The concrete ceiling of an abandoned building in the midst of a slum greeted Anand as he opened his eyes. It was a warm April morning. As he turned to look at the stretch of shanties in front of him, he felt the pain in his back.

He was lying on a towel spread over a set of newspapers that he had collected the previous day. His shelter was an abandoned building that stood at the border of a slum. The floor was rough, unfinished and uneven. As he turned his painful back to the right, his eyes landed on the slum in front.

There was no wall, no doors and no windows. A path of about three metres separated the building from a long row of shanties, all covered in corrugated metal sheets.

The aroma of food wafted in with the warm wind. People were busy cooking. Children in tattered dirty clothing were playing. He looked at their innocent faces. Oblivious of poverty, these children were laughing and smiling. Without a doubt they were having a whale of a time, playing there on the bare ground with objects they found lying around: a punctured ball, an old bicycle tyre, a broken toy. They were happy even in their poverty.

Anand felt a lump in his throat and a constriction in his chest. He was trying to absorb a bit of the happiness from the children, but he could not. The hunger that was tearing him apart was far too strong for any smile. Never in twenty-three years of his life had he experienced this hunger.

He had boarded a train to travel to his birth place on the invitation of a friend. The reception at the majestic Pune railway station was warm. Pune, a historical city, about 150 km from Mumbai (formerly Bombay) is known as the Oxford of the East: it is a beautiful city with old buildings and a famous university.

This was where he grew up.

The shanties hugged each other for mutual support. Narrow paths criss-crossed the urban expanse. The sun’s heat, reflected from the metal sheets, added to the discomfort.

Ladies in colourful saris, men in white clothes, children in shorts and shirts. It was a lively scene. The scent of spices floated about from the kitchens.

Anand got up and changed. There was no possibility for him to have a wash. He walked out of the slums onto the main road. He was hungry but had no money. The little bit he had, he kept as savings to someday leave this place.

Three days he spent loitering about. He heard nothing more from his friend, the one who had dragged him here. He wondered how long he would hold out without sustenance. In the evenings he came back to his sleeping slot.

It was the fourth day. Anand was exhausted, hungry, depressed. He sat on what could hardly be called a bed. He dreamed of days when he never had to worry about hunger and sleeping in a comfortable bed.

He was awakened from his reverie by the sound of a lady. Gangubai, who lived directly opposite to where he slept, stood before him.

“You are from a good family,” she said. “Some bad fate has brought you here.”

Anand did not know what to say. He was ready to burst into tears.

“The last three days you haven’t eaten anything,” she said,“but today I shall give you a bit of food. I haven’t got much… but you need to eat something.”

Anand had difficulty in holding his tears back. Before he could speak, Gangubai went into her shanty and came out with a large steel plate. Two pieces of flatbread, a bit of rice, lentils and a vegetable dish were neatly arranged on the plate.

Gangubai placed the plate in front of him along with a mug of water. Anand had to control himself. He was extremely hungry. Three days of starvation was almost driving him into existential anxiety. Gangubai sat down on the path at an angle and talked.

“You know, my husband is a plumber. He hasn’t got a fixed job. If someone calls him to fix something, he gets paid.” There was no tone of complaint in her voice. “If he gets called to fix something he gets paid. There is no guarantee that he gets called.”

Anand had almost finished his food. He was still hungry but modesty had its strength. He dared not ask for more. He finished the large mug of water.

“However,” Gangubai continued, “every evening, we sit together and have our dinner together. The children get the first portion, because they are growing up.” Gangubai had two children, who were about five and seven years old. “My husband is served next because he is the one who goes out to find work and brings home the food.”

Anand looked at the slim woman. She had accepted her status without any complaint. She was peaceful and content.

Gangubai pointed to the other side of the road, where the high rise apartments stood, and said, “You know, Sir, we have got something that people there haven’t.”

Now Anand was curious. “What could that be?”

“We have got satisfaction. We are satisfied with what we have got. We are happy.”

Anand said nothing. He thanked the lady as she took away the plates and went back into her shanty. He lay down to sleep with Gangubai’s words echoing in his ears.

Even in this abject poverty, here is a person who is happy.

The next day Anand packed his small bag and headed for the railway station. He was going back to his old place. Back to being a teacher. He knew he could.

The train left with Anand.

He was on a new journey.