Dear Amma

I killed a man today. Bashed his skull till it looked like a flatten football. No, it was not too hard. Just like a coconut, a big coconut that looks like watermelon inside. Needed quite a few hits though. But the weird thing is, I do not know, what to feel. What is there to feel? Feeling things vapored away from my poor little insignificant mind I guess. When the man’s blood was dripping down through his eyes and third cracked smashed hole, I realized, this is the least one thing I did on my own. Life always pushed me aside. Never could complain much. Heck, did not even know what is a second option or whatsoever. Since, the time I could remember in the slums. Just the flow of little pathetic life and the ever dying hunger kept me going. That’s all I could ever think about. I don’t remember a single day my tummy did not beg for some more while going to sleep. Amma, just brushed her fingers through my hair and humming ‘it is all going to be alright’. Don’t know Amma, is this alright? Come and see me once, if you are still there, somewhere.
Things were never so alright Amma. It has always been hell. We have always been through hell. It did not just start when Dad lost his legs at his work, at the train station. He probably passed out on the rail line drinking with his night guard buddies. He was mean already; he became even grumpier lying on his asses all day on the bed. You knew, he asthma problems. Dad always kept those inhaling things right beside his pack of cigarettes. But that afternoon, he couldn’t find it beside the bed. It was Friday afternoon, all of the slum dwellers went to the rich parks for their begging duty. We were just outside the slum cottage, while dad was inside. You held me tight to your chest and hushed me. I could see Dad from the peak of the polythene curtain. Dad was coughing his lungs out, choking, was that his blood? Couldn’t see much what was happening, but realized after few minutes or so he stopped moving. You did not make a sound. Or maybe, were you crying? Why? How did it feel when you killed a man Amma? That was last long glance I can remember of you. You left that night. I was just a child of 8 years old. I am lost Amma. I have so many more questions to ask.

*To be Continued*