I met this man some days ago while hunting a fresh story. At first glance itself, Manchala Singh won my heart. He hails from north India, and is on a journey in the city of dreams; since…no one knows—not even him!
He roams on his cycle and talks less. However, I was able to communicate a little with him. He’s one of those displaced and unfortunate farmers, who has lost everything but hope. He’s now dislocated form his family and has developed a physiological issue. Once a farmer, he now insane almost. He has a bag full of stories to tell. He talks of past days of glory when there was abundance.
सारी फसल नाचती थी मेरे खेतों में, अब कुछ भी नहीं
बोहोत थी ज़िन्दगी, अब कुछ भी नहीं है
One thing I am sure that this is not his real name. I kept his asking about his real name but he was indifferent. I didn’t get to know much of him but I know the pain of getting raped out of business; especially an age-old family business.
Only God knows how many such people are walking on this land of plenty—without a beginning, without an end. I can’t do much but can surely pray and listen to their story and maybe, offer support in whatever way possible.