Deliwale: Home is where the heart is...

Sitting on the pavement, Bhola says that each time he misses his loved ones, silently uttering their names. “A person is like a bazaar,” he says, explaining that “as each bazaar has many shops with names, each person has many loved ones with as many names.”

Bhola is walking along a city street, carrying a wooden staff tied with plastic packets of pink and yellow cotton candies. The street is not crowded, perhaps because it is morning. The hawker seems lonely.

The cotton candy hawker now gets up from the pavement and resumes his walk. 

“But I’m not alone,” Bhola contradicts politely. “I am surrounded by the blessings of my parents.” A native of Hathras in UP, 31-year-old Bhola explains that he never feels lonely because “when I’m away from home, the people at home have me in their mind… I’m never forgotten.”

Sitting on the pavement, Bhola says that each time he misses his loved ones, silently uttering their names. “A person is like a bazaar,” he says, explaining that “as each bazaar has many shops with names, each person has many loved ones with as many names.” He uses this opportunity to list the names of people that cover him in an invisible chaadar (cloak) of apnapan (belonging).

“I have five daughters — Sanjana, the eldest is 8, followed by Nandini, Dolly, Ananya and Baby. My only son is named Mayank. I want my children to get very good education. They should work in offices.”

He pauses for a bit before continuing with the other names in his life.

“My father’s name is Hardayal Singh. My mother is Shrimati Munni Devi. I have three sisters — Neetu, Binesh and Satyavati. Satyavati passed away seven years ago. She had typhoid. My brothers are Devender and Pramod. My chacha (uncles) are Rammi Singh, Som Pal Singh and Balkishen. They too sell cotton candies in Dilli (Delhi). I live with my three uncles in a single room in Ashram. Every evening at 8, we sit together and make the cotton candies. Next morning, we get out for work at 7:30, and return home at 4 pm.”

Bhola pauses again. He reaffirms that he is done with all the names.

Is he sure?

He lowers his eyes, and mutters in a low embarrassed voice, “I have my gharwali (wife) in the village. Her name is Shrimati Bimlesh.”

The cotton candy hawker now gets up from the pavement and resumes his walk. He no longer looking that alone to me.