Theirs is a fire that warms the cockles of the heart!
Crackling beneath a large vessel from where steam wafts out in soft, lazy curls, every now and then the tongues of flame from the fire reach up the sides of the vessel to chase the steam. Rice, I suppose. A little away, on a shelf of roughly piled-up leftover boards of wood, there are steel plates waiting to be taken off the shelf, for food to be served and to be eaten. Ten or more people sit on the ground around the fire, chatting, grinding spices in a mortar with a pestle, peeling potatoes, arguing, agreeing. There is laughter. In the background, there is the hum of a song I do not recognize. Someone shows something on the screen of his mobile phone to another, making more heads gather and bend over the phone. A single light bulb glows above them, causing a spotlight like those over celebrities to shine on them. Their pet, a happy white mongrel, lies on its side with its limbs towards the fire. It looks from face to face as the conversation moves, wags its tail and nods and shakes its head, as if it understands the love and warmth that embrace the family, as if it takes part in that fireside affair of the early dawn of an autumn that is slowly settling in. I have often heard the people call the mongrel ‘Aapi’ – that is. “girl”. So I understand that she’s a female. And a pretty one too. Outside, darkness is gently lifting, but the sun hasn’t yet risen. I get a clear sight of the morning routine of my neighbour’s kitchen because their fireplace has no sidewalls. It has a roof though, a slab of concrete. On a floor above, there are beds yet unmade. Mosquito nets hang like food covers over a plate of cut fruit, but here over unpolished, unsmoothed wooden structures which pass as beds. On a string tied between two pillars next to the beds are a couple of frayed, tattered garments, hanging and waiting for the sun to dry them. A shade of ruddy brown has taken over all of them.
This is their home. For now. They are construction workers, and this is where they are working, building houses for others to stay in, and to make homes out of these houses. They do not know for whom they are building these apartments. They do not know who will stay there. They do not know how long they themselves will be staying there; but for now, this is home for them. Even before the sun is fully out, they begin their work for the day, mixing concrete, bending iron bars, nailing into wood, and drilling into brick walls. Once the apartments are completed, they may not even be allowed inside. As I watch from my terrace, the realization snuggles into my heart – like a child snuggling into its mother’s arms to sleep with assurance — that homes are made of a crackling fire, food, warmth in the hearts, and a pet lazing around. Not the bricks that form the walls. For, as I see, the construction site where these workers are staying has only the concrete slabs erected so far. There are no brick walls, yet it serves as a home. I have also visited fancy mansions that reek of steely loneliness, their walls fully bricked and adorned with priceless artifacts, yet failing to make the house a home. I know too, that the workers are building to earn a living. Yet, it is the way they put their hearts into their labour that stirs the soul. Complete strangers, who have come together to form a family and build a house with care for someone else to stay.
It makes me think, that we too can build – schools, homes, hospitals, parks, conducive environments and nations, for others to learn, stay, heal, play and grow. The thought does fleetingly come to me questioning the point of my building these if I do not get to use these? But did I not go to schools, hospitals, parks that others built? Do I not stay in a house that someone else built, and do I not live a free citizen in a nation that others built? If others have built and left for us to benefit, can I not do the same for yet others?
I watch the workers bringing the vessel down from the fire, serving their meal on their steel plates and ladling a few scoops for Aapi on a leaf. They talk as they eat together. They teach me that I too can join hands to build a world free of war and hatred, with an environment where our children will live and grow fearlessly, will love and be loved.
It is my turn, to build for others, and for them.
