It Hurts. Whenever I walk or talk. It hurts. My skin is dry and scratchy. People get scared when they see me because my skeleton is visible under the thin layer my skin has shrunk into.
I can't work to earn money. Because I don't have the energy to do so.
Who am I? Is that what you're wondering?
I am the kid you saw last at the side of the road. Skinny. Ugly. Poor.
I don't know who my parents are. I have lived my life alone with the other kids, who are like me, at the side of the road. We try to work everyday to earn something to feed ourselves. But luck isn't on our side always. Sometimes we get just enough to have ONE meal a day. We have a feast on that day. Because sometimes we go hungry for 5 days straight.
My friend Chinki had a younger brother. Had. He died a few weeks ago. Maybe because Chinki was not able to give him that one piece of dry bread she used to give him every alternate day.
One of my friend was very sick. He couldn't move and his body was too hot. He died yesterday. Two days ago we were at the side of the road. begging for money together. And now he's gone.
We didn't cry.
We couldn't cry.
We didn't cry because he was not the first person to die.
We couldn't cry because we didn't have any more tears left to shed.
The physical pain of starvation was overpowering the mental pain of our friend's loss. It is the 6th day today. 6th day since we had our last half glass of tea.
Whenever you throw away a perfectly fine roti, saying that it is too thick to eat, think of me. Think of Chinki. Think of my Friend who died. That roti could have saved my friend.
Whenever you pour down half a glass of water like it doesn't matter, Think of us. That half a glass of water can be AMRUT to us.
- Nidhi Haria