Poor get poorer
As always, given the inequities built into the global economic system, the poorest people in the world have been the…
A correspondent writes: No, I am not talking about the Numismatic Society of Kolkata that which encourages the habit of collecting and studying old coins and bank notes, my humble piece is dedicated to those souls in the city for whom coins mean a livelihood, by which again I don’t mean the handsome packages that we get to see every month once the big boss is satisfied with the job.
Since it&’s said “When you come to the river, you come back to your mother,” the same river, a lifeline may be from the time of the great plague, and more so for the not-so-privileged, proliferates to such a degree in giving a life that there remains no doubt about its benevolence.
Naked, bones jutting out and famished, these young boys, some not even in their sweet teens, take the jump every time someone throws a coin into the Ganges.
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Behind them stand innumerable faces, heroic, penitent and sad, basking in sundown glory worshipping the river bribing it with a coin or two, seeking forgiveness, as if seeking one inside the temple was not enough and expecting all wrongdoings to be washed away. In that corner where all are privileged, one sees this group of boys dedicated to fight, fend for their families.
A sudden splash and they don’t come up for a few seconds, enough to start a palpitation, but they tell me that the longest they stay under water is a little over three minutes and they are not satisfied if they have not collected at least 10 coins in one go.
This act is repeated many times till the river bank is not empty of its occasional visitors. As the dusk meanders into night, and lights are on in the metropolis, they walk back home, the shacks on the bank, and hand over the day&’s collection to their mothers, if they have one.
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