Rama walked into a grocery store in Mumbai, list in hand. She reached for tomatoes, shocked to see them priced at ₹200 per kilo. Thinking it was a mistake, she checked milk: ₹150 a liter. Bread was as expensive as her daily commute fare. She asked the vendor, "Are you selling these or gold?" He shrugged, "Inflation's the new reality, madam." Rama chuckled, "At these rates, I might have to start farming on my balcony." She picked one apple, sighing. "Well, looks like I'll be on a diet." As she left, even the grocery bags seemed to mock her frugality.
Ray of light far from sight All his need is a caring feed A place to sleep, a blanket to keep - the despodent waif Warm and safe Cruel men see the poor one plead, Emptiness filled hearts hesitant to share a part. On the pavement's corner sits this lad a bit. Weak and pale telling his tale None hear Do they feign fear? Hoping - is all he could do for some fresh hot stew Every passer-by down the lane Ignore this guy and all his pain Why is this scene not wiping off my brain Serene it Remains Revives time and again As I sit by the window of the train.
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