Writing a Security Guard

Portraying an aged security guard on the day-duty of the parking compound. He is there when employees enter the compound, and as well, when they fast leave it. He sits under a blue shed by the iron gate, over a broken plastic chair. At a distance, aroma of garbage collected in the green cylindrical plastic boxes is blushing the air. Unlike modern day security guards, he doesn't don a blue khaki.

Uncle Guard brings his own tiffin from somewhere he is staying along with a group of other people. He is a native from the central India, living far away from his family. His family stays back at home. He keeps the gate half closed and has tied a string at it to maneuver it. When a vehicle arrives, he directs the gate.

The stories of the migrant workers in India is wide, diverse and touching on vivid levels. While skilled labor force do enjoy a piece of cake, there are many who are fitting at the bottom of the pyramid and are dependent on unintellectual works for their survival. But these conscious beings do exist with the world running in parallel.

To those who have ever talked with him, he has an Allahabadi accent while speaking. Sometimes looking at him, I feel that the time has stopped moving. Not so frequently, Uncle guard is accompanied by an old lady. She would sweep the floor in the morning and as well collect the garbage during the evening time.

One that most distinctly seemed unclear, I beg to understand what drives him everyday? What's his motivation? After work at 7 PM, what makes him feel excited to go back to his resting place? We surely are amazing people with an amazing mental strength. Today, while entering, I waved at him, to which he raised his both hands and smiled back in return!

Laalman