Who knows!

She ran her hands over his face, his hair, tears streaming down her face all the while...

This is her only family, the drunkard bastard taking his last breath or to say last cough.

She doesn’t know where it all started and no body of her acquaintance, she never really had friends, know.

And what she can recall she woke up on 13th April, the founder’s birthday celebration. She got new cloths some unwanted riches might have donated. And today is the day when some among those will come to this side of the world and some from this side have to leave and go for ever.

An orphan bastard she is, as they call her, but even this identity of hers was not ratified because nobody knows what she is; nobody.

Today all will be queued in front of some smiling faces, and if some of the queued apples have a good luck for not smelling and not looking really bad will be taken away for ever. She regrets the day most as her only friend ……
She hates her. She hates her. I hate her. I hate her.

I was what, Six? Who knows! Every day since, has past like hell, who knows what other places are like. Everyone hate me or was it like here everyone hates everyone else, I don’t know. I was denied dinner many a times. I was called the trouble maker. They did so even for small deeds like once I broke the head of that fat boy who never really needed food at all.

Bull shit! The manager would have died that day; of course, he is going to regret it for the rest of his life. He never told it to anyone, he can never actually.

But after one month on Christmas he brought me a cake with icing Happy Birthday Jane with 15 candles on it and an drunkard who might have paid for those and the bottles in his hand.

So I was free, free again because being free is like being an orphan; no one asks and no one knows you. Being free is like being an orphan. Here are we an orphan and drunkard, One to feel her bones twitching due to cold and other who do not have any bone left in his body and definitely not any senses left for the rest of his life. The only thing that he said to me was that he freed me because he is an orphan too. I followed him everywhere for the whole night but never reaching home. I was never going home. She was never going home.

He slapped her and went away not yet away from her sight when he was crossing the street and …..

His head was on her lap. She ran her hands over his face, his hair, tears streaming down her face all the while... thinking who is he, who slapped with authority. He is family. This is home.

He was family. That was home.



(PS: This story was written by me on being tagged by Sanjay. This is not a good story as it was never was ment to be.)

Rahein hain, rahoon ko na dhoka dijiye

(p.s. This first came as a comment to one from LetMeSpeakMyMind)

Rahein hain, rahoon ko na dhoka dijiye,
Yeh rehti hain yahan, inhein na toka kijiye,
Doss inka nahi rahi hai bhatka hua,
Chahta hai manjil, rahon pe chalta hua,
Kabhi isse bhi to chahat ka mouka dijiye,
Toot kar bhi, phoot kar bhi joorti hain tumhain,
Inka bhi hai dard, kabhi dekha kijiye.

Rahein hain, rahoon ko na dhoka dijiye,


Tere path sang jur pari hain,
Tere mukh sang mur pari hain,
Raha roop rakh sarikha,
Par humne inse kuch na sikha,
Sangini si saath rahi,
Par manjil par jasn manate,
Hum khare hain haath hilate,
Joo chale the saath hamare
Unko hain maat dikhate
Ye unko bhi poojti hai,
Sang unke phir jujhti hain.
Yaar kaise hum khudgarj bane hain,
Kabhi inse bhi to waphai kijiye.

Rahein hain, rahoon ko na dhoka dijiye,