money
ˈmʌni/
noun
----> a current medium of exchange in the form of coins and banknotes; coins and banknotes
collectively.
----> sums of money.
----> the assets, property, and resources owned by someone or something; wealth.
----> circular, thin, usually metal-made objects that will cause more pain if taken away rather than
when they're thrown at someone.
----> rectangular, coloured(red, blue, yellow, brown, green) strips of rich-feeling paper that people can maim, threaten, assault, extort or kill for.
Example: "I counted the money and put it in my wallet before it got stolen from me undeservedly".
Synonyms: cash, capital, coinage, silver, gold, dough, currency, wealth, riches, fortune, prosperity, public image, food, clothing, shelter, roti, kapda, makaan.
Hair set, polished shoes, ironed clothes, tucked-in shirt, neatly knotted tie, expensive wrist-watch, best deodorant on. Yes, I take work very seriously. On my way to the train station, I was walking down a busy Monday street on a dusty evening and was almost there. Vehicles honked where birds should've chirped, and smoke bellowed out and surrounded everything that tried to distort it. The sun had approached its bedtime, and silhouettes of moths surrounded street lamps, buzzing around the source of light. Sweaty attendants of the roadside restaurants and juice shops yelled so as to beat the commotion caused by the horns and engines of the vehicles, and crowd going both ways made its way through every crevice in between vehicles.
I finally reached the ticket counter after breaking sweat, where I greeted another queue of impatient travelers; some on their way home, some off. The place reeked of sweat and dirt and a lot of other unpleasant stuff, and there were paan stains in every corner you could find. Some or the other beggar waited next to the junction of the ticket window and the queue, asking for a dime or two. After waiting a while, I was third in line. I saw a beggar waiting next to the guy who was first in our queue. A teenager, ragged dirt-clad clothes, hair filled with dust and eyes full of misery and suffering. He stood up and asked the first guy for some to go on about with life. The guy just took his ticket and walked away, ignoring the boy next to him. The guy who was in front of me had now reached the counter. He was well-built, tall, and had a radiating aura. He looked like the devil had carved him out himself. A very shrewd-looking and matter-of-fact kinda guy. The boy nudged him and asked him for some.
The guy, disgusted by the very presence of the beggar, shrugged off his arm and smacked him in the head. He fell to the floor holding his head, crying. The guy turned to the window,
"How can you even allow these low-lives here?!"
"It's not our fault, sir. We have no say in this. They come here, settle down and trouble everyone that comes their way." the guy at the counter said.
"Better take care of them. Call the police and finish them. Finish all of them. They don't deserve to live. Not here, not anywhere", the guy said, sounding like he was ready to take a dagger out and finish the job himself.
He stormed off once he got his ticket, leaving the poor boy in tears. The boy got up holding his head, his sight tracking the guy as he walked away from the scene. Eyes filled with hatred and abomination, the boy said something at a very normal volume, which was enough for me to hear it as I was standing right next to him. I was stunned after what I heard. I took my ticket and walked away as the words choked me and crept into my ears and into my brain, playing themselves on repeat. I put my earphones on to drown them out.
I looked around wherever I went, and poverty was everywhere. It was on the corners of footpaths where families lay strewn without a care. It was on the streets where naked little boys and girls ran around each other. It was on the roads where cracks had crept through cheap cement and led the roads to be unfit for use. It was in the movements of the girl who was forced to buy just one packet of chips instead of two because she didn't have enough money. And it was in the eyes of the banana vendor at the turn of the road, who twitched a little every time he was asked to lower the price of what he tried to sell. I went to sleep with a shiver in my spine that night, because I could very well be one of them. Avoiding it was the reason I worked in my free hours despite of going to college. Because there was no avoiding poverty unless you avoided it. I closed my eyes, hoping to wake up to a richer Earth with less suffering, as the boy's words echoed in my ears.
"Ek din, woh noton mein hee jalega"
Someday, he's going to burn in the same money he prizes himself over.
