Poverty is a like a curse, a death disguised in the form of curse. This is my story of filth, dirt, impoverish state and sitting on the footsteps of either temple, mosque or church to beg for my everyday existence. I do not remember ever seen people with the title'mother, father, brother or sister. The day I sensed my presence was when I started fighting, quarreling even hitting with a stone and bleeding my opponent for a piece of bread.
I did not have any feeling left in me. Be it sadness,happiness or for that matter anger. I just live my life so called wretched life. Often bullied by the thugs, gangs or rowdies, which I have somehow learnt to tackle them. I am empty handed. No place to live, no things to take care or valuables to fear of its losing.
I do not know what my age is. Judging by my body and looks, I assume I am 20 years old. Shabby, disheveled, tattered, skeleton and dirty beggar. But one thing is very attractive in me is that my smile. When I am sitting and busy doing my business of begging, I do not wear a sad expression on my face. I just smile at the person whoever tries to lock his/her eyes with me. I do not know what the person sees in me, but the next moment what I have in my hand is a coin. I do not have to work very hard to earn my living. I have my own friends who are of my age. They are Aim and Tew, absolutely lazy, insensitive and thieves. Their part time job is begging and full time job is cutting others' pockets. This is my life and this is my story with no sauce or garnishing ingredient in life. Until, I saw him getting out of the BMW car....................
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All types of comments welcomed. Should this be series or just adding one more chapter. I do not guarantee happy ending.
