They still carry “Happy Feet and Sing Happy Tunes”

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Happy feet

The coffee maker had turned on the whistle, she yawned, hurried back to her soft satin blanket, eyes could not be generous, frugal, shadowed and then there were the fast forward settings of an urban life stint. The perfect blend of her hand pressed handloom “salwar kameez” went well with her motherly aura, the lunch box smiled - finely tucked mushroom chicken sandwich for the kids, the husband was trained enough to read the alarm signals on time, he had revised his office timing last month, the drop at the bus stop, the maid stood there perfectly in her imperfect style- that’s it, undoubtedly the urban upper middle class women worked hard-a long day but life showered better perks every time she toiled hard.

 But here in my blog I am not counting the perks of those familiar faces rather I would count on the splashes of sweat dropped on hot sunny afternoons by familiar strangers, wet monsoons too cannot deter their smiles-maybe they had worn spirits in their sleeves. We have seen such faces everywhere; around the corner, behind our lane, on the foot path, at my house, on a trip, in the clingy railway station and just on the road. They all had expressions, unique each of them in their own special way.

Walking along the himalayan trail  for a livlihood

 The handloom plant Dharamshala

One monsoon afternoon @India Gate

Sitting around the foot path selling  “hot cakes” every day, I see such faces. 

 She dabs extra lemon juice on the last make. “Makki”  “Challi” “Bhutta” she spends the whole day sprinkling lemon and salt, heating those yellow pearls on golden light. She is happy; she makes a round figure of Rs 300 that was more than enough for the day.

Welcome to another sect – my blog is not about glorification of their struggles through my words but it’s a capture of their invincible spirit. They work hard, harsher sometimes; apathetic conditions of livelihood but colours still flutter from their tattered   sacks, everyday those wrinkled paper notes head on to the market to buy household stuffs. She giggled, the last customer bargained for 5 rupees “Sahib 5 rupaya ki to baat hai, kyun kum de rahein ho?” She had thought he would happily depart with that note, colours ran strong around her.  She straps her basket, leaves her happy trail and catches the next local at 10-45 pm.

Colors @Delhi Haat

She sat there in the busy haat, every night she carved a niche through those artefacts.  “Boutique” “woh kya hota hai?” She knew the harmony of colours and rhythm of designs. She was the sole earning member. She sold her designs in the nearby busy market. Last year “Brinda” had bought a beautiful lamp shade, she designed a new corner in her French villa where she unfolded exquisite artefacts from different corners of the world “Foreign tourists don’t bargain.”

These women galloped their way, everyday to new destinations; they might not have reached pinnacles of glory but who cares about glorious memoirs. They paint a perfect odyssey of life. My salute to the ordinary yet extra ordinary women of India. They leave their own foot prints. Welcome to the “New breed of fire wagons”.