Through the hustle and bustle of the marketplace, the old man cycled his way out with his wagon following behind. His first contributor was the old woman who lived at the very end of the slums.

She had brought her cardboard collection, which she spent the early hours of the morning collecting. The old man counted slowly as she loaded one piece at a time, but stopped her halfway, “No, not that one. That one is wet.” She apologized and put that sheet on the ground before continuing to load the wagon attached at the end of the cycle.

The old man took a total count and then handed her a total of 50 rupees, which she accepted. She attempted to bargain, but the old man only had that much to give. He cycled away to his next contributor as she ventured to start her next job, given that she had lied about her age to get the job, but only by just a little.

After all, there was no job for an octogenarian, so maybe she did take off a decade of her age, but who’s to say what? There was no one to slap a birth certificate at the people who hired her. There was no birth certificate at all. Maybe at some point, some people might have known or had an idea, but now, there was no one. Her husband had died long ago. Her younger son and daughter-in-law followed suit and died in an accident. Her older son? We don’t speak of him anymore.

But that was the issue. Her joints creaked more than her colleagues and the long hours of the morning spent on picking trash were harsh. The pay was measly, but that was the only place that employed her now. She often wondered who would perform her last funeral rites, but alas, it made no sense to think such thoughts.

At that point, it wasn’t her problem anymore. She bought herself some tea and pav and hobbled back to her hut to rest for a little while.

It was the old man who dealt with cardboard who found her in the morning. It was unlike her not to be standing outside with her stack, so he went in to check.

He wasn’t sure when she had passed, but as he checked her breath, he also did not expect the loud cry that arose from within him.

Author-Aavisha