Halloween Party

The type of rickshaw mentioned here is a manual rickshaw – not the automated kind – whose earned fare is not affected by the mood swings and the political climates in strategic parts of the world.

The “drivers” do not need any fuels – for they ARE the fuel. The consumer is not that fat guy and that fat lady riding behind, with their seven children hanging on for dear life on that pile of furniture that accompanies the troops everywhere, but the vehicle itself – and the driver is the one who is getting consumed.

It’s the sweat that simmers with the sweetness of hard-earned money – and still stinks – but it must be licked, imbibed, and devoured no matter what the attached strings – for there is no other game in town – except grinding that body – that body brown!

That piece of bread and that cup of tea – staples to keep going through the hard shift – just to get to that next shift guaranteed to be just as hard – and hanging on to the hope that YOU will continue to be around when that shift comes around – for sure as daylight, it must come, no matter whether you come or not.

The knowledge of what it LITERALLY means when you say “no pain – no gain”!

And no matter what the mood, or the temperature, or the moisture level, or the disease, or the fatigue, or the state of body, or the state of mind, or the state of life – that next fare must be EARNED – the rules do not change – they never change – and there is no vacation time from that pain – for there is no vacation from the realities of that hard, hard life – wife or no wife!

A very special kind is that machine so blind – the machine that sees not.

But fed it must be! Fed on flesh – that flesh hot, hot!

Lap it up – lap it ALL up, bro’ – that sweet sweat of the bro!

That machine!

It first wipes out the smooth outlines – the puppy fat developed through efforts of now far-away family members – who can only hope and wonder!

Wonder with hopes – while you send back little notes!

On how things are so good – and how you are having the time of your life in the big city! Having a ball! And so the rickshaw wheels roll.

And the big cities – and small– they keep consuming – as all cities must.

Consuming the muscles!

The skin, the bones – the this and the that – till all that’s left is nothing but that bag of bones – and they don’t even rattle – as you reach the end!

End of your rope – and the end of your line!

That end which is never voluntary – the proverbial “kuttey kee maut” – as diet and disease and dirty dealings and depression and finally the darkness of death take their toll – and kicking and screaming – first goes the body!

Then the soul!