Its a beautiful place when it rains, The gutter overflows into the road and the rainwater and sand forms a colloid with it. Children with weather beaten looks play in the rain and brazen the harshness of the reality.
The street-lamp is not glowing today. Ahh! Its a full moon today. The municipality had made an agreement with lunar gods and poor chap I did`nt know that. But alas, the municipality have not made an agreement still with the wavering clouds which makes the full moon night into a pitch dark canvas. I walk through the streets of Kuberahalli trusting nothing other than my next step.
The outskirt has railway line close to it and a railway station half a mile away. But of course these children have a strange liking to play on the rails when the trains are about to come. What if a steamer hits a kid or two?
No wonder, their parents would be happy if it had by it wilder probability hit a girl child.
My neighbour in Kuberahalli, Malappa makes a living by driving an auto rickshaw. Everyday morning he fuels his rickshaw in the HP gas station in Bomannahalli, and late in the evening he fuels himself in the kuberahalli wineshop.
That day he fuelled himself more and therby hit a rammed his rickshaw with a raging truck. His right arm got jammed and his eyesight partially lost. But good in the bad, he was drunk for he didnt know the pain. Parvathamma, his wife, cried so loud that night that the entire kuberahalli gathered to console her.
These days she visits the VAO office so often in the late evening and returns back home in the veil of darkness. She gets a few thousands from the officer every month and pities the sane world which talks of something called - Culture!
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