The Rickshaw Ride
It had been ages since I rode on a Rickshaw. Never knew, this ride was going to be so inspiring, as such to give me my next blogpost. They say, “Old is Gold.” But as each day auto-technology improves, the Old Hand-pulled Rickshaw is not really the Gold we are looking for. But yesterday’s ride was precious. 24-Karot or not, is for you to decide.
So what is in The Rickshaw Ride that I am beating around the bush so much? I mean, Rickshaws? Seriously? A photo of the Mercedes will get 1000 times the like as compared to the number of views on a post on Rickshaws. But yes, Rickshaw it is.
No tinted windows were the reason I could easily look on my sides, watch the pale-faced children running naked, watch the rice being cooked in a shape-less utensil, watch the poor beg, beg for a living. Why only now do I see them? Where they have all been all this while? Huh. Where will they even go? They have been there, forever. It is because this time I could not have my windows up and be ignorant of them. It is because this time the vehicle did not just whiz past the lane. Slowly did the Rickshaw move, and slowly did I watch a life, which lied outside my world of luxuries. It was only this day that I came out of those luxuries and came along this reckoning.
No aux input. There wasn’t any loud music. Just the loud frustrations of people which I could now hear. I could now hear the children crying. Was it for their wants were not being fulfilled? Or was it because they now know that their need cannot be fulfilled? No loud music, just a sad tune.
The gutters and the water-pits from over which, the car used to race past creating showers from below were now where the Rickshaw got stuck. There was the Rickshaw-wala bare-footed pulling the Rickshaw with all his strength on this very road with the gutters and the water pits. The heavy rain had just stopped, which had him pulling the Rickshaw as dirt and mud covered his foot. A few meters seem so tiring for us, and this man pulled kgs for a kilometer or two without complaining. If he wants to complain, who will he complain to? Life isn’t easy. These are the people who are just living, just enough to not die. In our material and luxurious world, where nobody seems to be having any time, how will we even consider their position? Just like in a car, we keep up with our fast-paced life, ignore and carry on.
I am a blogger, not a hypocrite. This doesn’t make me any social service worker and neither moves me towards charity or forces any actions in me for them. Let us be practical. My actions or inactions is not helping Poverty. The Rickshaw Ride wasn’t a mode of discovery to these happenings. The Rickshaw Ride was a reckoning.