In the heart of Hyderabad, Sindh, there exists a figure whose very existence embodies a poignant tale of struggle and survival. This young man, known simply as Babu, navigates the narrow alleys of life with a short pole hoisted on his shoulder. At one end of this staff, he cradles a small wire cage, a cage containing the melancholic flutter of about a dozen listless sparrows. His other hand tenderly clasps the tiny fingers of his young son, Pawan, creating an image that weaves together the complexities of poverty, tradition and unwavering paternal love.

Babu, seemingly in his early twenties, exists in a state of temporal ambiguity, unaware of his exact age. His world is confined to the impoverished enclave of Khuda ki Basti in the southern reaches of Hyderabad – a place that echoes with the collective sighs of those who endure life on the margins.

A member of the Vaghdi community, Babu carries with him the weight of a heritage that stretches from the vibrant landscapes of Gujarat and southern Rajasthan in India. The Vaghdis, often labelled as the gypsies of the sub-continent, bear the burden of societal prejudice, condemned to the classification of the Untouchable or Dalit Hindu caste. Their very name, Vaghdi, is said to be derived from the Sanskrit word wagura, meaning ‘net’ - a reminder of their historical association with trapping and selling birds. Their language is known as Vaghdi, Kookdi or Kukkar. Many Vaghdis make a living selling chicks and quails. The Vaghdi way of life, steeped in the lore of the wild jungle, is a testament to their survival instincts. They possess the unique gift of mimicry. Most of them are adept at imitating the calls of the birds they trap and cage.

The irony of their trade is not lost on Babu. He acknowledges the misfortune attached to the birds confined in the wire cage, destined to await liberation until someone pays for their freedom. Babu’s eyes reflect a mix of resignation and determination, for he knows no other way to earn a livelihood. The market, he says, is where he procures the cage full of birds, although he also engages in the art of catching them himself.

His narrative is a mosaic of sorrow and responsibility. Babu’s son, Pawan, carries the weight of an absent mother, a woman who departed this world upon his entry into it. Babu’s words, laden with the burden of indebtedness, reveal a life dictated by circumstance rather than choice. “Each hair on my head is indebted to someone or the other,” he laments. The cage and the birds, even the meager earnings, are transient possessions. He relinquishes a significant share of his earnings to the market’s unseen orchestrator, left with only a pittance to secure the journey home for himself and Pawan.

In Babu’s world, skills are a luxury. Survival is an art crafted from the threads of necessity. His story echoes through the labyrinthine streets of Khuda ki Basti and Hyderabad, a whispered testament to the man who carries the weight of tradition, societal judgments, and the unrelenting demands of fatherhood on his stooped shoulders.

Rumana Husain is an author, illustrator and educator. She may be contacted at husain.rumana@gmail.com