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When you grow up poor, you see life differently. You cherish things more, the things that matter at least. And what matters the most to the poor? Money.
I grew up in the slums of Mumbai, I was the poor orphaned kid. I was the project. No parents, no relatives, no house. I had nothing. I grew up in those slums because I was born there. My birth wasn't even registered until I was eleven. And who would've registered it? My mother died in childbirth, and nobody knows who my father is.
I was the kid that was transferred around the slum everyday. Everyday a different woman showed me some kindness and gave me something to eat. Something extra they had after their family ate. I never had enough. I never had proper schooling because I wasn't a registered citizen for a long time. I didn't exist until I was eleven.
I used to sit with the kids that went to school and peek into their books. Not because I liked to study, no. But because someone told me that the easiest way to get money was to gain knowledge and then a job.
Liars.
Knowledge doesn't take you anywhere. Degree does. It didn't matter that I knew a lot. It didn't matter that I even knew how to speak English, which I also learned from other children who went to school and some people in the slum, English was somehow was mandatory too. What mattered was that I didn't have a degree. I couldn't get one. I had no one to pay for it. Or for my school. The petty jobs I did at the tailor's store only paid enough for two pairs of clothes and food. I had no money for anything else.
All I wanted, all I needed was to get out of that slum and make money. Make so much money that I never have to look back at the life I had. I wanted to make so much money that I never regretted anything in life.
I am there now. I have money. I have enough money that I don't need to work another day in life. Do I have regrets? Yes. Just one.
If someone asked the younger me, what would I choose, love or money? I would scream money before the sentence is over. And it is right, the answer is right. I wanted money, I need it. But if someone asked me the same question now, my answer would be different.
YOU ARE READING
Taqdeer
RomanceBook 7 of the Mangoverse What's written in your fate, finds you on its own. Collection of short stories. . . . . . . . . . . . . . Connected to my book Hasratein but can be read on it's own. Check the tags before diving in.