Mumbai. Mumbai wakes you up, she puts you to sleep. She lets you be surrounded by noise. She lets you be lonely. This city's canvas is cruel, nurturing you in its harsh realities and yet tempting you to dream of better tomorrows.
I walk. Alone. Lying on the street, asleep, oblivious to me and others who may pass by, is alseep, a three, perhaps four year old child. He has no care beyond the lullaby of loud horns, a sigh, an occasional laughter or scream breaking through this sultry December night. For a moment, my heart skips a beat. Those tiny fingers are stretched. What if those tiny fingers crush while a drunken father, sleeps, unmindful that the little boy is exposed to the footfalls of the pavement while he chose to sleep against the wall?
A heart-breaking sense of shame overwhems me. I, like many others feel my guts wrench...but, what do I do? Nothing. I pass by. My stomach flips. I may perhaps not eat. That is fine. What right, though, do I have, to crib endlessly about what I do not have?
I remember, times when I knew exactly how it was to be like that. I was more blessed. At least, there was a roof over my head, leaky as it was, but, it was there. That is the thing. I may go to any place, visit and live everywhere, sometimes in the comforts of a huge home or a small shack, but I never forget. I never forget just how it is to go hungry, to barely have a decent meal, to pretend you are not hungry any more so it is all taken care of and there is nothing to worry about.
I am blessed. I remember where I came from and boy am I blessed!
Little things. Little lives. Little things.