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We both live in Mumbai,
He is Harish, I am Jai.
He lives on the pavement,
Next to my luxurious apartment,
He lives in a shack with metal covered with tarpaulin roof,
It has a T.V dish and WIFI
Mine is hi tech and fire proof.
He sells Samosas on streets and trains,
I am a CEO of a huge company and its top brains.
He rides a small scooter,
I move in a a posh chauffeur driven car,
We are both dressed according to our status.
But, life is ludicrous,
He is always carefree, laughing and most happy,
Whilst I am always stressed and snappy.
He sells 4000 to 5000 samosas a day,
Free, sometimes by midday,
He gets a profit of rupees one for each samosas he sells,
Mostly he gets orders to deliver on his cell.
He earns as much as I do,
Makes me seethe red and blue,
He is his own boss,
Net income, no tax, no loss,
While I slog day and night for others,
Thinking of it makes me shudder.
He is even the owner of the house I live in,
My company has rented from him,
He even owns two more houses in the neighbourhood  within,
And a garage not  far,
Where it  services  our company's cars.
Life's like that.
Samosas are indian pastries with fillings of minced meat or vegetables and lentils
n Jan 8
Lavished lady how brilliantly obnoxious you are. I admire how you tower over even the most merciless of men. Look how she floats, you’d mistake her for a benevolent. She can and does do everything. I can only stand here and hope you suffocate on your own ego.
Seeing green - my reflections of jelousy and female competition.
I always make friends with homeless people. Maybe it’s the *** stained teeth and friendly personalities that draws me too them. When I’m in town you can find me with laughing people, who hold nothing to their being by the end of the day. I love them. They’re so happy, grateful and remind me of everything I want to hold in my heart. They are the sun, surrounded by dark clouds but still radiating through the grey. The public of Surrey in their white designer tops and overpriced jeans will never realize this. Call me a sucker but I would give everything to these people. The friendlier they are the more they deserve it. They always seem to be the ones who have been in their situation for the longest and have tried every method of getting the necessities we indulge on. The saddest, and grittiest are usually new to their world. It’s such a cool world mind. All of them sing punk music, create such beautiful art and tell the most interesting woven stories. They are deep. Very deep. They have been to one end and back, up and down. Being surrounded by these people can be dangerous at times mind. One day I could be engulfed by a dark crowd. By dark I mean, what parents and young teens imagine when they think about going out to the grungy parts of town; the stereotypical stench of creepy men glowing with peoples fear of them. Rapists, *** traffickers, hard-core drugs, drunk men breathing down your neck and pulling roughly on your arm. I’ve been kissed on the cheek by a drunken dark mess, but he soon got punched by another. They respect people consent, children and females of any age. I don’t care if it’s a sexist old age thing for men to feel protective over women. Women are the most scared when regarding this world. I was scared. It was only a kiss on the cheek but that could lead on to so much more if left to slide. That’s why he got punched. You don’t cross boundaries. It’s the same with any person; have or have not. At the end of the day, I find the characters with scruffy attire and a perfume of ****, cigarettes and beer more comforting and safer than those who breed Topshop, Topman, Hollister Apple and Urban Outfitters. I am the kid all parents would fear to let out on their own. And they should. I’m going to get myself in trouble one day, talking to strangers and hanging around gritty areas alone. But it’s better than when I used to shoplift. And anyway…I feel a lot happier after I hang round these people.
Why are people scared of people?

— The End —