Delhi - lost dreams

In the creased cracks of his face
you can see the years
the years full of dreams, pulsating with the drive
but he was powerless
the might of the city claimed him
he now slogs, carts stones
his eyes look into the space
they don't see beyond the daily wages
too caught up in their crumbling lives to care even
it's getting beyond the present
the future is too distant and the smog too thick

when he left the village nine years ago
it was the lure of the city, the temptation of opportunity
but he was lost
in his rickshaw, he still dares to dream
every now and then
he talks about the plans
he wants to buy his own rickshaw
then maybe he will save more
maybe then he can walk into stores
buy a nice cell phone and eat in restaurants
he isn't asking for too much
he askes me if that's a lot
I don't know
who knows
but he is optimistic
nine years of driving the auto
nine years of handing over most his wages towards the rental
nine years of waiting for better times
have not embittered him
he shows me the development
the ugly development that is haphazard
it is crawling into little spaces, eating up personal lives
it is spilling on to the narrow streets
it is taking on the skies too
the high rises are competing with the horizon
the eyes tire and finally give up
they can't see beyond the 50th floor or maybe the 70th floor
something is happening to the city, to the people
but the auto-wallah is happy
afterall, now a farmer's son can get to Delhi
and maybe find a peon's job and maybe through generations
and over the years, join the ranks of the middle class
isn't that something?
he asks me
I don't know
I can only look at the man on the margins
into the deep creases of his face and I am lost for words