Present times
The morning sun does not come as a surprise. To my sleepless soul, this is just another indication that I have to get up and swipe the floor. A small part of me fruitlessly rebels against the climbing sun; wishing it slows down in its race to crown the blue sky. But the birds wake up and the golden rays of the sun pinch my closed eyelids. I only wish that some sleep comes to me. But to no avail.
I gather my almost broken bones and pinching muscles and head to the small canteen that the master proudly calls his kitchen. I pick the sweeper and start gathering the dust and fallen leaves. A train should be approaching within an hour at the station and with it my agony of attending to the people.
In only an hour’s time, I have cleaned the floor and the tables. I have also set the plastic chairs around the round tables and my weak body stands ready and alert to attend to any voice that calls.
The day rises and along with it, the flow of work. I hurriedly rush back and forth between orders, placing food in front of hungry people. With every call, I run around people, cleaning plates with a cloth sitting on my shoulder, picking up their remaining food and cleaning after them.
It is well into the afternoon but my hunger pangs go ignored because there are just too many people to attend to. And people rarely wait. They give stern glares if I get late with their food orders or if something slips from my hand. And when they give me a few pennies as tip they stare at me like they expect me to kiss their hands and feet.
The sun gives a dull and tired glow at the top of the sky when I finally sit at the corner and eat of what is remaining from the dishes. The master gives me bread too so that I can satiate my hunger. For food and shelter, I work my days and nights at the canteen at the Station, the fortunate space where I ended up after I got lost.
The night I was lost is still crystal clear in my mind. I had gone to the neighboring village for a carnival with both my parents and lots of servants. I was with them; I am certain that my eyes never lost track of my parents. But in the pride that my servants are looking after me and have my back, I got lost.
Getting lost is always an unfortunate event that happens. How it occurs is also not clear but I roamed the streets in search of my family for long. I only came across vast fields and never ending roads until I reached this railway station. And the master took me in.
Since that day my feelings have been a jumble. Some are grateful, others are spiteful. I am unable to understand what to feel or think. I just wait for a familiar face to jump out of the rail’s carriage and hug me. I just want to go home.
