It had started with a beautiful day in My hometown where I have learned such a beautiful lesson that I will never forget. Even though everyone was smiling, the sun was shining and children were playing happily, but my eyes were sparked by only one person; the one who was sitting under the tree with a smiley face, asking for a penny, to buy a loaf of bread saying Good Morning to everyone passing through him, I did not know what the first action should I make, wondering if I can ask him how is he doing? Is he okay? Why he ended up like that? Many questions came into my mind, because of that smile. How can any person be happy while he keeps always crawling from one street to another begging people for money and food? I was imagining myself if I were in his place my whole life will turn to a hell based on sorrow and grief. How can I smile while myself, and my spirit is telling me to cry, I would never endure this feeling, so I went toward him and asked all that came into my mind? With a sweating body and a trembling voice I said : Good morning, he replied with a grin on his face, wakey for a pretty lady I smiled sadly, and asked why? Why are you being so fake, pretending that you are having a good time and happy while you are not? Your eyes show you within pain and your hidden tears !? He answered me why are you so sad? don't you have everything? mm …Your eyes are telling something had happened? I was surprised by his answer asking curiously: how did you know? He told me we all have emotions but it depends on us if we like to show them or not. Yes I'm sad and you can bear neither my feelings nor my pain of having no shelter no family and no friends, but I try always to overcome the harsh memories I try to be positive and look to things from another perspective, I asked again but why? He told me because I believe in miracles I believe that there is someone who is always stalking and tracking me when I'm sick or sleeping I asked with wonder what makes you sure about that? he said because I feel it and for me, this feeling of being safe and protected means the world to me even more than being happy. I asked with amazement but who is that "someone"? He replied back with confidence he is in the sky watching me every day and I'm pretty sure that one day I will get what no buddy else had before, I will live with my own family and play with my kids because this life is not the one it is all fake, am sure that there will be something prepared only for poor people who did not have the chance to be like you or any ordinary person in this life. One day we will all die and none of us will take his money or glory to his grave, we will be alone there; in a place where we all be equal in. I started crying, and with a faint voice, I admitted: I wish all people think like that. I do not know why should we care about our good looking, job salary and what the others say about us, why do we care that much hate in our hearts why..? He answered softly because the truth hurts and hard to be accepted. I will give you advice my dear try to keep it for the rest of your life; just be who you are and if you want to do something that people think is weird while you really want to do it, just do it and never care about them .like smiling even when you are begging, as I did today although it was unfair to you? I surprisingly answered... how did you?... he gave me a tender smile and said yes This Life is so "UNFAIR" was what I have seen In your eyes.

“Rohit, Rohit…, where are you? Where are you Rohit, come quickly, wear your clothes”. His father, Mohan called out several times, but Rohit did not show up. Rohit was just 2 years old. It was 6:30pm, the sun had just set. People were getting ready with candles and kerosine oil lanterns. It is a backward Indian village and people still don't have electricity running. This summer the village just got the electricity poles erected, however villagers were still waiting for the electricity to come to their houses. One day Rohit‘s mother decided to pull the electricity wire from the Newly-erected power lines pole to connect to a bulb in her house. Unfortunately the electricity was flowing through at that very moment. Electric shock caused the immediate death of Kamla. Another big disaster happened when Rohit followed his mother, who was lying dead on the ground, holding the naked wire in her hand. Rohit touched her and died immediately too. It was a small, close knit village. Everyone knew everyone.The whole village was weeping at the sight. Sadly no one could go through greater agony than the three daughters, Kamla left behind her. The whole family was mourning the death of Kamla and Rohit. The youngest daughter was just 3 years old. She did not even understand what had happened to her mother. People tried to console her, but everything went in vain. Life still has to keep going on. Slowly the other daughters learnt to live without their mother except the little daughter Chandi. Finally Mohan decided to re-marry a woman named Hira, so that kids can grow up with a female figure, who will at least try to love them as her daughters. Hira was a kind and beautiful woman. Hira loved all the kids with her whole heart as her own kids. So far so good, until one day the reality unfurled and she found out that her husband already had a vasectomy. She was in disbelief as to what cruel game god has played with her. She felt cheated and angry for the terrible injustice.The frustration started coming out at kids in the beginning, and eventually it became obvious that step mothers can never love as your own mother. This was just the thin end of the wedge. Bigger problem was somewhere else. Perhaps it was the agony of not bearing her own kids. Hira felt her life was ruined, she wanted to see her own flesh and blood. Nonetheless her motherly instinct was very strong. She wanted to have her own kids, but she wanted to love her step kids too, just the way she loved them before. Very soon it became a domestic gossip in the village as to how unfair Mohan is to Hira. People started accusing him of committing a crime for not being honest before he married Hira. In the meantime kids were oblivious to the emotional roller coaster Hira was going through. Kids took Hira's anger as a temporary adjustment to her new life. Mohan felt guilty for causing this pain to Hira. He soon realized that Hira will never forgive him, and his kids will live without a mother's love again. Sadly, what is done cant be changed. In villages divorce is not an option. Well, Hira was very bitter, and if one believes in restorative justice, this is it. She was entitled to “Her Female Body” and have her own kids. She felt deprived and Mohan was guilty in her eyes. Ironically in-spite of everything, Hira loved Mohan a lot. At the same time she did not want to be a mean mother to her step kids. With all these emotions, Hira became the perfect picture of what it says “repression breeds sublimation”. A moment of tranquility set in. Hira started to look at the bright side of her life. On one hand her step kids may not be her own, on the other hand she got such beautiful daughters; all grown up, without any pain.The daughters, who love her so much that they even forgot their own mother now. She thought that with everything that has happened to her, she can either feel sorry for herself or treat what has happened as a gift. She accepted her step kids with all her heart and never wanted to separate from them. Hira realized that the word “Maa” has no boundaries, no discrimination, it is the purest of all, the word which her daughters call her. Hira found a new dimension of her life and felt, “the wheel turns and turns and turns: it never stops and stands still.” She will always love these kids as her own flesh and blood from now. This incident happened long back in 1988 in a village in India where I lived as a child. But the memories still haunt me even now. Whenever I see a charging cable or a wire hanging from the electric outlet, I get scared. So many years have passed but the memory is etched so deeply in my heart and brain, that I never let my daughters go near the electric outlets. On one hand science and technology can be so useful to humankind, on the other hand a small mistake can ruin everything. This is the evidence right here and I always keep this in my mind.

