My Memories of Rickshaw Pullers

My Memories of Rickshaw Pullers

The rickshaw pullers are a hard working lot. It is a laborious job, demanding stamina and good health. They toil all day long and often late into the night to make both ends meet. What they earn in a day is just enough to keep the home fire burning. Their smile is the mirror of the joy they feel when a few more coins are given. The scene described in the poem is my real life experience of those days when I lived in Kolkata for a few years and later in Lucknow for 26 years or so.


My Memories of Rickshaw Pullers

Have some pity on him,
A man unspeakably slim,
All bones and skin
And painfully thin,

Yet he pedals on
Who is to poverty born,
Dawn to dusk struggles he
Wishing someday wealthy to be,

Look, O! Rider Dear,
Did you his heavy breathing hear,
Your hefty bulk is the cause
Why often he has to pause,

Did you see his sweaty face
Shorn of all human grace,
Sub-human life he leads,
And inwardly he bleeds,

His body cries for rest,
But he knows what is best,
He has to work till night
If he wants a future bright,

His bright future is a tin shed
With an old mattress for a bed,
A door strong to hold a lock
Which can stand the force of a rock,

An oil lamp to provide light,
Which may not be very bright,
But enough to make everything visible,
But to the malevolent eyes invisible,

He has a few mouths to feed
For which money he does need,
Generous be to the tired man
Who is doing as best he can,

His needs are few
Unlike for the likes of you,
Give him a few coins more
For O! How he your weight bore,

Watch his eyes and the toothless smile
Which are genuine and without guile,
They speak of the unspoken joy
Of a child gifted with his favourite toy,

Your coins will not make him rich,
But he'll place you in the niche
Of his ever grateful heart
For the few coins you did part.

Raghav R
15 Jan. 2019