Web Of Life

She was there at 6 in the evening each day. She didn’t know she was there at 6. The streetlights were her clock. She knew two things. Time to earn, and time to eat and sleep. At 6, the streetlights came on and she knew that she had to earn for the next day. She would sit below a streetlight in one of the many sacks she had collected during her
life.

Her world was tiny. It consisted of the main road where she made sure that she’d survive another day, and the back alley where she did the surviving. For decades she’d spent life living one day after another. She had no memories of her past, no dreams for her future and no agenda for the present. Her knowledge of the world was sufficient. She knew how to kill the ants, to drive away the rats, to sense slithering reptiles. She knew how big the coin must be to get one idli. She knew that 2 such coins would fetch her 2 idlis. She wasn’t a person given to planning. If ever she got 2 idlis, she would eat them immediately. Not because she was unbearably hungry – hunger was a feeling she’d lived with all her life and had never learnt to sense it She wasn’t aware of any other way. What food was obtained was to be swallowed immediately.

At 6, she’d occupy her place below the streetlight with her coconut cup and 2 sacks. One served as a mattress and another as protection from the cold. Years of observing had made sure that she understood most of what was going on. She had come to expect the lights to go on in the first floor of one house at a certain time. If ever she was curious about what people were doing in cars and vehicles she had learnt to quell it. Now, all she did was passively look around and smile a toothless smile at the rare person who dropped her a coin or two. Once in a while there would come a person who would give her a rupee every day, but then they too would disappear after a while. She had learnt simply not to expect anything from everyone. So far, she had never gone a day without a rupee. She wasn’t aware of any other possibility.

If you ever went up and spoke to her, all you’re likely to hear is a barely coherent mumble. She knew enough about the languages of her world to understand what someone was saying. She did make a very honest attempt to reply though. She had never had much opportunity to speak. Her actions were not just louder than words- they were her words.Shaking the coconut cup fetched her coins. Rattling those coins got her idlis. Eating those idlis got her another day. Hers was a very simple existence.

One day she didn’t appear at her place below the streetlight and the man who gave her idlis decided to look into the back alley. She was there, cold and dead. Few more men came and made sure she was given a proper burial. Inadverdently she had becomes part of their lives. For the man who sold her idlies, she was his last customer every night. Strangely enough, he was superstitious about his last customer. It had to be the lady below the streetlight. It calmed his mind to know, that he had helped someone survive every night. For years he had been giving her one idli at the price of half an idli. He could only afford that much generosity.

Many times the traffic policemen had delayed giving the go signal. From where he stood, he could see that a car driver or a cyclist was about to give the old woman a coin, and he would wait until they did that and then allow the vehicles to pass. On the days when the woman looked too pale, the policeman would make sure that she got an extra rupee. On the days when no vehicle driver gave her any money, he’d make sure she got some. The traffic policeman made sure that she never starved at night. He too couldn’t help anymore. After all, he had 5 children at home, and another one on its way. On the days when he helped the woman, he skipped his daily liquor. He didn’t need it on those days.

The gardener in one of the houses on the road made sure that her home was neat. When she was sitting below the streetlight, he would go into the back alley and clean the place.

It was the least he could do. He’d place a coconut cup there every week so that old woman could use it. He used his homemade rat poison to clear the place of rats.
His dinner tasted delicious on those days when he went and cleaned her little home, he insisted. No one understood why, though.

The carpet seller came by the main road every day. When he saw the sack around the woman was beginning to tear and fade, he would replace it. He sneaked in surreptitiously some days and replaced it while the woman slept. The old woman slept soundly and dreamlessly. A tired existence some would say. Others would say a very content existence. On the day she died, she had four pallbearers and a decent burial. It was the first day when anyone wondered if she had a name.