Disclaimer: Thought the previous one would be my last post. But, never mind. Came across someone interesting. Rather, a “Randi ka Ladka”.
- 21st century
- Social media
- Hate speech
- Dark humour
- More sex
- More criticism
Try and connect the points above. Oh, you’ve already done that in your mind. Now, try to understand what I am trying to say. Abuse me if you haven’t yet understood. Why? Because that’s what people do, mostly.
“Randi Ka Ladka”. Well, I could have used the censored and stupid starred version of the popular phrase. But, the essence. How many times does a mentally stable person abuse in a day? That is oftener than I open my Accounts book in a month. Something happens, “wtf”. Someone happens, “wtf”. “Madarchod yeh kaun hai?”, after every missed call from an unknown number. “Randi ka Ladka, paneer ka bhao badh gaya/Internet chala gaya/Samose mein gobi nahi hain”. How easily everything comes back to normalcy after just a phrase or a word. You think that is how easily you become a ‘Dude’. Call a kiddo, ‘chhotu’, and bam; everyone starts respecting you.
“I don’t know what to do in life. People laugh at me. Whatever I do. Whatever I try to do. Mockery everywhere I go,” said he, or to be exact, said the ‘Randi ka Ladka’.
I never thought I would ever write about things like this, or any of my posts would ever revolve around things like this. But, times change. I met this 14 year old guy selling boiled eggs at Kumortuli, North Kolkata’s potters’ quarter. I spent some time there and bought two eggs. Hunger made me call the boy. And in course of conversation, I came to know about some dark stuff. Young Ranjan is a school dropout.
“Dada, my name is Ranjan and I stay in Shobhabajar”, was his answer when I asked him in Bengali, “bhai tor naam ki? Kothay thaka hoy?“.
I was a bit surprised to know he could speak English quite well, and better than our education minister. Never mind.
I asked him if he studied in a school. He said yes. And my follow-up question was, “Why do you sell eggs then?” His reply was, “Dada, amar maa mara geche koyek din agei, ar baba ke dekhio ni kokhono. Amar keu nei. Tai pet chalanor jonno”. And that broke my heart.
“Tor baba ke toh dekhishni. Tor maa ki korten mara jawar age?”
-“Kichu din age mara gechen, ki ekta rog hoyechilo, disease bole English e”.
“Shey bujhlam, kintu korten ta ki?”.
-“Oi, ja kore mohila ra. Shobhabajar er dike. Tai chhilo maayer kaaj. Tar jonno amake ekhono lokey dekhle hashe. Bole khankir chhele. Joseph’s Day te portam. Tarpor maa’er disease er por school chhere dilam. School diary te jokhon baba’r shoi, mane signature chaito, khub koshto hoto. Agey bujhtam na baba ke, keno nei. Tarpor ektu boro howar por bondhu ra bujhiye bollo. Bondhu mane oi ar ki. Titkiri maare”.
And I bade him adieu. With a heavy heart, I returned home. ‘Randi ka Ladka’ may be a just a phrase to us, but that’s just superficial. I am proud to have met that guy, the ‘Randi ka Ladka’; the son of that ‘Randi’ who used to sell off her body, the “greatest instrument”, every night to sex-hungry rich bastards carrying diseases in their dicks, just to raise her son in the best manner possible, and to educate the child.
We promised something to each other that day. That we would meet at the same place every 6 months. And he would treat me two boiled eggs.
This post is, in no way, to be taken as a joke, or a Chetan Bhagat write-up.