Dead letter 3

I went to office scattrerd the basket of letters infront of yellow red blue white old new rotten crippled etc. in this pile my eyes got struck ovr a grey inland letter. Who in this time to colour prints still got this inland letter of 90s. bt letter was new dated month ago. I sliced the letter from the side. It was in hindi.


Hari rail lal rail moti chinki hui fail.

Kya re, yaad hoon me? Tera raju. Tu toh bade seher chli gyi mujhe akela chord kr. Kehti thi mujhe chord kr nhi jayegi pr dekh khud ne 4 saal se baat nhi ki. Maa baba kahte hai tu kabhi nhi ayegi. Tere bapu ne tujhe bade sahib ko bech diya, sach hai kya yeah? Pta ajj kal toh koi khelne ko bhi nhi sath me. Aam ke bagihe me bhi nhi jata. Tu thi na maja ata tha. Tu aja na jaldi. Suna hai tere seheer me badi chocolate milti hai. Vo jo bade log khate bhure rang ki. Jab ayegi na mere liye lana. Theek hai.



I flipped the letter. Addressed thndi sadak Or say cold lane. Lane was neither cold nor it was any road. It was place where one body get sold for pleasure for other body. These are brothels. Dark shady red area cut off by the so called civilized society labling them as backward and sick. Although going to these place to seek pleasure. Place where one is trapped, whose voice cant be heard outside. Their generation starts there and finish there. No escape. No rights just live as human which are being regarded as worse than animal. our society. Sadly no postman visit that place. And this letter never reached there. Imagine of many other people living there cut off by their loved ones. Both had same sun but Even light could not fix them. I closed the letter and went to that street. With a towel on my face becase I m also a face of this society and afraid of my so called image. I was standing infront of a blue broken door. A drunkard man walked out. I saw a women with dark eyes, mascara spoiled over face, hairs going all over hiding scars . Wearing blouse and petticoat showing sweat belly and little over blossoms. She was chinki or what people call her chinki ben. I said hari rail lal rail moti chinki hui fail. Her eyes glittered and a drop of happiness fell from her eyes. I guess for first time. She took the letter and smelled it. Trying to get some known smelled of loved one. I let them alone. Knowing that even she writes reply to him. It will never reach raju. I was walking down the road. Fog had covered the street. Light was scattered by the mist making a path way to heaven. I with partial smile of happiness and sad walked of broken street. I passed by the house 28. Yellow walled house once belong to Aayana. Place which I used to cross on cycle every day in morning,  just to catch glimpse of her drying her hair. She looked so beautiful. We were together for 8 years in same class. I was too shy to tell her my feelings. All I did was write them on piece of paper. The day I gather courage to tell her. I went to her house but she had already left the city. I reached my letter office. It was cold outside but my blood was rushing with grief of letting her go. I took a yellow paper and wrote it to her. But I didn’t know the address it was dead letter. I folded it and kept it in my closet. With loud thunder I came back to senses. To present


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