The mood of the rising dawn made me despondent. It was dark, gloomy and still freezing and I felt like a dirty, crawling insect doomed to perish. My positivity had faded. I sat down and began brooding again. Distant music floated by on the cold winds as they fluttered some old newspapers in my direction. A storm was brewing. I buttoned my jacket to the neck and thrust my hands in my pockets.
The heavens began pouring like hell. The gusty wind swept the rain along the pavements, splashing and splitting the puddles. I ran to the entrance of a corner shop where I was blessed by the warm air creeping under the door. Around me the city had reached a sudden halt. It had reached a momentary curfew with nothing going on except torrents of water washing along the roads and running into the gutters. My trousers were soaking wet below my knees and my shoes were in taking water like a funnel. Panic struck me and I went inside and asked if I could shelter for a while until the rain stopped. The shopkeeper stared at me and made a positive nod which somehow also managed to convey his reluctance and repulsion. I was stinking and the cold was stinging me.
London is a soft whirlpool which draws derelict people inwards. And it is so vast that you can almost remain unnoticed and anonymous until you break the law. A fair proportion of tramps and beggars were decent guys once, but other people are taught to view them as parasites. For us, the feelings of fright, impotence and despair are far worse than the hardship, the enforced idleness, the degeneration of our health. Homelessness is the best way to feel truly secluded. I felt so uncomfortable in that corner shop that I left the place and rushed to the building opposite. Sheltering close to the wall, I hid myself from the view of the passers-by.
My heart was pounding, my head was swirming with evil thoughts and I felt engulfed by fear and panic. I don't believe in God, but if I did, I would have cursed him with every swear word on earth. I was swallowing my saliva again and again. I could not see an end to my misery. I wanted the rain to stop and to find a place to spend another penny.
It was an hour before the skies cleared and I began once again to walk towards the magic M sign, warming my body with hurried steps. This time, I slid into the toilets like a snake. There, I did what was needed and also took the time to warm my soggy socks under the hand dryer. I snuck out quickly, tiny and quiet as a mouse.
I found a betting shop not too far far away, went in gingerly and sat down next to a heater for some time, under the close, suspicious scutiny of the cashier. I felt like talking to him but I feared he might throw me out. My tired eyes glimpsed a sign on the counter. Free coffee. My thirst and hunger enzymes suddenly went into overdrive and I began experiencing a deelp craving. But it wasn't easy to ask the cashier. I feared slipping the cup between my lips. I was weak. I didn't want the answer to be no. Finally I took a deep breath and took the plunge.
Can I have one of your free coffees, please,” I asked. The man eyed me like a camera, zooming in on my profile. Without a single word he went away and brought me a huge cup of steaming hot coffee and put it on the counter. I took possession of my new treasure and went back to my seat to enjoy my first coffee as a homeless person. It is difficult to describe the mixed feelings of pleasure, guilt and shame that came as I drank that cup. Sometimes pride and virtue are burdens too heavy to carry in these moments of despair and struggle.
I dozed in the warmth, wondering where I might be able to stay that night. Time passed and it became dark again outside. I left the betting shop and went out to face the brooding evening. By now, I had not consumed any solid foods for three long days and my mind was pushing me towards the unknown world of begging. With no money, I had no other option; I was too weak to contemplate anything else. Morals and ethics do not feed an empty diabetic stomach. But still there was fear. Do I have the profile of a beggar, I asked myself. Will I have the courage to beg? Will I be be accepted as a beggar? But the more I thought about begging, the more devilishly hungry I became. I had no choice. I started looking for my first prey.
The crowd was moving hastily and I knew it wouldn't be easy to catch someone's eye or sympathy in the dark. Further down the street I spotted what appeared to be a fried chicken shop and edged towards its glowing window. Peering inside I realised it was an Asian takeaway. Now, I can verse fluently in the tongues of Shakespeare, Moliere and Tagore, so, with a ray of hope rushing through my body I went inside and asked if they spoke Hindi or Urdu. They answered, yes.
I told them I was hungry, diabetic and had no money. I was shaking with fear and my teeth were rattling under my jaw, still frozen by the cold. One of the guys asked me to wait until he had served the next customer. I waited in uncomfortable, ashamed silence. A few minutes later he came back to me with a couple of chicken wings and some chips and asked me not to eat it on the premises. I grabbed the meal clumsily and slipped away as fast as I could. Outside I was almost dribbling as I tried to swallow it quickly to dampen my hunger and avoid being noticed. I felt violated, raped, Words can hardly describe the the disgust and rejection you feel when you have been humiliated when being humiliated for such a basic need. But there was some relief. My diabetic stomach was full and I was spared of hunger for a while.
By now it was late at night and the city was shrinking slowly towards stillness. I was too tired to walk back to the station that was fast becoming my regular sleeping spot so I snuck on to a bendy bus through the rear door. I dosed off, woken by a faraway voice saying, “Excuse me sir, this is the last stop”. I could barely open my eyes and worried about whether the sounds were coming from the driver or a policeman. My body made an involuntary jump and I saw that it was the driver staring at me, giving me that nasty look that I am now so used to.
As I walked off the bus I realised that I was not in the centre of London now but some miles away in the suburbs of Edmonton Green. I sat down on the pavement and waited for the next bus to take me back. By the time I arrived at London Bridge it was early dawn and a coffee shop was already open. I went straight in and asked if I could have a hot drink. I told the guy was homeless and I had no money. As my pride slipped I was beginning to think that luck was at least starting to side with my ill fortune. My begging skills were improving fast. I was quickly learning my new trade.
