Homeless

I was bone tired last night. Crushingly, numbingly so. Somewhere in the haze of going to sleep I remember phone calls going off. Sheba talking. Myself asleep. Then waking up to hear Sheba tell me that Mr. and Mrs. Washim's house was wrecked.

We knew it may be coming. Mr. and Mrs. Washim had called up earlier in the day to say that the police were patrolling - criss-crossing the area in their vehicles while talking with each other on walkie-talkies.

The area we are talking about?

A stretch of land next to one of the main water-pipelines that supply the thirsty city of Mumbai. A no-man's land. A strip of land on the current margins - where people have built shacks.

Mr. and Mrs. Washim earn their living by Mr. Washim's auto-rickshaw driving. They do not want to live there. But they have to rent somewhere. And the prices are just too high in other places. So they paid their deposit and moved to this shack last year.

Last evening the hut was destroyed. The mechanised shovels went in and smashed it to bits.

Mr. and Mrs. Washim spent the night outside with their belongings. Their three children were sent to stay with a relative. Mrs. Washim called Sheba at 11 PM.

Being HIV positive is not the only challenge that Mr. and Mrs. Washim face. Having an HIV positive daughter among their 3 kids is not the only sorrow in their heart.

They are homeless. Last night they slept under the grey sky, next to the mosquito infested swamp where their shack stood. This morning they will try to find a new place. Their 'deposit' is only due back at the end of the month.