The Bicycle Thief

"Bhaiya", his voice cracked through the delirious monotones that overwhelmed his thoughts. "Mera cycle kissi ne le liya, aapke gate ke bahar hi rakha tha", he continued, trying to regain composure, trying to recap the routine sequence of events that he had followed day in and day out; cycling from his home to the homes of the various ppl he worked for; cooking their food, cleaning their houses; learning to live with his position in the hierarchy of social interaction and financial status. "Ab main kaam kaise karoonga, main kya kaaronga", the question drifted away from his humble frame, drifted away for anyone to answer. His economical means of transport was whisked away from under his seat; without warning, without remorse; We decided to give him some part of the money to buy a new bicycle, his finances unable to handle this disruptive event.

As the hands of the clock followed their monotonous paths, ticking their tocks over the next few weeks, he started to get a bit more lax in his work. The frequency of leaves and undone chores increased. We spoke to him about it but found that it had little effect, as he always seemed to be battling with time. He continued to cook good food but fell behind in other departments. We tried to find a mutually beneficial barter between us, but it was elusive; as elusive as the bicycle thief who had given him the itch, and he had begun to scratch. The itch had metamorphosed and was mainfesting itself in his uneasiness to live with his position in the hierarchy of social interaction and financial status. The Bicycle Thief had struck again.