A Snippet of a Migrant's Diary

My first memory is that of a hot summer day, when I walked among the green fields in the village, where there was always plenty. In that fond memory, I am clearly not alone, there are other children and some adults, all sitting under a massive tree and resting. What a stark contrast to the construction site where I lay bricks and concrete now. It is another hot day but Mumbai’s humidity makes it unbearable.

The sun catches the silver ring on one of my fingers and I am reminded of Mamatha and the tree under which I teased her for putting the ring on my finger. There was so much greenery and I never appreciated it. The nostalgia helps me through the day and allows me to hope that I can return to the green fields when my job at the construction site is done – return home, at least for a few days of rest.

Mid-March

It is just mid-March, but the heat and humidity already affect me. I am dehydrated and yet I need to work to send money home. I am worried. What worries me are the stories about how the virus is taking lives. Is it all true? I am worried about my family – who would protect them and care for them if the virus got to them. I am used to uncertainty, but the uncertainty caused by this virus is something that I cannot describe. I just do not know the words.

It is another warm humid morning. Last night a lockdown was announced. I have no idea what it means. Apparently, I cannot go to work, or the shops or home. Apparently, I need to stay where I am. Apparently, the virus needs to be controlled and apparently, it must be this way or no way. By the time I found out about the lockdown, it was too late to find any money or any supplies.

I wish my contractor had paid me. I wish I had asked to be paid. I wish I had gone home. I wish I had left when the thought first occurred to me. Did it occur to me? I do not believe so, as there was no warning about the lockdown. I am not sure if I was being greedy by staying. Was I being greedy or was I just in need? I will tell you what I was, I was desperately in need of money to go home and so I waited. What a mistake.

Mid-April

It has been a month since the lockdown. I have managed to survive. I have been evicted from the room I shared with others like me, as I could not pay my rent. I am spending my days and nights at the railway station with the hope that maybe I can still return home. Some days I contemplate walking along the railway tracks that go home. I am struggling to cope. I am struggling to survive. I want to go home but how am I to do that? Home means food, water, peace and life. Staying where I am is death – death from starvation, death from disease and death from loneliness.

Its been a month and a half since the lockdown. Many people like me have started walking to their homes. Some have died on the way; some died after reaching home. I do not want to die but I do not have any resources left. Today is my second day of hunger. One of many, where I shall sleep on an empty stomach on a hot railway bench.

Mid-May

Its two months today since the lockdown began. Trains have started running again to help people like me get home, where we have a chance of survival. I was full of hope, but my hopes crashed when I saw the forms in English, the need for a One Time Password and ready cash to get on a train. How can I, who knows not a word in English, own a phone or have money, get on to one of these home-bound trains?  I think I need to endure, but now I also want Dariya Raja to embrace me and swallow me whole. Please someone help me.

Help comes in the form of a railway officer. He told me he would give me a train ticket to my destination, in exchange for the silver ring on my finger. I am crushed and I hate the man. Although I have not eaten properly for nearly a week, I did not think of selling my ring. How can I now just give it away? What would I tell Mamatha? How will I face her?

I have missed the train; I have also vomited bile and my nose is bleeding. The railway officer taunts me saying I would have been on my way home, if not for my pride. He is not wrong. Maybe if I can get on another train, I can die at home?

The railway officer refused my request and my ring until I fell on his feet and cried. I do not like begging. I am not a beggar, but I begged for my life. What does this make me? When I begged, I was engulfed by silence and darkness. I fell asleep from exhaustion.

I woke up with a jolt. Something was moving – I was moving. I opened my eyes and realised I am on a train that is homeward bound. I was overjoyed but I was unable to show it. People around me in the train stared at me sympathetically and an old woman offered me some water. I could not drink the water. I could not swallow the water. My eyes flew open, they bulged for a moment and again there was silence and darkness. I felt myself falling into a deep slumber and I thought to myself – finally, I die.

Today

Today is two days later, and the train has reached its destination. Everyone has gotten off, except me. I died and did not reach home. Today, my resilient spirit urges me to move forward, towards home, and I will endure my existence.