One of the one percent in 13 million.

[Text and photo by Mayank Austen Soofi]

Once upon a time, not so long ago, a boy called Akash lived in Dharam Nagar Bhagri, a village in Bihar’s zila Purbi Champaran. His father was a farmer, so was the father’s father. Akash too was expected to become a farmer. In fact, the family continues to own a plot of agricultural land amounting to “barah ghattha,” which is less than a beegha.

On growing out of his childhood, Akash surprised nobody by plunging into a farmer’s routine. He diligently worked on the land, helping produce cyclic harvests of “dhaan, gehu, aloo.”

And so the days passed, until Akash fell in love. It ended in heartbreak. He started to compose poetry, and would sing aloud his lines during the day’s work in the field. Gradually, Akash came to be known by his friends and acquaintances as “albela,” a word that implies a kind of dandy, though in his case, a rather sad-seeming dandy. Akash nevertheless gathered a following for his songs. A few admirers even started to call him affectionately as “Albela ji.”

Eventually, the family got the young man married to a suitable girl of their choice. Having a new person in life helped Akash ‘Albela’ recover from the melancholy. He stopped composing poetry; he stopped singing. In order to bring material comfort to his life’s companion, he started to work harder as a farmer. But here’s the thing about living in a village: “paisa kam, mehnat jyada.” One works hard but the extensive labour doesn’t translate into enough earning. So, Akash left the village for a far-off city, which he hoped would show more respect to his labour, and would help him better support the family in the village.

This is the story so far of Akash ‘Albela’, as told by him this afternoon in a central Delhi bookstore where he has been working for some years. Agreeing to a request, he sings one of his old songs, after which he gives the background context to the Bhojpuri lyrics. “The gaana was about a boy who bepanah (greatly) loved a girl. But the girl left the boy, she felt no pity for him, the boy had tears in his eyes… the girl just went away from his life.”

Silence follows.

“My old hurt is gone. I now have two little daughters–Ankita and Amaira. I’m devoted to Drupadi Devi, my wife.”

[This is the 598th portrait of Mission Delhi project]