Unwanted

        He lived alone on the market street which experienced daily surges and ebbs just like the sea. Lost in the clamour and din of an Indian bazaar, he stared around to spot anything that could console his soul. Abandoned as an infant, he was unaware of the warmth of a mother's hug and a father's pat. He grew up from a toddler to a boy only because nature offers no alternative.

      Technically, he was not alone on the street. There were other urchins of his age. There were some vendors who had converted their stalls into make-shift residences. There were dogs barking eternally. And of course there were the sahebs and madams who visited the bazaar during daytime in search of bargains. He had no rapport with any living being. The dogs didn't prefer him because he didn't have any food to offer. The other urchins didn't bother to ask him to join when they played with sticks and rubber tyres. The vendors threw a fruit or two at him; not out of sympathy but because the fruits were destined to decay anyway. The shoppers expected him to tug at their clothes and tag along, asking for alms, but he didn't do any of these things. If you thought people living on streets were social pariahs, here was an example of a person considered an outcast by social pariahs.

       The market would be abuzz during the festive season. Fresh vegetables, flowers and fruits flew off the shelves, except there were no shelves in those rickety stalls. The gang of urchins would often plan a mission to gather free food and share it amongst themselves. They wouldn't invite him to participate in the escapades because they thought he wasn't 'fun enough' and that he would squeal if they were to be caught and that would reduce the chances of any further missions. They even scoffed at his inability to win at the tyre-turning game.

      His eyes spoke of deprivation. He further went into a shell after he was accused of stealing a cucumber by a burly vendor with a scary moustache. He wasn't taken seriously. His acts were treated with derision and his existence was unwanted. Some called him a loner, some called him anti-social and some called him insane. All against his will.

     The fact was that he yearned for friends and family. He yearned for interaction. He wanted to play with the other orphans. But nobody ever gave him a chance. They were too busy mocking him. At times the mocking went overboard and that was extremely repulsive for him. It added to his inhibitions further taking him away from 'main-stream market street society'. Who wants to be with such people?

     He stopped paying attention to those who didn't care for him. He was happier to be with the stars and the birds. He hummed along with the engines of cars that passed through the street. He taught himself to write numbers and add them at the grocer's stall. He realised that life is not in the streets. Life is beyond a struggle. He began carving things out of discarded vegetables. He didn't chase the trucks that brought supplies to the market but he could imitate the horn of a truck.

     His was an isolated life, devoid of human touch. He was still staring around for something friendly and familiar. He lived. For him, acceptance was a bare necessity.