THE JOURNALIST FLY ON THE FROCK

Dirt of society.... Indian society

                       THE JOURNALIST FLY ON THE FROCK

 

               It was my second chance. I reached the border which separate earth from God’s residence which we mortals address as heaven-hell world. For god, it is neither hell nor heaven.

 

 God asked me

“Which birth do you want  this time?”

Without a second thought I said “A journalist”

“We will see” He replied.

               He made me a fly. That might be his way of punishing. It is not easy to interpret his intentions. But for me, it was nothing other than punishment as it was entirely against my wish to take birth as a human being.

                   

                   Me the journalist fly sitting on the dirty grimy stinking frock of a 6 year old beggar girl, in one of the private bus stands of Kerala (India) began to indulge in my usual forte of absorbing first hand information about everything around me. The only camera available to me during my one day stint as a fly was my insignificantly tiny eyes. It could not catch images from far. All that is visible within my focal power of camera was this 6 year old girl and her immediate environment.

 

                     Naturally I sat on her frock enjoying the foul smell she carried with her body that would not have undergone any sort of cleansing at least for a week. I couldn’t resist the salty taste of dirt she carried in her frock. I kept on licking it.

 

                 Girl took me to her mother who was sitting at the corner of bus stand.

“I am hungry” She said

“Nothing in my hand” mother said indifferently.

Girl sat near the mother who was dozing. A lottery seller with promises of cores saw the girl. He extended a lottery ticket to her.

“Want to be a millionaire?” He asked. His front row of teeth protruded menacingly as he smiled.

“I am hungry” the girl said.

“Hunger …is that the problem?” come with me.

             Girl looked at the mother. Mother had slipped into a slumber leaning against a wall.

“Come” lottery man put the bundle of lotteries with which one can make any number of castles in the air, on his shoulder. He grasped the little hand in his rough uncivilized palms.

              He guided the child towards grocery, bought 2 sandwiches and a tea. He gave one sandwich to the girl. On seeing it, I dashed up like a jet and swooped down upon the sandwich in her little hands. Before I could taste any morsel of it, little girl devoured it so abruptly that I would have gone into her mouth and chewed by her little teeth along with the sandwich. I tried to land upon her lips. But she wiped it in the sleeves of her shirt. She wiped her hand in the fleets of frock. I saw some remains of mayonnaises sticking to her stinking frock. So I returned to her fork.

 

             The luck monger now held the little wrist tightly as he quickened his steps, almost dragging the girl. I held tightly onto her frock because I want to know what is going to happen.

             He led the girl into a dingy dark room on the outskirts of the bus stand where a colony of lives can be labeled as BPL became visible.

 

                  Inside the room he made girl sit on a old wooden box. He carefully closed the door which made the room darker. Only then I knew that my camera eyes can function in the darkness.

                   In the faint light that seeped through the thatched roof of his one room residence, he asked the little girl

“Do you want to see a nice trick?” coquettishly

“Yes” replied her curiosity  .He spread an old mat on the floor. He carefully removed the shirt  and frock of the girl. I sat on the frock which lay on the floor. Then he made her lay upon the floor.

 

Before entering into her fully, he asked her

“Do you like this?”

“Yes” the little girl said.

“Will you come tomorrow?”

“Yes”

“I will give you sandwich”

              I tried to hide myself inside the fleets of frock.

 

 

         Little girl kept on wiping the fluid on her thighs and genital area with the frock. A delicious foul smell emanated from it. I was unhappy that I cant write or tell somebody about what I saw during  my short life span  from sunrise to sunset. God is cruel.

Reviews

[Marie Anzalone]

The human will to survive soars above all ideals about morality and repugnance. Who can say any of us would not have done the same as the girl? And many would say, "well the man should get something for his money."

An interesting viewpoint and a nice twist on a subject most don't care to think about.

[Wicahpi]

You entered this into a DRABBLE contest (100 words)
and I'm pretty sure this is way more than that.

[Coyote Poetry]

Poem is sad and well written. You took us from the poor little girl begging to the greed of a man with no conscious. Your story is powerful and the problem is the story does happen everywhere. I have three daughter who I would die to protect. All children and woman need a safe place to live and protection from foolish people. A outstanding story.
Coyote

[Nautili]

So sad, I almost hated reading it, yet such a horrendous reality for girls in India and elsewhere, it cannot be ignored.
I liked how it started,the reincarnation- perhaps the fly was to grow in the power of observation and the next go-around would indeed be the journalist. That would fit more in line with my view of God, who has a reason behind his refusals, and often just postpones our desires until the time is right.