A walk down the street

- Sharicka Zutshi

I walked. The sky was grey, yet beautiful. At the far end of the street there was a ba

I often wondered if the droplets that fell from above realised how many anticipated their return to quench their thirst.

It was a wide road with way too many cars on it. The honking and commotion drowned the voice of the city.

A woman with three children stood across the road. Veiled. Her beauty or lack thereof was to be hidden by this piece of cloth because tradition calls for modesty to which her identity posed a threat. She was surrounded by what is to be her identity and purpose in this life, her children. She had a daughter and two boys.

She held her youngest and her daughter held the other. Why was she to be a mother to her brother when it was her age to be cared for? She didn’t seem a day over 7. Her body was weak but her eyes sparkled. She wanted more from the world but little did she know that the woman standing beside her was the reflection of tomorrow. The boys were used to being held and mollycoddled, they were happy where they were. Their father must have been the same, his family’s tattered clothes indicated he did not earn much.

They walked into a broken home located next to 90 others of the same kind. I heard the rains had brought about a great outbreak of disease in these houses made of red brick and tin roofs. I looked up at the white skyscrapers that overpowered the scenery and soon realised that the disease that infested those who made those buildings will never penetrate the walls to affect the people living inside them.

I looked over to the other side of the road. There were little boys jumping over puddles with a small bag over their shoulder and a notebook covering their heads. The knowledge from those books will yield them a roof one day.

The green and orange flags above their heads fluttered ominously. Political parties had put these flags up and assigned a faith to every square inch to every corner of the city. These boys may one day be caught in this political whirlwind as the men of the land of my ancestors. They may lust for each other’s blood without realising that we are made of the same material and we turn to the same dust. I walked to the end of the street and a girl was walked past me. I stared at her for longer than I should’ve. I should’ve realised that I do not have that liberty for the people around me shall choose who, when and why I shall love.

I looked back at the road. It was time to walk back home. I made a pledge that day. I wish to one day walk this same road and on that day let the sky be the brightest blue, let the rains be a frequent visitor, let a child’s gender not decide his/her role in society, let textbooks be full of knowledge and free of blind faith, let there be no bloodlust that ruins civilisation and let there be love and identity free of any gender.