A fine sunrise and A1 Mutton shop near the Hamidpur Railway station had not yet pulled up shutters. We are regular visitors here, but definitely not from the front. Some might call us scavengers but we are not, we do not take everything, we always leave some for the stray dogs; of all that was thrown away. Bindu Didi is the best cook when it comes to mutton, and especially on Fridays we feast away. Since today is not Friday and there is no feast I had no intention to visit A1 Mutton shop.
But for morning needs I have a designated place near the Nala that flows behind the mutton shop. While I was lazily settling my scores with nature, I saw Ali Chacha separating the throwables from fresh meat; it was then that the idea came into my mind. That part seemed similar to the one that I had seen in a news paper the other day. Though the very thought of the plight of the women shivers my spine, yet the idea was too appealing to resist.
Instantly I decided that I would experiment it today. I picked it and carefully placed in a polybag. Now I had to make the necessary arrangement for today’s act. Off to the garbage bins on the southern side of the Railway Station, here I picked the other necessary articles. Till now I have kept myself out of sight from the others and it is too early, the 8 AM rush still has some more time. I placed myself silently inside the unused toilet at the far end of RMF storeroom. I removed my shirt before I begin working and to keep away from the smell I sniffed some of the dendrite left in my tube.
I reached the destined place at the right time just before the 8 Am rush, it was about 44 yards from the foot bridge and a forth more from the Station entrance, just across the Autostand and only a few steps from Munchi’s poori stall. I wanted to make sure that I was not very far from the crowd, not too near the station entrance where most of the other beggars had their sympathy stalls. I wanted to get noticed but not much of attentions though. Just under the shade of the babool tree the location was my perfect spot. Moreover I did not want the others to know this, even though I was sure of being spotted by one or the other; so had to make the most of whatever opportunity I had.
As I lay there, I found it really hard to make a very distressful face each time someone passed by. Being in distress is much different from being afraid and the more difficult when trying to act distress. It has to be convincing. I tried my best not to look at the eyes of any of my beneficiaries so as to escape their curiosities and question. Though I was aware of certain tactics of begging, however I am just an amateur in this business of sympathy selling. Yet the assortments that I had put on for today’s show definitely made me a subject of great pain and an object of pity. I am not sure though what role it plays in a goats anatomy, it looked similar to the intestinal tubes only this was a sack like of almost size of a cricket ball, perhaps bit larger. To be more precise it was like a balloon partly filled with water. I had tied it to a flat band which I wrapped round my belly; so that the organ dangled just below the ribs, a little more towards my left. Over the band I used two layers of used surgical bandage and a part of the lump of cotton which had this vermilion color with blood stains. To make it better I smeared some of the blood from the polybag on to my shirt and hands, while doing so I made sure it was not too much but just enough for a person to notice. To further emphasis my point placed a large strip of used capsule in my shirt pocket, half in and half out.
I was in business now; coins flew-in every now and then. I kept picking leaving exactly seven in the drop bowl (Seven seemed to be a lucky number). Everything was going smooth apart from the occasional interruption from dogs, crows and the constant buzzing of the flies but only until noon, when my only greatest fear; the fear of being spotted by others suddenly became true when I saw Tukku standing and staring at me. His first closeup glimpse of my plight scared the hell out of him and he almost cried (crying was the only thing that he could do without any effort at all); at that point I thought he wanted to call the others for help which could have actually jeopardize my entire plot. But when I told him the truth, he was smiling and laughing. I feared he will expose me, so I negotiated to share a part of my profit with him if he helps me and not utter a word to the others; the deal has been made. He would now act my little brother, chase away the dogs and birds, above all persuade potential clients to donate. When he started pulling every other hand and feet coupled with effortless crying the number of notes against the coins increased, we also collected few more rotis and a plate of half eaten chicken briyani.
I came across all kinds of reactions from people, at one point a young fellow wanted to take me to the hospital.While most of them just dropped their money without much display of emotion, some of the other smiled or made the saddest face possible before mumbling, “How could God be so merciless, he is too small a kid to go through such pain.”- I only smiled from within. After all two hundred fifty three rupees is good business for me.
