Every morning, the author encounters a young barefoot boy scrounging through neighborhood garbage dumps for coins. When asked his name, he announces with quiet pride: “Saheb-e-Alam.” The author observes the painful, excruciating irony: if he knew its literal meaning—“Lord of the Universe”—he would have a hard time believing it! Instead of ruling worlds, this young king roams the burning streets of Delhi barefoot with an army of companion ragpickers who appear like morning birds and disappear by noon.
Saheb-e-Alam scrounging through garbage heaps for stray coins: “wrapped in wonder” amidst poverty.
When the author casually asks, “Why don’t you go to school?” Saheb replies that there is none in his neighborhood. The author half-jokingly asks if he will attend if she starts one. A few days later, Saheb runs up breathlessly: “Is your school ready?” The author feels deeply embarrassed for making a promise that was never meant—yet recognizes that empty promises like hers abound in every corner of his bleak world.