Tuesday, 15 April 2014
“Keep that dustbin down , don’t hand it over his hands …remember we belong to the upper caste and touching him would be a sin” he said keeping his face buried in the newspaper and repeated the same sentence time and again .
“What harm in touching a man” she thought but couldn’t question her grandpa .
Until one day when the same garbage collector picked up grandpa and admitted him to the hospital , when he was found lying unconscious near the market place .
“Give him that mouth mask kept on your table Shruti , at least it will give him some relief from that stinky dirty garbage he deals with everyday “ he said raising his face from the newspaper a bit .
On this day of letter " M "
Get lost , In me... Forgetting, The pain, Forgetting, The spree... The sand, The skies The gravel The pebbles, It’s y...