BINT-E-SIDDIQUE

Ch-1

This book is a entirly a work of fiction. All characters, locations and
incidents are products of the authors imaginations, Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locale or events is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book can be reproduced, printed or transmitted in any way or form be it electronic or mechanical without the permission from the author.

Copyright © 2018 All rights reserved

The chilly wind from Mumbai, widely known as the "city of dreams" caused my abaya to sway. indication of when the two periods were overlapping. It's maghrib time. I made a mental note to pray maghrib as soon as I got a isolated place.

Then a refreshing tea scent hit my nostrils making me crave for chai.

My last meal was yesterday lunch and that is some refrigerator's rejected food.
Still I am grateful for that.

My routine has been the same for the past two days. Waking up at 'five' from honking of cars, then wandering at the streets of Mumbai and repeat.

Wandering on the busy streets of mumbai, my eyes fell on a small tea stall at the nukkad. A skinny dark brown teenage boy, wearing a white vest, making tea. I admired how in such a small age he looked like a expert, with a big spoon he'd goes all the way up then put it back in the big pan.

My mouth watered as I saw mathri, biscuits and namak paare in the big glass jars. But I have no money. How would I buy it?

I hate begging. My father used to say, 'once a person starts asking from people then the shyness of his eyes will be gone forever. He will always ask from people rather than almighty.' So I prayed to Allah that I wishes to eat those namakpaare and mathri.

There was one old half broken table and a old desk. In which few elderly aged man was sitting and slurping tea and discussing politics.

There's a small tv at the other side of the kid who was making tea, the news flashing 'Is Pm shetty really a counterfeit?' I read the headline, feeling a knot into my stomach.

The skinny, dark brown kid noticed me staring at the mathris. He watched me head to toe, my abaya was drenched in dust because of sleeping on footpaths. Slight pity shine through his eyes and he asked. "Garaj ahe?Want some?"

He was about to hand me two mathris but a hand stopped him.

"Foknichya..." A big masculine big belly man pushed him back. "Kay karat aahaat?
What are you doing?"

The poor boy shook his head in fear. The masculine men snatched the mathris from his hand.

"Kya aisa aira-gaira koi bhi bhikhari ayega matthi mangne tu use meri dukan luta dega? Kahin ka sosal worker hai Tu?
If whoever beggar will come and ask mathri you will give away my whole shop to them? Are you a social worker from somewhere?"

"Bhaiya main to bass...
Brother I was just..."

"Chup kar ke apna kaam kar warna teri pagaar Mein se paise kaat lunga, Phir karta rahiyo sosal work.
Shut up and do your work or else I will cut down your salary, then you can do the social work."

"Aur aay tu chal nikal bhikaran yahan se.
And you get out of here beggar."

He pushed me and I fell on the land. That catches many people's attention from the road and from the neighbors shop. I stood up and walked off from there.

Thank God my face wasn't visible as I was wearing a veil. I wiped a tear from my cheek with the back of my hand.

I was lost in my pity world that I didn't realize I bumped into someone. The guy was wearing a bright yellow shirt which doesn't complimenting his dark skin. Three-four buttons of his shirt was open showing his hairy chest.