Vellayi, a crushed piece of paper on the road. Sat moaning as the pangs of hunger crawled on her like red ants. Her feeble voice was drowned by the crows sitting around. She does not seem to possess the infrastructure to attract attention or handle money. When given a tidy sum a broad smile may light up the place but when she moves away she leaves it behind. A pouch or a can she never carries, carrying her own worn out attire is the challenge the aspiring medalist faces as he lifts those heavy load to clich the coveted title. But for Vellayi there is no hope in the world of hope. Its going to be the same every minute, and seconds and finally time will stop for her. She keeps no records of sorts. She knows not her age, events are the measure. To not be concerned about the numbers, time or money is not advisable. The burning of energy in all forms to study and imbibe this is the obsession for the world. Who would not want to lighten their own burdens first and then pretend to be concerned about others? That vsm stroke the guilt muscles to sleep. Vellayi you are a teacher. A string around the finger to remind us that life is for living. And living in our own terms however easy or rough it may seem. For nothing can crush a human with a hope on things above. In comfort we beg.
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