Her stoned eyes revealed a dreamless state of mind, looking into the vacuum as if she had attained salvation without even knowing a single pleasure of the world.
Her baby was sitting on the cold floor with trivial clothes on its body. the floor was cold enough to send a baby from so called sophisticated society to go to coma.
Her unsolved locks, plain face and emotionless expression were enough to tell that she doesn't belong to the so called well to do society of the nation. Call it a bed-sheet, a stole, a shawl or a rag was all that she had as a winter accessory to cover herself from the biting cold of ruthless Delhi.
Her husband was thrashed by a local policeman a few hours ago for mistakenly being identified as rag-picker in the waiting room of the Indian Railways. Yet, they were normal as they were allowed to sit near the dustbin of the waiting room.
She was moveing now and then trying to find a comfortable and warm position for her half naked child whose wet cheeks were enough to express that he was either hungry or cold or worse, both.
Rani represented a typical Indian face of a lower strata girl who had been refused and abused by all since her childhood. Food, clothes, education or Independence, everything was a dream for her refused by parents, in-laws or society.
Waiting for their train, Rani, her husband Shivram and her brother-in-law Kashi tried to find a well deserved sleep which had been snatched by the ordeal of bread winning for themselves. Hari, her child, had a weak body vulnerable to the killing diseases and it was proved by the severe coughing and running nose.
Policemen were a regular terrorists or a threat to them and whenever so called 'security' came, they trembled like a petty thief caught of a trivial theft.
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