THOSE WHO EARN TILL THE END

In the heart of the colourful cities of Bangladesh, where bustling streets meet the weary faces of commuters, exists a group of unsung heroes: the elderly rickshaw pullers, workers, and sellers. Their faces, etched with lines of experience and the weight of time, weave a tapestry of stories, each representing a struggle endured with grace.
As the sun shyly rises above the horizon in the early morning light, these ageing warriors awaken from their slumber in the city's labyrinthine alleys. For them, life is a tussle of fate, a constant dance with destiny.
"Even though I don't have sons, I've been blessed with lovely daughters. After marrying them off, my heart ached when they drifted away, and the years have slipped by. Now it is just my wife and me, facing each day together," shared Abdul Hakim, an 85-year-old vegetable seller, surviving each day in the alleys of busy Naryanganj.
As his eyes started to line with tears, he continued, "We work to keep going, to put food on the table. I don't mind it at all. As long as Allah gives me the strength, I'll keep earning my living."
His voice quivered with emotion, and lines deepened on his face. Taking a moment, he added with a heavy sigh, "With not much else left in life, it hurts when young ones, some around the age of my own grandkids, avoid looking at me. I don't expect pity from them, yet, after living all these years, a bit of respect would mean the world to me."
Eagerly stepping out in the streets with eyes of determination, Hakim starts out early to buy the best vegetables from vendors despite his aching joints.
"It's a real struggle to keep up with those young folks when I'm haggling for fresh veggies from the vendors. Most of the time, I come back with the leftovers. So, shoppers don't buy from me as much as they used to, causing me losses. I just don't have that vigour as I used to," Abdul Hakim sighed as his face mirrored the stories of the countless shoppers he sold his vegetables to. His words carried a mixture of frustration and nostalgia.
As the day unfolds, the weather becomes relentless, scorching the streets with fury, and the roads get filled with rickshaws, three-wheelers, cars, and buses. However, Joshim Mia, a 68-year-old rickshaw puller, pulls his rickshaw with a spirit undeterred by the toils of his body.
"My body has aged, and pulling passengers has become difficult for me. But now I am on my own. I need to work hard to earn my daily bread and will continue this journey until the end of my life."
As Dhaka's heartbeats are imprinted on his soul, he witnesses the stories of those who travel with him. "I don't mind pulling this old rickshaw of mine, as my sweat is not only my meagre earning but also my sense of purpose," continued Joshim Mia as he shared the many stories of his passengers, where each day he weaved the threads of compassion into the fabric of life.
"Whenever I see these old people trying their best to live their lives honestly, a sense of responsibility stirs within me, and so I make an effort to buy from them," shared Asif Zaman Srizon, a working bee buzzing the streets of Bailey Road in Dhaka. His words resonated with a sense of compassion and solidarity.
"That day, it was raining heavily when I saw an elderly chacha selling toothbrushes drenched in the rain. A shiver ran down my spine as a rush of emotions engulfed me. Without hesitation, I immediately went to him and led him to a nearby shed. As I asked his name and introduced myself, I reassured him that he did not have to worry about selling his brushes as I bought quite a few of them and gave him some extra money," further narrated Srizon, as his words reflected a heartfelt act of kindness and connection.
However, in the heart of a sprawling metropolis, where the pace of life is relentless, these elderly people may go unnoticed by many. But beneath every layer of adversity, they are the keepers of countless stories, the silent warriors of love and resilience.
When asked Rahima Begum (Pseudo name), a frail pitha seller in her elderly years, about her relentless labour despite her worn-out 72-year-old body, her response dripped with poignant contempt, "If I don't sell, then who will give me my bread? Would you?"
With those words hanging in the air, she resolutely returned to her task. While her younger peers cooked over 5 to 6 stoves, Rahima persevered with just one, her body refusing any further burden. Whenever someone wanted to hear about her tale, tired Rahima retorted with simmering anger, "You see, many become inquisitive when they see me making Chitui, yet sympathy is all they extend after hearing my narrative, but will they ever come to help me? No!"
As Rahima continues to cook her delicious Chitui pitha, the city's symphony comes alive as day turns into night, and the cacophony of horns and city life fades into the background. People like them may live simple lives; their struggles may be harsh. But within the depths of their spirits, they embody the essence of human nature and compassion. Hence, their eyes shine with the wisdom of age, understanding that life's beauty lies not in the riches of material possession but in the richness of human connection.

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