Libre Magazine

Bricks, sand, steel and the deafening sounds of dreadful machines; as far back as she could remember that’s how her life had become.

Her feet had long forgotten the soft feel of a pair of comfortable shoes or even remotely fashionable sandals; her only comfort was that wooden plateau that would bend a fraction to take the load off her heavy feet. It had been 9 years now working in the city of concrete, carrying the baskets of bricks, sand and helplessness.

Everyday, after a long day’s hard work and on her way home, she would sit in a broken seat of a bus thronged with porters and masons who smelled the smell of their burnt out hearts, she would think of quitting it all. “Today I go back home and never come back; this is all too much for me. My daughter is growing into a woman now, she will be 14 in a few months; I need to spend more time with her.”

The next morning, a rotten drowsy voice would wake her up, “Hurry up you lazy soul, we don’t want to miss the bus; I don’t want to pay for the rickshaw, its too damn expensive. This cursed Government of ours is good for nothing; and so are you, you lazy woman, wake up; I need breakfast.”

That day was more painful. A nail was hiding with a purpose under the thin surface of a sand floor and penetrated into her left foot as soon as she stepped on it. There was no time for treatment; she put some mud on her wound, laughing in her heart as she thought of a day before her wedding when her future husband sang her a song promising her he would spread petals under her feet; she kept working. Each time her left foot touched the harsh surface of the wood, a tear and a smile would battle their way into her eyes; but she would hurriedly lift her foot again to minimize the load.

“This is it, I am not coming to work from tomorrow, I am tired, cant you see?” during the lunch break she finally gathered enough courage to say it to her husband; who, lost in his own thoughts, agreed to her idea. She was surprised, but only for a while; a comfortable lightness eased her shoulders and she started smiling.

Sitting in the bus she kept thinking about the freedom that would be dawning tomorrow morning. She smelled no burning heart anymore. At night she spent good time with her daughter and son and in the late hours went to bed.

She was about to fall into the land of intoxication when a thought struck her mind like thunder; “My daughter will be 14 in two months, and in two years she will be of age to get married. A wedding has its asking.”

It was work tomorrow.