I am resting now. I have slept from midnight to 2.30pm. I beg my aunt to let me sleep in the backyard today. I can’t run away quickly from this place, as I have to run past them, to get anywhere. I'll spend the entire day here. Then I’ll dream about being in India. The place where I am from.I have a big house in a loud slum. For several months now, I’ve been living in this room, in someone else’s house. And I am not happy about it. My uncle is very nice, but I have to be here. I want to be in my own house. In my own room. In my own bed. My senses start to tingle. My heart begins to beat faster. I smile secretly. I can still vividly remember the atmosphere in my own house. The sunlight that would fall in the terrace. The birds that came to feed. The wind that could easily lift the curtains. The old houses that would mock me in the night when I took a bath. The family jokes about the caste system and how money doesn't matter. These are but a few things involved in this memory. I haven't been out to this place for months. I haven’t even visited my relatives, who live in another town. I call my uncle at this moment to have an audience. He says that I can come there the next day, and that he’ll give me some new clothes. Though I’ve been here for a long time, I still don’t have any new clothes. His birthday is tomorrow and he’s going to have a large party. He says I can sing a song to welcome the guests.
I still haven't given up on the idea. I’m 20 years old now, begging for a song. No one has given me some money for about 3 months, but I can't complain, as I want to go to India once in my life. Shouldn’t I get some money that will help me get to India? My father left this house to me. He worked for the government and earned a lot of money. He wasn’t rich by any means, but he was quite wealthy. He wanted to leave his house to me but my aunt refused to let me live here. She has a jealous streak as well as racist views. She persuaded my father that I should live with them. I am not sure why she does so. She has never once had a good word to say about me. On the other hand she has pandered my needs. She likes to talk to people for the sake of it and the guests always invite me to her house. The old ladies beg me to sing for them, saying I have a nice voice. I am not very happy. I can’t stand it. I am on the brink of giving up on the idea. I used to go to my aunt’s house everyday for tea and food. I’ve been to their house for at least 4 times a day for over 2 months now. I at least get some food there and they’ve never refused it to me. Or even thrown it away. But I can’t go back there. They’d just throw me away because I stopped coming there. I’m not welcome there. They know I’m here on my period’s rest day. I have not been to see my school friends for 2 months now, so they have forgotten me. And my brand new uncle, who has been here for only a few days, won’t even let me go to his house. I hate him. Every day I pray that he should die. Every day I pray that I should get some money and return to my home. I used to be a playboy and possessed many friends. As I got older I became better with money. I soon found that I was better than my school friends. I was as good as them, even better. I used to work for the government. I had a salary of 40,000 Rs, and a 7 room house. With this money, I could have helped anyone that needed money. But I wanted to go to India, so I went to work for a shady group of people called Al-Taqwa. They promised me money and in return I would work for them to take care of Al-Taqwa’s enemy. My end is near. Above me I see the stars in the sky and now I know my fate.
Shalimar, a city, is a large city. It isn’t for nothing that it has been awarded the title, “city of the angels”. It is believed that this city was built by God. It’s just that no one knows exactly which angel did this. Some people believe that the angels were responsible, some people believe that God did it all, while the others say that the angels just provided the stones with which to work.
I went to the house of my relative, who I like very much. I had to be here at this time. My uncle wanted to kill me because I refused to sing for his guests. I hate blood, I hate killing. That was the reason why I had stayed at his house, for the past few months. The blood of the sheep in the village I come from flows in my veins. If I can’t return to a place where the blood of my family flows, where my ancestors lived, where I grew up, where I played, where I slept and ate. I tried to kill my uncle in front of the guests. He is not so stupid as to dare to kill me in front of others. However, I must kill him. My dear uncle is the only blood relation I have. He has taken care of me as if he was my brother. He killed my mother and my father. He said he was going to kill me as well. Though I know that he will say that he didn’t mean to hurt anyone, I can’t believe him. My mother. My father. My uncle. As the rays of the sun shine on me now, I lift my hand up to feel the sun on my face. I graze some mud on my face. I have been facing the sun on my face for almost half an hour now. No one has come to my rescue. I am bleeding. My body is shaking and my head is very heavy. I cannot think straight. I can’t think of an escape plan.
Suddenly, I hear a voice from behind. Have I heard it? I raise my head. I am sure now that I heard it. I have heard it. The voice, which I have heard for the last few months, appears in my senses once again. I have the privilege of hearing this voice today. It is very deep and it says to me, “Kill yourself now. It is time.” I listen to this voice all alone. I am the only one who can hear it. I am the only one who understands what it says.
I stand up. I don’t want anyone else to point a finger at me. With my torn clothes, holding my last gold chain and my biggest bag, I run towards the village. My family lives there.
People are scared of me, I hear them speak behind my back. They call me pervert, dirty kid, and many other words. I don’t care. I don’t care about anyone. No one understands me. No one knows me. No one knows what I’ve been through. I don’t need anyone. I go straight to the village, hurt and bleeding. No one knows who I am. No one knows how much I have suffered. No one knows how much I have repented. I’m running for my life. I’m running for my happiness. I’m running for my future. I think I am running for my happiness. I don’t know if I’ve found it or not, but I do know that all I have found for the present one is death.
I am small and no one will notice it if I put my head down. I am very small. My clothes are torn. My body is shaking. My forehead is bleeding as my head moves. I am very small. My bag has falling down. I must put my head down. I must let it fall. But it is impossible. I must get up, I must stand, but I can’t. I can’t raise my head. I can’t move my body. It is impossible to raise my head. I can’t raise it. I can’t move my body. I can’t make my body move. I can’t raise my head. I can’t put my head down. I am very shy. I can’t raise my head. I am very shy. I must raise my head. I must. I must. I must. I am very shy. I can’t raise my head.
Days pass by, and my hair turned gray. My body turned very weak. My body was ignored by everyone as it had no value. My body was ignored by everyone. I became a child no one knew. I became an orphan. I became lost. I became a vulnerable man. I fell into the hands of evil. Everything that I had came down to me and I was left with nothing. I can no longer pay my bills. I can no longer pay the water bill. I can no longer pay the electric bill. I can no longer pay the gas bill. My children have grown up. I have no one to love or look after.
I can no longer pay my bills. I can no longer pay my electric bill. I can no longer pay my gas bill. My children have grown up. I have no one to love or look after.
I have no one to help me, but God. God does not hear my prayers. God does not reward me for my work towards him. God does not reward me for all of the good deeds I have done. God does not reward me for all of the things I have sacrificed.