A poor reality

She

It is a bright summer afternoon. Her ruffled brown hair shines a beautiful golden as the sunlight delicately touches her head. The occasional long breeze effortlessly sways by, making her ochre locks dance gracefully. She closes her eyes and lets the nature nurture her rare moment of small pleasures and hide her repulsive features. Nothing but an occasional soft gust on a busy day could be such a bliss for the little ten year old who works with her father, cleaning the empty plastic plates of eaten or leftover food. 

She wears the frock that her father had bought her for Diwali, two years ago. It is torn here and there, has stains of all kind, and stinks a bit. Her dry hair screams it’s need for some oil. The repeated scratchings hints it has been days since she took a bath. Her chocolate brown skin has a lot of mosquito bites and her face is sweaty all over. But she is way too young and poor to notice any of this.

She does not care about what she needs. She occasionally dreams of what other kids have. She does not know what she is capable of. Yet she constantly hopes for a better tomorrow. 

Constantly hopes until she grows up into a lady. Until she gets fed up of working tirelessly. Until she’s sick of waiting perpetually. Until she learns to settle with what she gets. Until she believes she was never given a chance to make those wishes, dreams, and hopes, her reality.

Yes. She lives. Many in number. You will see her. At least one at the corner of every street. Her name may change. Her location may vary. Her life may be given or taken. But Her reality never ceases to exist.