At XYZ Private Bus Stand
A tedious day, made wrong guesses, showed less patience, things passed over out of the script and here i am sitting over my nasty bed, yawning yet not ready to sleep without gushing out what is on my mind.
Writing has always been a revelation to me. I feel closer to the Architect of the World. Writing gives me the pleasures of meditation as well as a dose of opium. i write this as a confession. Being a non-christian i admire their concept of confession to the priests. That truly gives more spectrum to commit more sins, to share more in to the ears of the 'houseful' heart and mind of the reverend Father.
well i think, i regret one of several errors i have done today. I showed the face of the angry birds today to a helpless female-beggar-mother, for a second i did not see the craving, hungry child latched on to her. his speechless face is stuck on to me, his glance is killing, i long to take time-travelling machine and at least give him a smile, and smiling can hurt them more too. May god save that child. may his life be away from the mass of people who dislike their presence, let him get education.
It was not intentional. every mistakes are unintentional and non-deliberate. however i tried, i am not able to console myself. i made another blot of mistake to the black-gruesome-stinging bowl of my mistakes.
Dear reader, you will be accusing me being a fool. Please understand I am wiser than you, if you had thought so.
Beggars have being part of all of our lives since our birth on the land of Bharath. i have spend time pondering over their lives and have dreamt an unfinished dream of beggars-free India. When nations are fighting to be first everywhere, India running up and down to get first on to the list of biggest nuclear powered country, launch more and more satellites, build good roads to welcome the former and still invisible colonisers feet...we ignore these helpless group of people, who neither belongs to BPL group, nor is counted in the surveys conducted by human-counting, non-humanitarian people. They would not be having election id card, adhaar or ration card(of course no - no). as they don't have election cards, they are illusionary fictional muggles roaming around with dirty clothes, teeth, hair and children, let me ask, who is gonna provide them face wash, tooth paste and shampoos, if they did have money for that, they would have eaten some food with out seeing crow-like faces( one i showed today) of rich (in their eyes) gentlemen and ladies.
Was irritated because this lady had patted me, which i thought was mean. i ignored. she patted again. i gave her COIN, she went away. i used to give coins to the ones that come for that, and oncewhen i gave two or three to one on a day and i was out of coins to pay for my bus ticket. And that gave me a bad day. A bad experience made me blind today. Am happy that i am able to recognise my bad deeds and mock myself. i have seen my parents give more money to these people than they give me and my sister as pocket money. i have also heard stories on how these victims of my parents benevolence took these money to the near by bar and had an awesome peg (1 peg= 75 Rupees).
when i was in my early teens i had a possible thought on why can't the humans of the community of whom we are discussing(repeatedly and constantly addressing them like that is BAD too) can not do some manual work and earn for living. Then i thought wisely...who are we to talk about them of whose sorrows, life patterns we shut our eyes and ears, and even if we open it wide, we can not hear. They do not know to talk in a language we social animals can decode, there are no literate people among them to write and share to the world, their ruptured life. They are put on the corners of potholed roads and well-holed society, they are cornered and dug down in the peripherals of all discourses...omg...let me stop here else the lessons I have learned in cultural studies would boggle you.
Writing has always been a revelation to me. I feel closer to the Architect of the World. Writing gives me the pleasures of meditation as well as a dose of opium. i write this as a confession. Being a non-christian i admire their concept of confession to the priests. That truly gives more spectrum to commit more sins, to share more in to the ears of the 'houseful' heart and mind of the reverend Father.
well i think, i regret one of several errors i have done today. I showed the face of the angry birds today to a helpless female-beggar-mother, for a second i did not see the craving, hungry child latched on to her. his speechless face is stuck on to me, his glance is killing, i long to take time-travelling machine and at least give him a smile, and smiling can hurt them more too. May god save that child. may his life be away from the mass of people who dislike their presence, let him get education.
It was not intentional. every mistakes are unintentional and non-deliberate. however i tried, i am not able to console myself. i made another blot of mistake to the black-gruesome-stinging bowl of my mistakes.
Dear reader, you will be accusing me being a fool. Please understand I am wiser than you, if you had thought so.
Beggars have being part of all of our lives since our birth on the land of Bharath. i have spend time pondering over their lives and have dreamt an unfinished dream of beggars-free India. When nations are fighting to be first everywhere, India running up and down to get first on to the list of biggest nuclear powered country, launch more and more satellites, build good roads to welcome the former and still invisible colonisers feet...we ignore these helpless group of people, who neither belongs to BPL group, nor is counted in the surveys conducted by human-counting, non-humanitarian people. They would not be having election id card, adhaar or ration card(of course no - no). as they don't have election cards, they are illusionary fictional muggles roaming around with dirty clothes, teeth, hair and children, let me ask, who is gonna provide them face wash, tooth paste and shampoos, if they did have money for that, they would have eaten some food with out seeing crow-like faces( one i showed today) of rich (in their eyes) gentlemen and ladies.
Was irritated because this lady had patted me, which i thought was mean. i ignored. she patted again. i gave her COIN, she went away. i used to give coins to the ones that come for that, and oncewhen i gave two or three to one on a day and i was out of coins to pay for my bus ticket. And that gave me a bad day. A bad experience made me blind today. Am happy that i am able to recognise my bad deeds and mock myself. i have seen my parents give more money to these people than they give me and my sister as pocket money. i have also heard stories on how these victims of my parents benevolence took these money to the near by bar and had an awesome peg (1 peg= 75 Rupees).
when i was in my early teens i had a possible thought on why can't the humans of the community of whom we are discussing(repeatedly and constantly addressing them like that is BAD too) can not do some manual work and earn for living. Then i thought wisely...who are we to talk about them of whose sorrows, life patterns we shut our eyes and ears, and even if we open it wide, we can not hear. They do not know to talk in a language we social animals can decode, there are no literate people among them to write and share to the world, their ruptured life. They are put on the corners of potholed roads and well-holed society, they are cornered and dug down in the peripherals of all discourses...omg...let me stop here else the lessons I have learned in cultural studies would boggle you.
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