Ashes of a Riot

This is a story from my childhood, when I was around 12 or 13. Our school was in Paharganj, and since it was a morning school, 7–8 of us classmates would walk together from home. The route passed through Naya Bazaar, Qutub Road, Sadar Bazaar, Bara Tooti, and Motia Khan. It took nearly an hour to reach school.

Walking 3 km every morning and afternoon wore out our slippers and shoes quickly. In Motia Khan, a cobbler sat on the footpath. For 5–10 paise, he would repair footwear. His son, Chhotu, was our age and studied in a government school, which in Delhi runs in the afternoon. In the mornings, he helped his father with repairs.

Back then, Old Delhi saw 2–4 riots every year. To us, a riot meant looting and burning of shops. One such riot happened in Sadar Bazaar. Many clothing shops were looted.  Anyone, poor or not-so-poor, who could lay his hand on something took advantage and grabbed what they could.  Kids who wore torn clothes to school suddenly appeared in new outfits. That year, many celebrated Eid and Diwali in new clothes.

About 15–20 days after the riot, we were walking home from school. The sole of friend’s shoe suddenly came apart.  Chhotu was sitting at the shop in his worn school uniform. I wondered why he wasn’t in school. Maybe his father was unwell?

I asked, “Is your father sick?”

Chhotu replied, “I’ve left school. I’ll sit at the shop now.”

I asked, “Why?”

He said, “Abbu is in jail.”

That day, his mother had woken his father early and said, “Shops are being looted in Sadar. Our neighbour Nanake brought back cloth rolls. All the men have gone to the site. And you’re still sleeping?”

Abbu hesitated, but he hadn’t bought new clothes for his children in years. The whole neighbourhood—Hindu and Muslim alike—was looting.

He joined the crowd, entered a shop, and carried out cloth rolls. But at that movement the police arrived. He panicked, fell, and was caught red-handed.

At that age, I didn’t know what one was supposed to say in such moments. Still, I gathered courage and asked, “Have you hired a lawyer?”

He said, “Yes, we did hire one. But he says there’s solid evidence against Abbu. He’ll have to spend a few years in jail, no matter what.”

Chhotu said, “Abbu made a mistake. Bad luck, that’s all.”

His education ended. The burden of the household fell on his young shoulders.

That year, Eid and Diwali brought darkness to many homes.