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The Crescent Moon 🌙

Completely incomplete yet beautiful.

This is a new series spread across ten years and an office life, an Indian girl, her life changes and phases. A fictions tale.

“No fiction is untrue at some point yet not wholly true. ”

Save the author from being ravaged and killed….

Every story has many sides. When you hear each side, you feel they are right. But, no story is complete without all the sides.

No judgment should be done without hearing all.

No decisions should be taken without considering the information from all sides.

An elephant becomes one when you see it from all sides, not if you catch it’s tail or the ears, as the old fable goes.

The excerpts of each chapter will appear in my blog.

Begin the circus,

Toll the bells,

Roll the drums,

This is a hum

Weak and old come along.

Chapter 1

Shrum as she was know, strange name which meant hard work, yet a name.

India, a country dealing with democracy, secularism, conspiracies of various kind since olden days, trying to survive, the second highest population of the world standing at 1,367,578,158 as on June 2019.

Now, every Indian if you see them closely is trying to do just one thing I mentioned above- survive. Survive everything that comes their way….survives pain, poverty, disease, lack of resources, lack of help, lack of everything even proper water.

If you walk into any metro city, there are two issues….drinking water and pollution humming over your head like humming birds.

Not that anybody does anything about them except complaining and putting it over th heads of a handful of politicians- MLA (member of legislative assembly) and MPs (member of parliament).

I am sure they alone can’t change the country, if Indians don’t try.

But, Indians don’t try and that is a fact…..

Reasons are many….

1) Clashes between beliefs leading to murders and killings.

2) Why should I do? Anyways I alone can’t change the world- Sorry figures.

3) How does it even bother? I have my home in a nice hill station, who cares how the sewage runs here. I would earn and go back. If I start changing, tomorrow people popes will come and tell me that I am snatching their jobs. Fear arises, people are scared every moment they would lose life.

We all share one fear….fear that we would die unnecessarily, when all we want to do is survive.

So, her story begins when she comes to a city as many other. A mega city, name does not matter since every city has its sins.

She is torn by her life when she arrives in the city by three things- lack of money, lack of benevolence and lack of dignity in living what is lived.

Her mother suffered the disease people feared like no other in our country- breast cancer.

The only hands which stood around her without any compromises, without any conundrum and without any conditions were the doctors located somewhere fifteen thousand kilometres away down in the southern most state.

Humans who often help are always those whom you least expect.

What does a human need when totally torn? Any ideas?

Well, let me share……

A hope, a strange day of hope.

A direction.

A small amount of faith.

Some unconditional love which money cannot buy.

Indians suffered from poverty long and the zamindari system. So, ingrained in their mind is a fact that if I am paying for something, it’s bought by me, nothing extraordinary.

This thought often seeps into the medical profession.

But, doctors care and when and those who do, are very close to something greater.

Care and their warmth cannot be brought by money.

Of course, you can buy the medicine but not the care with which they infuse it onto you.

You can buy the amount used for surgeries, but you cannot buy the doctor’s acumen who removes the sickness from the patient.

You cannot buy true care no matter how much you pay.

So, those few hands nurtured her into believing that

This was not the end.

This disease is curable.

Above all, go, try to live again.

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