At the age of five, i stand beneath a tree, able to move my hands and walk at will, as i breathe in the moist cool air, i feel as if i am free.
Across the road i see my dad, and i wonder if he could ever say that. He works hard and toils all night, only to have someone else move in by our side.
I wonder why he never complains, that someone else has taken over the house he made, and we still have to make do with a tent thats leaks when it rains.
I wish i could instill in my dad, that he was the same as the other dads. It made no difference if he had no car, but he was still like them all.
Why cant he just stand up and claim, one of the houses for me and mummy to stay. How hard could it really be, after all he is the one who builds them u see.
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I think about this every time I go by one of those huge houses being built in Ashok Vihar (or anywhere in Delhi or Shanghai for that matter), the poor men who spend their days building these houses and then have to go back to their slums...it's depressing...
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