Well, so I came back from Lucknow, it was a pretty nice city, actually I had such a good time there, that it'd always remain in my memories.
Back at home, and obviously again all alone, last evening I was just reading a novel while I was on the terrace of my house, yeah the same place which shared so many memories of mine, if only it can speak, it could have filled a book.
I was deeply drowned in that novel, suddenly I heard a voice, a child's yanking, at first I gave a thought to ignore that sound, but gradually the amplitude started increasing, and it was more sort of irritating especially for a bookworm like me.
So I gave a look outside, and found two children fighting amongst for a patang( kite), I really wanted to scold the two of 'em destroying my private leisure, and then I realized that the one was screaming the most , was actually suffering from aphorism ( inability to speak ).
I was certainly left dumbfounded for a moment; it was that feeling that made me uncomfortable, that boy without voice, poverty, no education and after all no future, was fighting for a silly kite ?
was that piece of paper so important to him ? a crap worth single buck ? what was single buck to me ? I guess nothing !
I was fondling with my idoligies, were "karma" and "fate" really some stupid stuff, that exists ?
At time I thought to help him, I had some bucks in my pocket, should I offer him money ? or should I help him anyways ? naah, what was the use of it ? 10-20 bucks, I can waste that amount in no time, how could it help that boy ? and after all I wasn't supposed to get in contact with such people.
I still remember that day. when I was the subject of everyone's eye, when I offered 20 bucks to a child who was begging on the posh streets of civil lines. The staring effect somehow made me feel guilty, what a waste on the name of humanity !
I was crippling under my own thoughts, and then accompanied by the fondant ringtone on my cellphone, I got busy on a call, minutes later when I came back, there was no child, there were no screams, all that left behind was shredded pieces of papers, somehow the novel in my hand was feeling so heavy.
Draws me in again
She washes all my wounds for me
The darkness in my veins
I never could explain
And I wonder if you ever see
Will you still believe?
Am I that strong
To carry on?
I might change your life
I might save my world
Could you save me?
nilanjan
May 8, 2009 at 9:53 PM
for my part now i have paused thinking about poor peoples
as my potency is nil in order to serve them.
the talents are born in their rugged hamlets too but their flame of zeal and thought is extinguished by the urine of bleak rituals.
unfortunately its true
"some are born to sweet delight some are born in endless night"
william blake
imagine if you or i belonged to that domain then hopefully i would not have been blogging nor would you have
since we are fortunate we should try to work for the social upliftment as economic upliftment cannot be imagined ...