I am a homeless. Who Why When and Where do not matter, for from when have such questions mattered for a homeless beggar.
I do not know what my name is , no one ever named me anything, nor do I know if I have any parents ... forever since my home had been a dustbin ( it was a pretty smelly but warm one) until some men in helmets decided that the dustbin and I were creating a nuisance on the wats-it-called posh roads.
I have spent an eternity begging to sustain this limp lifeform.
I would stand in the cross roads , see a sea of cars pass by .... see people who spent money that I had never seen at places where I had never been, I have seen mankind , selfish enough to spend for himself, never generous enough to throw a few coins at my face. Rebukes, shoves and shouts are what I have been used to ... I never thought there can be anything else to live for ... you never miss what you have never had !
All of it is immaterial. I am sure you will have me at every cross road, outside your favourite Disc , outside the pub you usually hang out in, outside your home, scratching at your car windows in the alley. I need not introduce my self, for I am the omnipresent beggar woman.
It is no wish of mine to gain your sympathy by telling you that when you wore cashmere sweaters and walked into pre heated food joints, I stood there with my palms streched for a rupee or two in tattered rags. It is no wish of mine to evoke your non existent pity by telling you that when you were deciding on the interior furnshing of your cosy nest uttering sweet nothings to your beloved on a rainy evening, I was standing under a tree drenched to the bone , my palms spread waiting for a rupee or two.
No , that is not what I want, I do not want your pity or sympathy. I have taken it in my stride, for this is my life. As there can be just one king and many subjects, so there are few rich and many poor.
I though tell you of one such night which changed my entire life embittering it , goading it by the basest of human vices .... Revenge.