Saturday night, fun & frolic, party time, good food, good times; but am not quite right there. Looking around the colors are way too bright and the music too loud to be comfortable. A feeling of helplessness and utter despondency.
15 minutes back:
Whoaa, finally the long six day week has come to an end to give me enough time to get ready for another week of drill. But all that can wait, as John Travolta made famous, "Its Saturday night, baby". So the bunch of us have come to hang out at this suave bistro and tickle our taste buds. But, so have other hoards of them who were far-sighted to make some reservations. And there we were, waiting at the doorsteps, hoping that some poor soul won't be able to make it in time. Yeah , yeah a breed of selfish corporates we are.
But right when we'r discussing Aamir's hairstyle and a lucrative sale going on, there was a small tug at the T. I looked around to find a kid, no older than 3 years, with barely a piece of rag on her, asking for alms. The hair was all wiry and a coat of filth was all over her face. But I just couldn't tear myself off from that accusing gaze pleading for rescue, pleading to be loved. The trampled, mutilated innocence crying for an explanation. A toddler forced to grow up beyond her years, never knowing how it feels to sleep in a lap with a full stomach and lullaby playing in your ears. Always puzzled by this crude irony and what she did, to deserve this. Maybe she's too numb to feel the difference anymore, maybe she's accepted it. But when another kid stepping out of the restaurent door throws away the ice-cream, because it didn't had enough choclate, she might just ask "Why me, not her ?" or maybe she'll just run to scoop up the thrownaway.
She's still looking at me with her arms stretched a bit impatiently, wondering whether its time for her to move on. Somebody started pulling me and the contact broke, and she ran off hoping that the next person will be a generous one.
Inside :
The music is playing. Platters of food and glasses of mocktails just jostling for table space. People laughing, talking.
"What will she eat tonight ?"
15 minutes back:
Whoaa, finally the long six day week has come to an end to give me enough time to get ready for another week of drill. But all that can wait, as John Travolta made famous, "Its Saturday night, baby". So the bunch of us have come to hang out at this suave bistro and tickle our taste buds. But, so have other hoards of them who were far-sighted to make some reservations. And there we were, waiting at the doorsteps, hoping that some poor soul won't be able to make it in time. Yeah , yeah a breed of selfish corporates we are.
But right when we'r discussing Aamir's hairstyle and a lucrative sale going on, there was a small tug at the T. I looked around to find a kid, no older than 3 years, with barely a piece of rag on her, asking for alms. The hair was all wiry and a coat of filth was all over her face. But I just couldn't tear myself off from that accusing gaze pleading for rescue, pleading to be loved. The trampled, mutilated innocence crying for an explanation. A toddler forced to grow up beyond her years, never knowing how it feels to sleep in a lap with a full stomach and lullaby playing in your ears. Always puzzled by this crude irony and what she did, to deserve this. Maybe she's too numb to feel the difference anymore, maybe she's accepted it. But when another kid stepping out of the restaurent door throws away the ice-cream, because it didn't had enough choclate, she might just ask "Why me, not her ?" or maybe she'll just run to scoop up the thrownaway.
She's still looking at me with her arms stretched a bit impatiently, wondering whether its time for her to move on. Somebody started pulling me and the contact broke, and she ran off hoping that the next person will be a generous one.
Inside :
The music is playing. Platters of food and glasses of mocktails just jostling for table space. People laughing, talking.
"What will she eat tonight ?"