To Lose a Child Through Life - A Poem It's impossible to know that you child is still OK To protect your child was your job, so you think you failed in every way When your child is no longer with you and still so very young You can't help but think there must be more you could have done You turn the music up and sob while in your car and the shower hides your tears You know you can't survive this kind of loss another day, another month, another year Yet, the years go by and you realize you're still alone Although you did all you knew and could, your child did not come home The child you carried and brought into this world has gone away There's nothing left to do but pray and pray and pray How evil are those who desire nothing more than to destroy the mother-child bond You continue to seek justice, but the gutwrenching pain goes on and on No matter how huge the loss, you have no choice but to start another day Without your child that gave your life meaning in every way You lie down at night and think of your child and feel so all alone There is nothing in this world you want more than for your child to just come home. - Robin Karr Losing a child ‘through life' is the most horrific way to lose a child.Until a couple of decades ago, nobody had ever lost a child in this way– at least not in mass numbers. And, children didn't go missing ‘legally'. No mother should ever have to lose a child through life. It's not normal. It's not natural. There is no closure. There is no end to the gut wrenching pain. The wound does not ever heal. In fact, it never even forms a scab toward healing. It remains perpetually open… The taking of living children from living mothers is something so terrible, so evil, that there is no way to really describe such a loss. Not really... Mama loves you, Bradyn and Gracelyn

I looked at my elder brother' life from under the ridiculous bang that mom was cutting me each 2nd day of the month throughout my sad life. He was not particularly physically strong, and his spirit often failed, but I always thought that he was the most extraordinary person, so I was lucky with him. My pride has no limit. When the girls from the class were talking about their brothers and sisters, I stood in a corner and smiled broadly, because I knew that my brother was the best. Considering how difficult it was for me to converge with my peers, I had to take the position of an observer. My parents didn't understand my brother, or frankly sometimes they pretended as understand. And only I felt his pain during his strange life. My brother was very sensitive to the world, so very often, through the sieve of children's thoughts, I could not help noticing how his gray-green eyes filled the ocean. He did not talk to anyone since the age of 16, people began to believe him, as if he had lost his speech, and it was good for him. Hikes for speech therapists left much to be desired. Day and night he was reading, noted some individually-made phrases, paragraphs and sometimes smoked cheap cigarettes from a kiosk located next to the house and wrote poetry. Oh God, what poems he wrote! It seems to me that the whole world could have long ago turned a blind eye to all its oddities, just to be able to read or hear his works. He recited his poems only to me and it was the happiest time in my life, usually filled with chocolate sweets, eating teeth; classmates, catching up on boredom and ridiculous fours in a diary, grieving parents. With him my soul ascended higher and higher. In those moments I felt myself involved in something supernaturally beautiful. With sweeping movements of his hands, he told me about his touch; what touched him, but was at the same time indifferent and finally, that his, to his great regret, could not touch. This was our secret: I was invited strictly to the apartment in a shed, I, and he, of course. I loved observing the facial expressions of my hero, who was climbing enchantingly on the curb, and a constant sense of fierce pain pierced me, so that after nights of another secret literary evening I would close in the toilet and bellow for a long time. Of course, no one knew about this: neither his brother, nor even more so our parents. They would simply have not forgiven his brother - neither that, as it turned out, he still knows how to speak, nor that he allegedly influences me badly. When I turned 12, my brother was no longer able to put up with life, he left. I can not blame him, though sometimes I confess and try, sitting on a lid closed with a toilet and blowing every 40 seconds. After drinking a lion's dose of sleeping pills for the night, my hero went to a meeting with dreams. His parents found him in the morning cold and blue, with a note at the head of the bed, the content of which provided parents with no persecution by state bodies. My brother asked me not to blame anyone for his death. I tried to understand why he did not write a single word to me, I was very upset and at the same time for a second I did not doubt his great and sincere love for me, perhaps to the only creature on the planet that did not upset him. Thinking over what happened, I did not understand how my legs led me into the barn, into our secret shelter from the outside world. I decided to look over the curb, where he hid his works and not in vain. He wrote to me the lines that are permanently carved on my soul, and which I will never share with anyone, as adults say too "too personal." I always knew that my brother was special, because only he could hear, understand and accept me, deaf-mute a closed girl without embellishment, he did not feel pity for me, for him I was just like him - absolutely normal.