soul off each day of the last 15 years but there was still no sign of the riches he hoped for. He was still barely managing to earn his daily bread and butter. The dreams of going back to the village in an expensive car, building a large house in the city, marrying a pretty city girl had long vanished. He was still living in a single rented room, married to a girl from his own village. Life had turned all his dreams wrong and somewhere along the way, his very heart had turned wrong.
He couldn’t even remember the last time he visited his village. He belonged to the city now. There was a time when he always used to be the first one in his village to offer help to anyone in need, never said no to anyone. But things were quite different now. He was quite different now. He had no time to help anyone else anymore because he had plenty of his own to worry about.
He always hated the negative characters from the movies that he watched on the television in their neighbor’s house in the village. As a kid, he swore, promised to himself that as a grownup he will be a good man, a moral citizen. But then, who is a good man really? The one who takes care of his family, puts them first, is he a good man? Or the one who puts the welfare society first is a good man? How do you decide a good man if someone protected his family at the cost of the society or thought of the society at the cost of his family? How do you judge someone then? If a godly man is good, then how do you call someone good who kills the innocents in the name of God? If religion is good then how do you call someone good who respects other religions as well because each religion in the world claims to be the true one and preaches all other religions false? How do you decide good then? Or do you call the very word “religion” evil then? But if religion is evil, then what differentiates good from evil? If walking hand in hand with the society, honoring its customs is called being good then how is someone a good man if he kills his own children in the name of honor? If family comes first, as everyone believes, then how can you call someone bad who takes bribes in a government office so he could tend to his family better? Is he not a good man then because he is keeping his family well fed, well clothed even if it meant taking bribe? Who is really going to define a good man?
Or is there really no good? Is the very word a myth? Is it all about making a choice that seems lesser wrong?
Part 3
“Listen, the work is simple and the money is good” His friend had told him.
“I do not think I can do it” He hesitated.
“Why not? It isn’t like its rocket science really”
“But?” He still hesitated.
“Take your time, think about it” His friend had tried his best to convince him, “No one comes to the world knowing everything. They all learn to do different kind of stuff right here. You will too brother learn”
And today was his first day at his new job. All his promises to himself, all his moralities, he had long forgotten but first day at job was still difficult.
“Have you seen how things are in our country? All the suffering? Sometimes I really feel that we must all do something for our country, for our society” He often used to make this remark to his friends and when he did, he believed it deep within his heart. His remark was honest, his determination strong. But all that was years ago, ages ago. Now he barely had any time to think about anything else apart from his own sufferings. The country he used to talk about was long forgotten. He was never much of a religious man either but he believed in god. He always judged himself thinking whether his deed was admirable or punishable in the eyes of god. He would always remember god before starting anything new in his life but today he was confused. Today was his first day at a new job but he was hesitant of remembering god, taking his name.
He was confused if it was god that brought him where he was or if it was his own need that brought him there.
Beads of sweat dropped from his forehead. His entire face had turned red. He was sweating so profusely that his entire shirt was soaking wet. It was noon; both the Sun and the temperature were sky high.
“Get the red ones” His wife had told him when he stepped out of his house in the morning, “Your daughter likes the red colored bangles more”
Choodi Bazaar was just a long and narrow street at first sight but it was way more than that. It was a famous market, so famous that thousands of customers visited Choodi Bazaar each day. Sometimes the rush would be so great that a person could just die of suffocation in that narrow street. A long time ago, this street started as a market where women used to buy bangles but slowly, with time, the variety of things you could buy here grew to way more than just bangles. Groceries, electronics and several other kind of household things were sold at Choodi Bazaar at a cheap price but the specialty of the place still were its bangles. You could find all variety of bangles at Choodi Bazaar. Another thing that was available here in all varieties was the women. The market used to remain flooded with women all day long, belonging to all part of the society, all sects and religions.
For a moment he just stood there and then started to walk through the street, pushing and making his way into the crowd, looking through the different types of bangles displayed at the shops. A strong smell of sweat and human odor was finding its way through his nose which was making it difficult for him to say there even a minute longer. He wanted to leave, he wanted to get out, he wanted to run away but he knew he couldn’t. He had to do what he came here for. To turn back would be foolish and it was anyways too late for that now.
At last, after what seemed like an eternity, he finally found a set of bangles that he really liked for his daughter.
With bangles wrapped in a plastic bag in his hand, he came out of the chaos that everyone called Choodi Bazaar and headed for the nearby bus stop. He was thinking about how pretty the little red bangles were going to look on his daughter’s tiny hands. He was thinking about the bangles, he was thinking about his daughter and he was thinking about all the other little daughters he just saw in the Choodi Bazaar. He was so lost in his thought that he did not even notice the bus stand and just kept walking.
Who really is a good man after all? What really is a good man?
Is he a good man who would kill someone else’s child if it meant that his own kid would live? Or is he a good man who would keep his own kid hungry and feed someone else’s child? Who is going to be the judge? Who is going to define morality? Who differentiates between good and bad? If society and community are going to be the judge then how do you define good when an entire community is ready to kill just because something offended their beliefs?
He looked at his face in the side view mirror of a parked car and stopped for a minute. What was he looking at, he thought? What this the face of a good human or a bad human? He couldn’t decide. Or was this even the face of a human at all? Maybe not. For now, all he saw was a face. A face in the crowd, neither good, nor bad. Just another face, beaten with daily worries, wrinkled with troubled thoughts, aged before time. Such faces weren’t scarce in the city after all. Dip anyone in the lake called poverty long enough and result will be a face like his own was at the moment.
His chain of thoughts was broken with the sound of his phone. He looked at the display screen; call was from an unknown number.
“Hello” He received the call.
“It’s me” It was his wife on the other end, “Listen, do not bother to buy the bangles”
“Why? He asked, “I already bought them”
“You already did?” She said.
“Yeah, why?”
“A friend of mine was going to choodi Bazaar so I too came along. I thought I will buy the bangles myself”
“You are in choodi Bazaar?” He immediately turned around in the direction he was coming from with his breath held and heart beating fast.
“Yeah” She replied, “I am calling you from the shop’s telephone”
Three things flashed in front of his eyes at that moment.
His wife’s face.
His daughter’s face.
And the black bag he had picked up earlier in the day and left at one of the shop’s in Choodi Bazaar. Before he could even say anything, he heard a sudden bang on the phone and the line went dead.
