I met this man some days ago while hunting a fresh story. At first glance itself, Manchala Singh won my heart. He hails from north India, and is on a journey in the city of dreams; since, no one knows — not even him.
He roams on his cycle and talks less. However, I was able to communicate a little with him. He’s one of those displaced and unfortunate farmers, who have lost everything but hope. He’s now dislocated from his family and has developed a physiological issue. Once a farmer, he now insane almost. He has a bag full of stories to tell. He talks of past days of glory when there was abundance.
सारी फसल नाचती थी मेरे खेतों में, अब कुछ भी नहीं |
बोहोत थी ज़िंदगी, अब कुछ भी नहीं है |
One thing I’m sure that this isn’t his real name. I kept his asking about his real name but he was indifferent. I didn’t get to know much of him but I know the pain of getting raped out of business; especially an age-old family business.
Only God knows how many such people are walking on this land of plenty — without a beginning, without an end. I can’t do much but can surely pray and listen to their story and maybe, offer support in whatever way possible.
