THEY AREN’T BEGGARS

 It’s the story of the woman who endeavours to make her life on her efforts, and not by others’ kindness and pity.

WHEN FURIOUS WIND undertakes to falsify all the predictions made by economists and palmists whom people genuinely believed to be sane; when the clouds, with dense sheets of water, hurry to be off-loaded onto the earth-godown, as if their entire water-stock is expelled from the sky-office; when it is comfortable for a dead body to float and be forgotten, and when God forgets that these are the children of God, too, we in our region call it the rainy season.

 

My encounter with such terrifying scenes was limited to viewing of post mortem reports on TV screens. TV-people are perfect people. They wait tirelessly for days in rain for a single shot of a dead body floating. They know that flood hardly recedes without turning a score of humans into dead bodies. They would film people buried under debris and run behind the corpses floating on water. Then they make their deadly shots swallow-able on the tube surfaces, and inject the chaos into each and every living room.

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