Shyamu sold cigarettes, matches, and tit-bits near a busy crossing in Delhi. He had been here since a decade and now proudly called himself a shop owner in Delhi whenever he visited his village, courtesy his small paan-shack on the pavement.
But the fact was life was as mundane as it could be, between the shop and his small 8 feet by 8 feet jhuugi in a nearby slum cluster, he was lonely and frustrated as hell. Often he visited GB road for cheap sex but that didn't resolve the loneliness part.
One late night as Shyamu was about to shut shop and go back to his room, the pavement dwellers had squattered their skimpy beddings all over the pavement near his shack, Shyamu was hit by a loud thud.....
He opened his eyes in what seemed like a government hospital, flashes clicking and TV cameras and mikes being thrust on to him from every corner....
Shyamu finally had his six minutes of fame , the lone survivor of a road rage accident involving a famous politician's son.... Shyamu was struggling with his words.
But the fact was life was as mundane as it could be, between the shop and his small 8 feet by 8 feet jhuugi in a nearby slum cluster, he was lonely and frustrated as hell. Often he visited GB road for cheap sex but that didn't resolve the loneliness part.
One late night as Shyamu was about to shut shop and go back to his room, the pavement dwellers had squattered their skimpy beddings all over the pavement near his shack, Shyamu was hit by a loud thud.....
He opened his eyes in what seemed like a government hospital, flashes clicking and TV cameras and mikes being thrust on to him from every corner....
Shyamu finally had his six minutes of fame , the lone survivor of a road rage accident involving a famous politician's son.... Shyamu was struggling with his words.
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| This post is part of a blogathon/BarAThon at Blogarhythm |
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