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Flyover

"316" written in a yellow box on this pillar. The pillar is of no use to public, so why was it made? Or was it really made for us? No... I don't think so. The government can't be so generous to anybody. I wonder where has all that money gone - Those crores wasted on this flyover. But this wastage has eventually given me my house.

A blue plastic sheet covering my body against the rain. I don't think this is effective at all. But do I even have options? 

It was better in the village. I had home there. But here, I have no home, no shelter. Nobody. Nobody to be with me and my emotional turmoil. Looking at her father sitting on a dirty mat and staring blankly at the pillar. My daughter, what does she think of me? Is she still proud of me? By the way, I am proud of her because she is here for me when I need someone the most. Her presence is enough to pass the remaining life blissfully. But even she looks tired: I can see blackness under her eyes - maybe because of the harsh surroundings and intense workload here... I think, she fakes her exhaustion so well that I end up believing it. Because, I don't think so that I have much options left. Hardly any actually. 

I just realized that this blue plastic sheet is meaningless: even in the harshest of rains I am still safe from getting wet. But you never know when it lashes out in a diagonal to ruin your home in one go. So even if I lose out on my home I remain protected. But external protection is also meaningless. Nothing is a remedy for the internal pain that I am facing. Nobody can cure it. Not even these people walking on the footpath everyday and whom I know by face. You know what, I have this thing of remembering faces, so I easily remember who crosses my home at what point. It is interesting but majorly boring after a point of time. But again, I have no option. What else can I do sitting here?

I wonder what would the weather be post the rains. Rain cools down the weather and I feel comfortable in my home. Also, the mild breeze that whistles in the night gives me a good sleep. Yes, for me, sleep is important; I need to have a good sleep. Even my daughter says that I should sleep more often because it will keep me healthy. And when she says this, I know that that is totally coming out of hope. I pity her sometimes. I also feel guilty because she is wasting the prime of her life looking after me when hope is the only remedy for my cancer. Hope is intangible and non-existent, so she should reconsider her beliefs, and I won't correct her on this because I want this experience to be her teacher. I hope I die soon. 

No! I don't want to kill myself, that is foolishness. Even if I live for this whole year, I won't do that. Natural processes are always beautiful. And I surrendered to them when I got to know that I have cancer running in my blood. It became easy and comfortable for me to live. And since then, I have been living peacefully under this flyover staring at the traffic and people and this pillar - right in front of me - waiting for death to embrace me someday. Because what else can I do now?     

  








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