People see the rickshaw and think that’s the whole story. It isn’t. For fourteen years I drove it twelve, sometimes fourteen hours a day, and every rupee that wasn’t rent or food went into a tin box under the seat cushion — one box for each daughter.
Both of them have graduated now. One is training to be a nurse. The other just got her first job in an office, the kind with air conditioning, the kind neither of us had ever set foot in before. Nobody gives you a certificate for this. Nobody puts your name in a paper. But I know what those fourteen years cost me, and I know what they bought, and that’s enough.
Leave Your Footprint
"I lived this." "I relate." "My father was exactly like this." Say what this stirred in you.
Comments are closed.