A Letter to that kid I saw.

Dear Anonymous Kid,

You came out of nowhere,in front of my eyes. You were swarthy complexioned,barefoot and overly excited. I don’t blame you. You were seeing a small part of the big fat Indian wedding-the Baarat. There was loud music. People were dancing adorned in their heavy jewellery and bright dresses. The groom was mounted upon the reluctant horse. And there you were,a little small black shape amidst mean people and there I was-blatantly observing you. As soon as some people threw money due to the prosperity and auspiciousness of the occasion,you were out like a light. Into the crowd to grab the money that was soon going to be on the floor and probably,under people’s feet. I saw everything and it broke my heart and shattered my equanimity. One of the people playing the drums caught a 100 Rupee note at the same time you did. A momentary tug of war and you won. And I saw you smile for the first time then. The happiness was contagious. You were showing off your teeth and it saddened my heart a little more. Why did you have to struggle like that? Why? I don’t have an answer and I don’t think I ever will. I can just sit here,being lugubrious and replaying this little scenario in my head again and again. Why couldn’t you find another source to earn the money? Nevertheless, I am happy that something as small (not for you) as a 100 Rupee note could bring such a smile on you. I am not the reason of this smile but I definitely was a recipient. I hope,wherever you are,you grow up to be a bright young man who doesn’t have to sacrifice his childhood and waste it in collecting money that was never his in the first place. I hope you are successful. I hope you go to school.

Crazy,Observant Me.

For those of you who do not know or are not aware of the Indian culture and its weddings,Baarat is a part where the groom is mounted upon a horse and his in-laws and other people dance to drums and western music until they reach the venue of the actual wedding! Interesting,right? Haha. Like and comment.

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