I started reading voraciously during my sixth grade summer holidays and quickly realized that reading (while eating mangoes) was my favorite pastime. At first, it was The Famous Five, Nancy Drew, and the Hardy Boys. Since I was growing up in Mumbai, India, all these books did was introduce me to British and American food and filled me with a longing to visit that side of the world. At sixteen, however, I picked up a fat tome called the City of Joy by author Dominique Lapierre. The story was set in Kolkata, India, in a neighborhood called Anand Nagar. I was intrigued because I also lived in a neighborhood called Anand Nagar, or the city of joy but on the opposite side of the country.

The similarities started and ended with the name. The book the City of Joy was a stark reminder of the cruelty of living in abject poverty. The stories of the main characters Hasari Pal, a peasant turned human rickshaw puller who suffered from tuberculosis, and Stephen Kovalski, a Polish priest who lived and served in the slums of Kolkata, were harrowing. The stories of the secondary characters: the lepers who were ignored by the poor and the rich, the women who had to get coat-hanger abortions, and the man who was forced into being a eunuch or intersex person were heart-breaking and traumatizing. I could not read the book for more than a few pages each day as the stories bored into me like a worm. My sixteen-year-old brain could not fathom the extent of suffering humans underwent, and each evening I would go to bed deeply disturbed and on the verge of crying helplessly.

Yet, the City of Joy also showed me another universal side of humans regardless of social status. In Dominique Lapierre's Anand Nagar, there were weddings and birthday parties. Festivals, where people wore their best attire, were celebrated with panache, and there was a sense of community even during the bleakest moments, and they stayed with me for a long time.

This book forced me to question my privileged upbringing and place in society. It forced me to notice the maid who's children were given my old clothes and the man who picked up our trash even on bank holidays as people. Until then, I was living in my own bubble, and when the book blew through it, I was left feeling saddened and angry at the state of the world and my own country.

Because of this book, I chose a service-based career in Public Health, intending to help underserved populations. It wasn't a conscious decision, but the City of Joy fundamentally changed me. It would be prudent to say it re-wrote my DNA. Of course, I am still one person trying to do my best in a callous society. However, books do have the power to change us and mold us into becoming better people.

Eight-year-old Tariq opened the door to the deli and it jingled. Behind the counter, Mrs. Choi craned her neck and frowned.

“You again?” she said, “You better have...”

Tariq reached into his pocket, pulled out some crumpled dollar bills and showed them to her.

“Five dollars,” she said.

He nodded assent, counted out the dollars and handed them to Mrs. Choi. Along with the money, he handed her a thin strip of paper with specific numbers he had chosen. She clucked her tongue at the added effort but punched them in any way and rang him up for the lottery ticket.

He felt an uncanny excitement as he looked at each number. He spent his last dollar on four pieces of ginger candy and walked out of the deli, clutching the ticket in hand. Going straight back home, Tariq showed it to the stranger waiting in his room. The stranger looked much like Tariq with short-cropped curly hair and hazel eyes, but he wore glasses and had a beard. He examined the numbers closely, then handed it back to Tariq.

“Tomorrow, you will be rich. Take care of mom, just for tonight. Don’t let Sid anywhere near her. Lets keep her alive this time.”

He ordered Tariq to bolt the door and helped move the couch to block the entrance completely. He walked back to Taqriq’s room and entered the closet. Tariq waited for ten seconds and went to check the closet but the man was gone. He then went into the kitchen and scoured the cabinets for food. He prepared a bowl of cereal and milk and carried it over to his mom. He woke her up from a deep sleep, her hair unkempt, vomit crusted on the side of her mouth, reeking of piss and sweat. She ate the cereal hungrily.

Tariq heard a loud thump on the door as Sid tried to break it open. He jumped with every bang. He kept a baseball bat at the ready by the side of the bed. After a few minutes, the bangs stopped and there was dead silence. He picked up a blanket and covered both himself and his mom. They both laid down to sleep his frail body against hers. His belly rumbled but he ignored it.

“Tomorrow, I will be rich,” he muttered and fell asleep.

#timetravel #future #fiction #sciencefiction