THERE YOU GO AGAIN

Here I go again. After a week of perfect 8-hour sleep I was back to my wake-up-in-the-middle-of-the-night-feeling-like-you-can-never-sleep-again routine(o woe, miserable me). The shadows are back where they belong. The curvy darkness underneath the wide clear eyes that always looks so innocent. So here I am (o woe, miserable me), under the summer sun, in a cab sipping on the third cup of coffee with just enough money to reach the place, waiting for the traffic to clear when a hand pops in. The kid calls out for food or money, I’m not sure. Burned by the Bombay sun to a dark brown, the lines threatening to crack the snot smeared hand on the lightest prod. The palm abused by heat, mud and glue till it resembles the brown sands with its white rivers. Time is passing by and the hand is frantic for money. It pleads, hoping that my offerings would help him see the sun rise onto another day; threatening me with its unspoken words, ”Look! Look at this! And you think you are miserable? Have you seen something so small and fragile charred to such cruelty?” I closed my eyes wishing that the cab would move and the hand would go away realizing I wasn’t going to give it anything. But it stays, obstinate in its stance, demanding with its meek presence. The voice gets louder and the hand dares to move on to my shirt-my clean white shirt-tugging my wrist and pushing my bangles against my sweat soaked skin. The cab driver tries to shoo him away but the kid wont budge and so wouldn’t the traffic. I give up. I pay my charge and hand over the rest of the money to the kid. I am sure that will get the kid something to eat for today. Or maybe glue to sniff for a few days. I didn’t care. I was scared, penniless, still sleepy, and the headache was slowly creeping up my temples as I walked. I asked someone how far the place was. “Take a left and walk ahead, its somewhere around half a kilometer.” I walk. I wonder,” Do we live in the same world? The kid and me? Me and the kid?” The warmth of the coffee is suddenly unpleasant and it’s no longer aromatic. I throw away the last few sips unable to push it down my stinging throat, at least for now. Lord and Lady of infinite screw-ups(o woe, miserable me). I walk. Maybe there are two kinds of misery-brother, sister-external, internal... I walk.
“Babeh, babeh, babeh when all your love is gone; who will save me from all that I am up against out in this world…”