Musings at Mori Road

The rag picker across the street by now was a familiar sight. He had encroached on the pavement opposite my house and I had a clear view of him from my window. Often as I sipped my morning tea by the window, he would be up and about rummaging the dustbin for things he could salvage and sell. We call it recycling. My feeling on spotting him the first day was one of resentment. Surely we could do with lesser people encroaching our pavements I thought. Over time this Mori Road pavement became his home and he lived there with his wife, kid and a stray dog.   He was a tall man, lean, well built, dark in complexion with long locks of hair, and was at most times adorned in only a lungi drawn up to his knees. Which made me feel that he must be an immigrant from the south of India. As days passed, we started to notice each other, me standing at the window and he perched on the pavement across the street. He would sometimes look up and grin at me and wave and while I had no int...