ˈmʌni/
noun
----> a current medium of exchange in the form of coins and banknotes; coins and banknotes
collectively.
----> sums of money.
----> the assets, property, and resources owned by someone or something; wealth.
----> circular, thin, usually metal-made objects that will cause more pain if taken away rather than
when they're thrown at someone.
----> rectangular, coloured(red, blue, yellow, brown, green) strips of rich-feeling paper that people can maim, threaten, assault, extort or kill for.
Example: "I counted the money and put it in my wallet before it got stolen from me undeservedly".
Synonyms: cash, capital, coinage, silver, gold, dough, currency, wealth, riches, fortune, prosperity, public image, food, clothing, shelter, roti, kapda, makaan.
Hair set, polished shoes, ironed clothes, tucked-in shirt, neatly knotted tie, expensive wrist-watch, best deodorant on. Yes, I take work very seriously. On my way to the train station, I was walking down a busy Monday street on a dusty evening and was almost there. Vehicles honked where birds should've chirped, and smoke bellowed out and surrounded everything that tried to distort it. The sun had approached its bedtime, and silhouettes of moths surrounded street lamps, buzzing around the source of light. Sweaty attendants of the roadside restaurants and juice shops yelled so as to beat the commotion caused by the horns and engines of the vehicles, and crowd going both ways made its way through every crevice in between vehicles.
I finally reached the ticket counter after breaking sweat, where I greeted another queue of impatient travelers; some on their way home, some off. The place reeked of sweat and dirt and a lot of other unpleasant stuff, and there were paan stains in every corner you could find. Some or the other beggar waited next to the junction of the ticket window and the queue, asking for a dime or two. After waiting a while, I was third in line. I saw a beggar waiting next to the guy who was first in our queue. A teenager, ragged dirt-clad clothes, hair filled with dust and eyes full of misery and suffering. He stood up and asked the first guy for some to go on about with life. The guy just took his ticket and walked away, ignoring the boy next to him. The guy who was in front of me had now reached the counter. He was well-built, tall, and had a radiating aura. He looked like the devil had carved him out himself. A very shrewd-looking and matter-of-fact kinda guy. The boy nudged him and asked him for some.
The guy, disgusted by the very presence of the beggar, shrugged off his arm and smacked him in the head. He fell to the floor holding his head, crying. The guy turned to the window,
"How can you even allow these low-lives here?!"
"It's not our fault, sir. We have no say in this. They come here, settle down and trouble everyone that comes their way." the guy at the counter said.
"Better take care of them. Call the police and finish them. Finish all of them. They don't deserve to live. Not here, not anywhere", the guy said, sounding like he was ready to take a dagger out and finish the job himself.
He stormed off once he got his ticket, leaving the poor boy in tears. The boy got up holding his head, his sight tracking the guy as he walked away from the scene. Eyes filled with hatred and abomination, the boy said something at a very normal volume, which was enough for me to hear it as I was standing right next to him. I was stunned after what I heard. I took my ticket and walked away as the words choked me and crept into my ears and into my brain, playing themselves on repeat. I put my earphones on to drown them out.
I looked around wherever I went, and poverty was everywhere. It was on the corners of footpaths where families lay strewn without a care. It was on the streets where naked little boys and girls ran around each other. It was on the roads where cracks had crept through cheap cement and led the roads to be unfit for use. It was in the movements of the girl who was forced to buy just one packet of chips instead of two because she didn't have enough money. And it was in the eyes of the banana vendor at the turn of the road, who twitched a little every time he was asked to lower the price of what he tried to sell. I went to sleep with a shiver in my spine that night, because I could very well be one of them. Avoiding it was the reason I worked in my free hours despite of going to college. Because there was no avoiding poverty unless you avoided it. I closed my eyes, hoping to wake up to a richer Earth with less suffering, as the boy's words echoed in my ears.
"Ek din, woh noton mein hee jalega"
Someday, he's going to burn in the same money he prizes himself over.
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If my neurons are drunk enough to make me write this post, they're definitely drunk enough to appreciate your criticism. Shoot.