I ask Ram whom I encounter every morning scrounging for gold in the garbage dumps for my neighbourhood. Ram left his home long ago. Set amidst memory. There were many storms that swept away their fields and homes, his mother tells him. That's why they left, loking for gold in the big city where he now lives
"I else to do, " he mutters
Looking away go to school, I say glibly, realising immediately how hollowthe advice must sound. There is no school in my neighbourhood. When they build one, I will go. If I start a school, will you come ? I ask half - joking. Yes, he says, smiling broadly.
A few days later I see him running up to me.
Is your school ready?"
It takes longer to build a school, I say embarrassed at having made a promise that was not meant. But promises like mine abound in every corner of his bleak world. After months of knowing him, I ask him his name. Ram, he announces. He does not know wha it means. If he knew it's meaning - lord of the universe - he would have a hard time believing it. Unaware of what his name represents, he roams the streets with his friends an army of barefoot boys who appear like the morning birds and disappear at noon. Over the months, I have come recognise each of them. Why aren't you wearing chappals?" I ask one.
My mother did not bring them down from the shelf he answers simply. Even if she did he will throw them off, adds another who is wearing shoes that do not match. When I comment on it, he shuffles his feet and says nothing. I want shoes says a third boy who has never owned a pair all his life. Travelling across the country I have seen children walking barefoot, in cities, on village roads. It is not lack of money but a tradition to stay barefoot, is one explanation I wonder if this is only an excuse to explain away a perpetual state of poverty.