Posted by
Shashank Jha
In:
Experience,
personal
I Met India
Madras or Chennai, call it as you like, is the place that extracted
writer from my dreams. Every time I say that I have achieved something, I fall
and I dream. I dream not flowers or beautiful beaches of Chennai, but I nightmare
my past. I see it as it is following me; I see it when I see a small boy on any
store working for a living; I see it when I see aged people walking in pain and
shame. I see it everywhere.
I was probably 8 or 9 years old, I wasn’t young, as my work
demanded seriousness and understanding that comes with age. I was studying in 4th
standard. I still remember when a fine day I went to a store, located right in
front of my first School David Matriculation
Beach-The Beauty of Poverty |
The next day I went to the same store with the hope that I
will not be seeing any coconut sweet kept on his counter. But, I wasn’t lucky.
I asked the shopkeeper whether he wanted more coconut sweet to sell or not. I
tried to convince him at first, but after trying for the next 15 minutes, I
started losing hope. But the boy within me was young and stubborn, he finally stopped
convincing and said “Anna, keep this. Not sold by tomorrow, I will take back.
You don’t need to pay now. Pay only for what is sold”. I left my 8 small
plastic pouch containing roughly 5 coconut sweets each. These small pouches where
stapled on a long paper strip.
I left the shop and went to another and did the same. By the
time I reached home I was left with some 2 strips. I gave it to my mother who
was making coconut sweets to be packed for the next slot. I remember how she
used to cry when after cooking for many continuous hours her hands swelled to
almost double its normal size. I may be exaggerating a bit, but excuse me for I
remember things that my small and punished eyes saw.
Those few months helped me see the real face of world that
is money driven and so…
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