She has been doing this for the past 8 years of her life. Soliciting for alms at the cross-roads. Parija is all of twelve. In the beginning, she would work under the guidance of her mother who would approach vehicles as soon as the traffic lights went red. She would watch her mother move quickly from one to the next, banging on the glasses of the cars and raising her hand to her forehead and bringing it down, with open palms. She learnt the art of alms begging from her mother.
Motormen were her best bet. She could touch them on their arms and embarass them. A bit. Some would reluctantly pull out their wallet and drop a few coins into her dirty palms. Now she is a pedegreed bhiksha-monger and earns her own meals.
Motormen were her best bet. She could touch them on their arms and embarass them. A bit. Some would reluctantly pull out their wallet and drop a few coins into her dirty palms. Now she is a pedegreed bhiksha-monger and earns her own meals.
Today, she went about her job a little earlier than usual. Inspite of the rain. She tugged at this man's shirt for a second. He shooed her away. Feeling dejected, she left in search of another prospect.
Think twice, there's another day for you and me in paradise, or so, methinks.
