We lived in the outskirts of Mumbai, in the dirt, grime, and in the stench emanating from rotting carcasses of dogs. We lived in the slum, which we gladly called our home. We knew every body in our part of the slum and we called them our own brothers and sisters, our uncles and aunties. Pranav, my brother, my cousin Adarsh, and I did not have the opportunity to go to school like many Mumbai school children, so we usually hopped onto the train running to Thane, which was one hundred kilometers away from Mumbai. The train arrived at 12:00 pm, so we woke up at dawn and collected miscellaneous items from overflowing trash heaps throughout the slum. Somehow, we evaded the sight of the British soldiers who were patrolling the area near the train tracks. Luckily for us, we were skilled at getting what we needed at the time, which was money to survive. When the time approached noon, I remember running to the train tracks with Adarsh and Pranav like usual, being elated that we caught the train in time, listening to the train scream as it ran on the tracks, hiding in some shrubs located near the train tracks, and seeing two British soldiers peer out from the train into the nearby slum. It’s a good thing that Adarsh, Pranav, and I raced every day while we were in the slum. We needed those legs to chase a train. So, as the two British soldiers passed from view, we jumped out of the bushes and ran like our lives depended on it. Adarsh, Pranav, and I ended up jumping into different train compartments. Each of knew our what we had to do, which was to sell these goods to the lovely white folk who loved to buy our stuff. We all had a knack of being fancied upon by the old white ladies that used to board the train a lot, so they used to buy our stuff in bulk. Many gave us five hundred rupees just because we were cute and sadly because they had that kind of money to hand out to poor souls like us. Adarsh, Pranav, and I met up in a pre-designated spot in the train where no one would find us. We were elated with the amount of money we were able to obtain that day when the two British soldiers decided to intrude our solace and joy. The compartment door was slammed open and the two handsome young soldiers with orange mustaches pointed muskets at us and subsequently grabbed us by our shirts. Luckily, our shirts were not torn off our backs. The soldiers threw us off the train and for a moment, we felt like birds who learned to fly for the first time and the next moment we felt like the clothes that aunties in our slum rung out on the rocks. We dragged ourselves up out of the dirt and we cringed at our abrasions. We were thrown right back into the slum where the British thought ruffians like us deserved to be. Suddenly, we heard more gunshots and we thought that the soldiers we just encountered were shooting at us. We started to run frantically in fear of losing our pitiful lives, but we slowly realized that this wasn’t true. We all looked once more and we realized where the gunfire was coming from: inside our neighborhood. A lot of smoke was rising into the sky and it seemed like the gunfire didn’t stop. Adarsh led the way and my brother and I followed behind him. We were gifted runners, but neither of us wanted to run right into this new hell. Without delay, we were running inside the slum, past pregnant mothers with several children already, past kids who lacked clothes, past oxen, trash heaps and sewage, and rickshaws. Our legs were giving up and so were we. Before they could, we ran into pools of blood and carcasses of family and relatives. All three of us cowered in fear and proceeded to hide inside the habitation that was once called a home by our dead loved ones. The red haired British soldiers with fancy moustaches stormed out of our neighborhood after getting into a skirmish with the slum’s inhabitants, which left the majority of our family members and relatives dead. The rest of the slum was silent for the rest of the day. It rained that evening almost as if Earth wanted to wash away this sin off its soil. We sat despondently inside the habitation staring at our parents and our uncles and aunties who we saw slaughtered right in front of us. Pranav and Adarsh were prodding the earth with a long stick that they found inside the habitation when they came across a journal that was conveniently forgotten by the British and left on the ground with some pages open. Luckily, the journal wasn’t corrupted by the rain and a source of light was available to read the entry, which was in hindi. One of the last lines of the entry read, “ Come to America, the land of opportunity and riches.” That evening, we decided to leave our pitiful and meaningless lives for this so called “America,” and the only things we brought with us were long scimitars that we found. We left for the coast that evening while the rest of the slum was inactive and quiet.

Adarsh, Pranav, and I had to make haste because dawn was near and because British soldiers were patrolling the area. We cut some trees down in the surrounding forest and we constructed a boat with the knowledge that our parents and relatives passed down to us because they were fishers. Because they were fishers, we were also able to construct fishing poles, which we knew would come handy on the trip to America. We all pushed the boat together right into the Arabian Sea and were elated to meet the rising sun along the way.

…

Several months later we were nearing the American coastline. A tall green statue of a person that was holding a lantern appeared in the horizon. We all stood up and prayed, thanking this statue for our safe journey to America. Soon after we finally reached the American coastline at dawn. At first glance, we saw people of a completely different color, horse-drawn carriages, and people wearing luxurious fur coats and top hats running around. A sign read, “ Welcome to New York,” and we were all astounded at how different our current reality was. Every one was clothed, the streets were clean, there were places for people to walk without getting hurt by vehicles, and there was us, displaced and confused as to what to make of the situation. We wandered in the streets and chanced upon a neighborhood of similarly colored people who happened to speak our language. They took us in, fed us, gave us proper clothing, and taught us how to speak English. Deep down in our hearts, the rhythm of life in the slum was still beating and the yearning to return was growing, but now another beat played along, that of our current reality, and surprisingly music was made.