How'd it feel to not know, from where your next meal will come from?
Hunger, a feeling, many of us would have never had a chance to feel in our lives. At least, not due to lack of means to buy food. We, fall into the upper or upper middle class of our country. Washed clothes, fresh food, and soft beds are no strangers to us. We live in relative comfort and are capable of affording a few luxuries. We are a very small percentage of this billion-headed society, using most of the resources, this country puts on sale. For us, hunger is just one more topic to blog and write poems. But for a child, watching his neighbours in new clothes, with bars of chocolate and sweets, bursting jokes along with crackers on a Diwali, wearing his torn rags, and un-brushed teeth, needless to say, with empty stomachs, hunger means a lot more. For a garbage picker, to see a pair of worn out slippers, in one of his garbage cans, who is more than happy to wear it, hunger means a lot more. For a platform dweller, a temple beggar, an undertaker, a rain-forsaken farmer, and for more ...