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27 May 2015

Do the small things have any Gods at all?

Every day, his small steps slowed down at the wrought iron gates.
Every day, his little feet involuntarily led him towards it.
Every day, his big, brown eyes framed by a dirty mop of hair peeked through the unrelenting iron bars, his itty-bitty callused fingers curling around them.
Every day, he watched his contemporary saunter around on the manicured lawn.
Every day, he was delighted by the vibrant shades of his contemporaries shorts and tees.
Every day, he yearned to be invited in to play with that huge blue and yellow ball.
Every day, he wondered how privileged one must be to have a mother chase after him with a bowl of expensive-looking goop.

Every day, he was chased off by the guard on duty, “Get lost, you ruffian, and stay away. Don’t you dare steal anything! Little rascal.”

Every day, he trudged back to his corner in the chawl and drowned his misery in a bowl of stale kanji.


Note18.6 percent of India's 1.28 billion people are under the poverty line. Still. 
And India accounts for more than 1/3rd of all malnourished children in the world. 

Children whose dreams are crushed before they can start dreaming and sleep on empty little tummies, while I sit in my one BHK with my post-dinner Nutella bottle on my double bed, armed with my smartphone, laptop and first-edition hardbound books and complain about the shitty Wi-fi speed and the unfairness of life. 

What do I want to do about it? 
It terrifies me that I don't have an answer. 

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