A Free Man: A True Story of Life & Death in Delhi by Aman Sethi
India is another one I think we're all pretty familiar with:
Mohammed Ashraf studied biology, became a butcher, a tailor, and an electrician’s apprentice; now he is a homeless day laborer in the heart of old Delhi. How did he end up this way? In an astonishing debut, Aman Sethi brings him and his indelible group of friends to life through their adventures and misfortunes in the Old Delhi Railway Station, the harrowing wards of a tuberculosis hospital, an illegal bar made of cardboard and plywood, and into Beggars Court and back onto the streets.
In a time of global economic strain, this is an unforgettable evocation of persistence in the face of poverty in one of the world’s largest cities. Sethi recounts Ashraf’s surprising life story with wit, candor, and verve, and A Free Man becomes a moving story of the many ways a man can be free.
Let me start by saying this book was published in 2013. Less than 10 years ago. I kept having to remind myself of this fact because so many aspects of this did not seem like a modern story.
Most of the book is just kind of disjointed stories about Ashraf (with anecdotes about the rest of the friend group thrown in). Even though it didn't really follow a chronological timeline, the random stories didn't bother me. This was kind of a story of how the "other half" (except the very poor kind, not the very wealthy kind) live. And it's kind of amazing. There are so many things you see or hear about and think "I could never do that" or "I'd never survive," but people's resiliency is pretty astonishing.
So, because the stories were a little disjointed, my thoughts will be too. Although...they probably are most of the time. Oh well, here we go!
"'Yes, an LLP--Likh Lowda Padh Patthar. And when they ask you what you are, answer loudly and proudly. Chances are they will neer know what it means.' What it means, literally is Write Penis Read Stone--Ashrafspeak for someone who is completely illiterate." This just cracked me up. I wish I had this kind of quick thinking and wit.
"Without a beedi the alcohol stays in the stomach; with a beedi, the heat makes it vaporize and enter the brain. Or was it the other way around--did alcohol make beedis enter the brain? But in either case, beedis were bad for the brain, and alcohol was good for the heart." So the Google is telling me a beedi is just a hand-rolled cigarette, but I really got the impression in the book that it was marijuana. Either way, I think they may have the whole thing wrong.
"A dancing adventurer, with my heart for a treasure chest and my penis for a gun." There's absolutely nothing I can add to this sentence. It's beautiful and weird.
"As a result, every interview is a bit like playing a word association game. Kalyani to sex to Bombay whorehouse to slapping." This made me giggle because I can absolutely relate. I've lost count of the amount of times I've had to apologize and tell people, "I have this horrible habit of assuming everyone followed the train of thought in my head."
But here were a couple of very sobering passages:
"The most incredible scheme was told to me by Guddu, a young man of twenty-two, who ended up in Bara Tooti when his first dream ended in disappointment. 'What did you want to do?' I asked. 'I wanted to sell my kidney.'" ... "For you, all this is research: a boy tries to sell his kidney, you write it down in your notebook. A man goes crazy somewhere between Delhi and Bombay, you store it in your recorder. But for other people, this is life." And this is one of the parts where I had to remind myself that this book is less than 10 years old. There are people living today who are so desperate they're willing to sell an organ.
And then we get to the tuberculosis part. Living in the US, it's hard to think of people across the world still getting this disease. I mean they don't even bother with the vaccine anymore here because it's so uncommon. The author describes a 10 minute, packed, silent bus ride to the TB hospital; highlighting the silence: "Conversations might go beyond discussing the rising price of dal to more uncomfortable places: places where the man with a raw open would covered with a somewhat clean cloth discovers he is sitting next to the lady with a fungal skin infection, and the boy burning with fever leans against the man who might have leprosy." Granted, you never completely know you're safe from someone else's disease or illness, but I can't imagine the terror of that 10 minute ride.
Sethi describes the TB hospital and the treatment the patients get: turn your face away from the patient, stay a good distance away, don't stay long, wear a mask. It has to be so depressing. But he also told the beautiful story of a barber who goes to the hospital every day to shave the patients. And he looks them in the eye and talks to them and gives them some comfort.
One thing I really liked was that Sethi had intended to write a book about this slum area of Delhi, but he ended up almost being Ashraf's guardian or savior. When things were going badly, Ashraf called Aman. They spent so much time together and developed a close friendship. In recounts of their conversations, they always called each other "bhai," which means brother. They continued their friendship over the years. Finally, I came across what I really hoped would be the last line (and it was): "The past is done, Aman bhai. In future we will only talk about the future."
What a beautiful thought.
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