with red cherries on his cheeks
with artificial moustache
and the shy smile on his face
with a red cap having a rope and bell tied
Dressed in filthy colourful clothes
in a pure comic manner
hiding in her mother’s torn sweaty sari
Looked upon everyone slightly
His mother sat on a side
thumped drum and sang song in high voice
Just by her mother’s one gesture he started to dance
Passing through one big ring
Revolving his head round the bell ranged
He was enjoying himself whole heartedly
Going to everyone and showing his dance
With changing cheerful expressions on his face
He knew the art to live, art to survive…..
We were enjoying and laughing it as a drama
But for him it was like the food in their stomach
Hope was clearly seen in his eyes
His mother’s voice revealed the pain of their poverty
Then he came with an old rusted bowl asking money
The one who gave him money he gave a big thankful smile
The one who ignored he went giving them a wicked smile as he is the king of world…
He begged for his survival not for his talent…
He taught me many things as in the age of three or four
We being dependent on our parents
But here he was feeding his family…
I tried to ask his name but he didn’t answered
He stared me for few seconds then went to other coach of train
Again to perform for survival journey
I asked people around what they are called?
They said they don’t have specified names as they are nomads
But they are called as NATT.
“for Talent not for survival”
and after reading we can feel pain of Natt.
Keep scribbling shiwi !
Yours loving warrior