Life Alone
By: Yahya Ali
Tags: Humanity, Poverty, Crisis, Story

Sitting in that air conditioned room of yours, with that packet of chips and coke by your side, I want you to imagine something. A kid like you, perhaps younger, is also sitting somewhere. But, neither that room has an air conditioner nor the packet of chips. No room,in fact. No TV. No phone, no family. Supported with only one thing at every point. Isolation.

Now keep that brain churning. The only food you get are the scraps near the hotel gained by the pity of the owner. A chunk of roti for lunch, some grapes for dinner and no breakfast. Pretty hard, I guess. But then I guess it is not you, so maybe a sign of pity. Well, then think about this. Your bed is the harsh concrete on the pavement with patches of paan around you. You sleep without a pillow. Without a goodnight kiss. Without a mother to tuck you to bed. Horrific dreams torment you throughout the night. A man is running behind you with a staff in his hand, the only thing in front of you is darkness. He gains on you and your life comes to an end. Yet a few seconds later you see yourself back on the pavement, your head bruised and life tells you, “I’m not done with you yet.”

Tears fall down your eyes. Your face is smeared in the flood that you yourself have created. And instead of a mother to wipe them, your grazed hands do the job. Feeling sorry yet. Well, let me tell you, his day has just begun. By the time I’m finished you might actually feel enough emotions to do something for this kid. Until then, let us continue. A jute bag on his back, he begins his day and as his shrivelled up exoskeleton’s every single bone shrieks out in agony, he keeps going on. Finding food. Surviving. That is the main initiative. After a failed day, he resorts to going outside a dhaba where he gets a leftover roti to get by. After that, he tries to get into the shade. Trees, everywhere but whenever he gets close to one, a slap on the face. He eventually resorts to the pavement again and in the scorch of the sun eats his breakfast cum lunch consisting of a stale piece of roti.

The day continues on. The sun goes below the clouds and a red shade comes over the sky. A day has come to pass. Hours spent on the pavement while his stomach growls for food. His legs barely move as he finds a morsel to satisfy his hunger. Well, I hope you are starting to feel some pity after all. A sweet aroma allures him towards itself out of the blue. He follows it like prey towards a trap. Only there is no trap except for the lie that he will get food and the only prey is his world. He reaches in front of a hotel where we see two worlds meet. A boy on one side of the mirror is having a birthday party, surrounded by friends, family and loved ones. His clothes are crisp and bright and new. His face washed and clean. A kiss on the cheek every now and then. In contrast to the kid we read about. His face smeared with dust. Tattered clothes, rough shoes and one sandal with a scrawny face, rough eyebrows and scrambled hair. For a split second, you actually see the beauty of the moment. Yin and yang. Two opposites attract. And suddenly a rattle changes the situation. Food. The dirty young kid sees hope as the trash can makes some noise. He charges towards it and scavenges on what food there is. The meal ends and so does his day. His head hits the pavement and he is greeted with a familiar pain as his eyes shut, barely keeping out the tears.

The pain is imminent and if the story of this young kid fails to inspire you, then I don’t think anything could touch your heart. Now let me tell you a fact. There are 4.3 million kids living like the one above or worse. And the only one who can change this is you. Raise a step. Give out a smile. Or maybe part of your lunch. Let the world know that Pakistan did not only host one Abdul Sattr Edhi but every one of us is just like him. Do it. If not for yourself, then for your country. For the sake of humanity.