Tags » Developing Country
Sitting on a bench at the bus-stop, I have the past ten minutes to ponder over.I had come out of a maths class, frustrated.Blame my terrible mathematical prowess for that.This wasn’t unusual.Such sessions were often followed by customary cigarettes.Meanwhile, the pavement seasoned with withered autumn leaves, occasional insalubrities and countless cigarettes arrests my glances.More frustration in the city.The pretty girl in red before me can barely derange my mental track, such is its resolute way.Three homeless boys rush past, collecting everything from plastic bottles to discarded glasses.One of them dons the item and claims attention.Ten minutes ago, I was pacing down the Jadavpur Streets, my head hung low with the weight of toil.I was interrupted by the cries of want of a beggar.She was a woman, rather a morbid effigy of one..her arm outstretched for a token of generosity, her lap embellished by a naked, bawling baby.Her expressions were lopsided, she was in need of money.I crossed her, then turned back and handed her ten bucks.When I resumed, I found the pavement flanked by more beggars demanding a fair distribution by their piercing countenances.I only pretended to ignore their claims that stated that they had not had food in days.We become such demons in the eye of the poor.Merciless, cold, diabolic selves who have monopolized the art of living in luxury, partial to our passing whims, for in helping one man, we deny another.To be very honest, it is not convenient(Yes.I use “convenient” instead of “possible” as I have mentioned honesty.)to help every poor soul one comes across.It is funny-the fact that in a developing country, there is no work for these languishing people.Work to them is spraining their hands by making no bones about being subjects of mercy.Pity.As for the future of the country, I cannot say.But over these lives, all there grows is a perpetual poignancy.
This week we want to focus your attention on a theme that for Kito is of fundamental importance: children’s standards of living. 212 more words