It may sound ironical to you if I tell you that I am standing here in the corner of the road with countless people around me, yet so lonely and lost. I have been here all my life, watching all the destructions and constructions happening around me. I am starved; starved for love. I don’t want a twig breaking hug, I don’t want goodies and gifts, not even a kind word; an affectionate look would do. I would be gratified, no, in fact overjoyed if someone turns and acknowledges my presence. But alas, no one does! That I am a living thing, with feelings and emotions throbbing inside me just like everyone else is beyond the comprehension of the normal mind. I am not whining, I am only telling you how I feel.
My early days were not as lonesome as this. I opened my eyes, to see my very eager parents, my siblings and my ancestors all stooping over me, as I looked upon them and smiled. A fresh drop of tear, or dew, as you call it, rolled out of my mother’s eyes on to me, and she smiled at me with glee. My siblings swayed in pride and sprinkled all their colorful flowers upon me. I could hear them all chatter and laugh with glee, boasting to all the buzzing bees and singing birds that lived there with us. It was a picture perfect moment, and I thought someone did take one when a flash of light dazzled me. It was the sun who had peeked between the thick branches to greet me. This was my home. This is where I grew up to be strong, where I was taught that giving was joy, where I laughed and cried and starved and rejoiced with my family.
A few years later, one pleasant summer evening, we had a visitor. He was our landlord. Landlord? How could someone be the lord to the land? Isn’t it everyone’s right? Though my roots lay deep buried and well spread in this earth that I stand, I knew, as always that I could never claim it as mine. I did not understand this term landlord. So our landlord, as he was referred to, walked around the place, staring at each one of us, gently patting one of us occasionally, and leaning on one of us whenever he felt like. As he walked past me, I greeted him, with a gentle sway letting the cool breeze scented with the fragrance of my flowers hit his face. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the feeling. But he did not turn back and look at me. It was as if he didn’t care about my existence there. I was hurt. But I hoped, hoped that he would notice me when he returned. But he didn’t. He was looking at us as if were exhibits. I did not know why, then, of course I know now. Then it happened, he stamped right onto one of my new born cousins and I screamed. The poor child had no voice to even cry out loud. Even before he could lift up his head, he was gone. I heard the cries of all the others around me, but the “landlord” was completely oblivious to the screams and he walked away. I did not understand anything then, but I cried, silently cried. What was happening? I cried and cried, until I fell asleep.