Skip to main content

Hope and Dreams.



His wrinkles speak of decades of blood, sweat, and hard work to earn the daily wages of Rs. 169 to provide for himself and his family. 

The t-shirt you see him wearing? 
Unwashed for weeks, it's been around for years because he can't afford such "luxuries"...he has his children's sustenance to think about. 

When was the last time he took a day's vacation? 
Hell, he can't remember. Sick days meant waking up early, slogging all day to the best of his capabilities, and earning lesser than that Rs. 169 per day because he just wasn't good enough. He blamed himself for putting his children without food for one night. He blamed himself when the floods would wash away his mud house every year. He blamed himself...because people around him suffered and he was unable to fix it. 

A year ago, he received his first funds from the Government of India to build a concrete house for himself. A year later, for the first time in his life of 67 years, he now has a proper roof over his head. He goes to sleep every night, looking at that ceiling, hoping that he'll wake up to the same sight the next morning. Praying that this is not some fantasy. 

The Pradhan Mantri Awaas Yojana - Gramin (PMAY-G) Government scheme (aimed at providing rural housing for all Indians below poverty line) may not be perfect, but it's a beacon of hope for the millions who need it the most. As much as we insult the work the Government does because we fail to see past the corruption and red tape, the livelihoods of those countrymen who are at the grass-root levels of our society depend on what that same Government provides for them. 

Mohanlal smiles, just like a million others, thankful for everything life has given him despite his suffering. 
It's time we grow out of our fits and fancies, and start being thankful too. 



Image taken by me (Suyash Jaju) on 17th November 2017, in Chitral, a village in the Padra block that falls under the district of Vadodara, Gujarat, India. 

Comments

  1. You have captured his essence in that picture. Such a humble life..and we crib with all our luxuries.

    ReplyDelete
  2. You have captured his essence in that picture. Such a humble life..and we crib with all our luxuries.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Boiling Frog Syndrome

Recently I had attended a Behavioural Finance and Value Investing course through Flame Investment Lab, where I had come across the term 'Boiling Frog' syndrome. The 'Boiling Frog' syndrome is based on an urban legend describing a frog being slowly boiled alive. The premise is simple: if a frog is suddenly put into a pot of boiling water, it will jump out and save itself from impending death. But, if the frog is put in lukewarm water, with the temperature rising slowly, it will not perceive any danger to itself and will be cooked to death. Why? Since the frog is only slightly uncomfortable with its warm surroundings, it keeps trying to adjust and get accustomed, making itself believe that the slow, gradual change in temperature is normal. Only when the slow change suddenly starts accelerating does the frog realise it just signed its own death warrant. It has already lost its strength to jump out! "The problem is that the human equivalent of the 'Bo

Oblivion.

The dream felt like a confused memory, The silence an oppressive gloom. The fate of the world rested on my shoulder, Few hours for the world to go "BOOM". My mind was a vacuum, An overwhelming sense of emptiness. My heart caught in my throat, How do I overcome this apprehensiveness? Every teardrop is a waterfall, Each word a gash on my heart. I've strived so hard with my blood and my sweat. I've struggled and endeavoured, I've come afar. But when I have to face it, The final moment of truth. It strikes me and I fall behind, In front of me, He stood. A towering figure of purity, Making me feel instantly calm. As if the world around me had just paused, And then He took me by one arm. His presence, a welcoming comfort. His grip, steadying me, yet firm. And I welcomed Death with open arms, And died a noble death I deserved. I fell like a fallen warrior, As Death laid out His dominion, And watch from a land that I knew not existed, As

Closure.

You always knew that I was the paper to your pair of scissors. The way you cut through me- with ease, with subtle precision, with a sharp sense of grace...You knew what you were doing. You knew how good you were at it. But when you were done, Did you leave behind a masterpiece? No. You left behind hundreds of thousands of tiny paper shards of myself. My heart, my soul, my everything . x-x-x Did you think I could heal and  tape myself  back together? There were some parts of me you tore away, that I can never get back. I will always feel incomplete, incompetent, insecure. You showed me that I was not good enough for this world . x-x-x For you were my world.  I thought I was your Atlas. I tried to take your weight on my shoulders. To share your burden. To provide the support I thought you needed. I just never realised when you reached the point that you didn’t need me anymore. I never realised when my worth turned out to be equivalent to