Day 1 → Hope
Cough, cough… That’s the sound my mom makes when she sees me. It’s never a happy tone, just this weak cough.
My dad left behind two things: debt, and his prized possession, a bike, still parked in all its dusty glory on our lawn. I wasn’t taught much back then. Hunger, poverty, the absence of stability : these were my teachers. I survived on a single cup of tea in the morning for 25 years of my life.
Still, I went out each day to small shops, offering help: delivering items, lifting heavy utensils or equipment. In return, they’d give me 200–250 rupees. It wasn’t much, but enough to keep my internet running.
Speaking of which, yesterday I watched an Instagram video of a guy making ₹85,000 a month doing 13-hour rides a day. I could stretch that far. I have a bike too. Maybe… I should start tomorrow.
Day 4 → Counting
I made ₹1100 today, five times more than I earned two days ago… or was it three days ago? I have lost track of the days.
Am I leaving my past behind?
After deducting petrol, 3 teas, and breakfast (I couldn’t afford more than one tea and I never heard the term breakfast before), I can finally take my mom to her doctor’s appointment. She deserves to be as healthy as me. What a hero I’d be in her eyes.
She doesn’t know what I do. I overheard her once saying to someone that I work as a security guard. She avoids asking, perhaps fearing the truth might not align with her hopes. So shhh, let’s not talk about it.
Day 8 → Tired Bones
I was parked on the roadside for a while, traffic was insane, and the heat unbearable. My shirt clung to me, soaked in sweat. I felt cold and hot at the same time. My nose started dripping, and I passed out for 15 minutes.
Violent honking jolted me awake. I came back to my senses and pushed on.
My back aches constantly. Today I bought a support belt for ₹300. That’s a luxury I can now afford.
I reached home, drained. My mom, despite her weak lungs, rushed to bring me inside, gave me cold water, made me bathe, and served me food. She, lovingly, told me not to push so hard.
I didn’t reply. I just sat there, gently massaging her feet.
The hard workers, the moms : they’re the ones who know how to stay silent through pain.
She cares deeply, yet never complains.
I love her. I love her so much.
Day 12 → Close Call
They hit him on the face. Thudd I was parked just a few meters away.
The goons, auto drivers, let him go, but not without leaving a trail of blood. That was the only mercy they showed.
I’m genuinely scared.
I always engage in small talk with passengers, partly out of curiosity, partly out of caution. There could be mean drivers nearby, maybe even those same guys. I’ll never park near an auto stand again. No uniforms, no yellow helmets.
I’ll be a shadow that roams around.
That was too close.
Day 17 → The ₹85,000 Dream
I’m beaten. Working every single day in this new, unforgiving Bangalore heat. Once known for its pleasant climate, now it’s just blazing hot.
Why, Sun? Why shine so bright when I’m trying to shine too?
Every night I return to that Instagram video, the one with the guy who earns ₹85,000. He’s the me of my dreams. I tell myself, I can earn that too.
Tonight, I sent that video to my mom on the phone I bought through this gig. A phone… paid for by my sweat. I even pay our bills now.
She smiled. I’ve never seen her that happy. I told her we’ll manage the surgery cost too. She smiled again, but this time with pride, I could see that in her eyes.
Day 20 → Hospital Day
We went to the hospital together today for her routine checkup. I’ve known since my dad passed that she needs surgery, though she never told me directly.
I took her like a queen in an auto. The hospital bill? It was exactly a day’s pay.
She asked me twice, once in the auto and once while reading the bill, “Can we afford this?”
I just smiled and paid.
Later, I treated her to a plate of biryani. She was happy and that’s all that mattered.
That night, I rode nonstop across Bangalore. Three or four pickups back to back. No breaks. I didn’t even need to pee… because all the water had drained from the tears of joy that wouldn’t stop flowing.
Day 29 → Storm Brewing
Whispers of bans filled the news. I joined a meeting with the “Bike Taxi Welfare Association.” The rumors were bad. Talks of a total ban.
Why now? Just when I’d started earning, just when I’d started living.
Everyone around me in that meeting was hopeful. I wasn’t. I left that meeting confused and sad.
My mom’s next round of tests is in 10 days.
I need to buckle up. Fill the tank. Ride as much as I can. But the doubt is creeping in.
Would this be the end? Am I going to wakeup from this dream soon?
Day 35 → The Ruling
It’s done.
It’s over.
Six more weeks. That’s all I get.
I read the news once. Then twice. Then a hundred times. It didn’t change. It didn’t disappear.
Mom is asleep. She sleeps well now. That cough that once completed she calling my name… it’s gone for now.
I don’t want to hear it again.
but, I’m back to being a failure. And this time, I’m going to break her trust too.
I sat by her bed tonight and cried like a child.
What do I do now? Is this world really that unforgiving?
The events that led to me writing this short story :
https://ajayan.substack.com/p/something-always-withers-to-be-food