This is my World

The following article is a collection of events that led me to writing this article. So I dedicate this article to everyone in the scope of these events. It was warm, rather a hot day for January in Bangalore. The same afternoon when the Sun happened to be showing his mightiness, I happened to be travelling in a BMTC bus, the bus which showed amazing promise to get caught in every possible traffic signal. When the bus was waiting for Green in one such signal(the fourth one in my journey so far), I peered out of the window with nothing else to do, to take a quick glance of the moving World outside. It wasn't moving much. He was ugly, dirty and every adjective you don't want to use on a kid of his age. He would have been 12, probably, lesser, maybe. His palms were facing the heavens. His eyes stared into strangers' eyes. I looked at my companion's face(who had ventured with me to a movie, not the first time). She had a look, a what-will-I-have-for-lunch look, so did the...

It was raining ! When Andy was born, his mother was barely 15. The Madras edition of Hindu, dated April 29,1962 carried her story on the front page, "14 year old raped by 3 in school !". The word 'raped' was in bold red letters. And as a matter of fact, within those 25/30 horrible minutes someone had managed to fire his sperm into her. She knew who it was(though, It would be hard to tell on which round), for two of them were easily over her father's age. That was the day Andy was born, probably to a bell boy, but it took another 2 months for the World to know it. And on February 6,1963, he was cradled in his mother's arms. Many of them, including her own parents, wanted her to abort Andy. But she wanted him and she had him. Throughout his way to freedom, his name was debated. But his mother never let go Andy. She did not know why though. But she always felt it had a connection with her dream. A dream in which she saw a jail called Shawshank . Andy crawle...