Honhaar balak.

'My mother, she told me sixty years ago'. Clap clap snap clap. 'There lived an old man knocking at the door'. Clap clap snap clap.
A tight little knot of young girls stood in the shadow of the multi-storeyed apartment that they called home. A security guard yawned in the background. The grocery delivery-boy slipped past and went up the lift. A reluctant breeze rustled a few leaves and passed by the compound.
'Lets play something else'. 'Hide and seek?'. 'Okay okay'. 'Yesterday it was Aarti's den, today it will be Smriti's.' 'Count to hundred, no cheating!'. 'One..........Thirty............Hundred....OK I am coming!'.
Smriti crept up quietly from behind the building's facade and headed towards the bushes. She had spotted a white blob close to the hibicus plants. She moved with the skill of a young panther and jumped out into the open. 'DHAPPA.........AHHHHHHHHhh'. She stood rooted for the next thirty seconds and then collapsed in a heap. And then all hell broke loose.

Suman's family had problems. But so did everyone else. Her husband was soaked in arrack. Her sister-in-law drove her husband away and moved in with a man half her age. Her own brother had suffered from childhood tuberculosis and never recovered fully. Inspite of all the heartaches, there was one happy thought that kept the family together and gave them reason to face tomorrow. Vikas. Her brother's son was the perfect child. He outperformed all his classmates at school. His English was improving with each passing day. Working at the local grocery store, he supplemented his parents' meagre earnings. At seventeen, fair and good-looking, he was the basti's personal Ramavatar.
Vikas frequented a weekend counselling session run by an NGO for slum children. The sessions were eclectic, ranging from sex education to career advice. He was keen to go to college. For him the world was full of things he did not know of and he thanked Ganesha everyday for all the opportunities to learn that had come his way. If only he could make it to St. Paul's. Mrs. Shinde from the NGO had praised their 'education system' and told the class that only the best students made it to its hallowed grounds. His day-dreams were beginning to have some definition.
His fantasies were probably the reason he remained unscathed in the cruel world that he was part of. He dreamt of college, of a better house, of his sister, Reena's wedding, of riding in a big car, of wearing a suit-pant. He endured the grocery trips, dreaming of living a cushy life in one of those apartments with his parents and his sister. Going to St. Paul's was the key to crystallising those dreams and he yearned for that seat with all his strength.
Then suddenly, Baba's condition worsened. He heaved and panted like a beached whale lying on his rickety cot. He was coughing up blood again after twenty years. The doctor saab was clear. Baba needed to go to the hospital as soon as possible. And it was going to cost a lot of money.
His mother took him aside after the doctor left. 'Beta, Baba aur meri ichcha hai ki tum college jao. Agar hamne paise aaspital pe karchch kiye tho tumahari padhai bandh ho jayegi. Baba yahani rehna chaahate hain, tumahare liye.' Vikas felt the ground beneath him spinning. This was not the way it was meant to turn out. 'Baba was giving up his life to send him to college? If we lose the money, I have to stop studying?' His mind was exploding into many painful little fragments and his legs were giving way under him. He was trapped in his worst nightmare.

The next day seemed like any other. School was eventfree. The city, quiet in the afternoon, was taking a much-needed siesta. In the apartment opposite the basti, a couple of school-girls had just decided to switch games. No one paid much attention to a grocery-boy as he walked past the guard to take the lift to the top floor. Everything seemed peaceful till Smriti screamed and collapsed.
All Vikas had wanted was for Baba to come to the award ceremony at St. Paul's where he would take home all the prizes. That's all.