Raja’s poem uncovers the gritty reality of ragpickers, bridging the gap between their silent struggles and our shared humanity, for Different Truths.

Ragpickers come with sundry mornings
Bent over under ramshackle gunnies
Hawk eyes carrying an uncanny light
Searching amongst leftovers for treasures
Discards, you thought you could do without
That could still make a life
Or fire a dream
But let me tell you,
Ragpicker dreams are not velvet
They are grey, stone grey, silent
Not like yours or mine, all colours and music
Dreams are all right, though.
Of a few nickels, a square meal
A roof, and love
Their blue skies are different from ours
Their rainbows don’t carry seven shades
When they sweat, it’s unseasonal rain
When they cry, it’s a song
End of a tiresome day, they sing songs
Of pain and loss and grief
Love – they do not need to serenade
It’s just there, like the next loss
The melancholy touches your heart, stokes
And somewhere around the bend of your heartbreak 
You start to realise
The way they love and we love
Are no different
It is, but the same seasons, same angst
That makes us cry and fall in love
Again and again.

Picture design by Anumita Roy