The hungry kite-runner

And she looked at the rain water in front of her shack. Had it rained for an hour more, the water would have flooded right in. Her 6 year old son lay behind her on what was their bed, mumbling something. In his hand was a magazine cutout of some sports car. He was hungry but he’s learnt now how to gulp down hunger with water.

She shifted her gaze to the old and rusting white Amulspray tins where she keeps her wheat flour and lentils; they were empty.

Sitting in her haunches she resumed staring at the world outside her plastic shack when suddenly she caught sight of a kite, broken loose and now drifting with the wind. She immediately called out to her son, who made a startling dash after the kite and was out of sight in seconds.

She resumed in her position, wishing that her son was able to get hold of the kite. She wished that her son got busy playing with the kite all day and forgot his hunger. Like yesterday, when he got busy catching tadpoles in half cut coconut shells, thinking he was catching baby-fishes. She wished he didn’t return before late evening when her husband arrives. She wished her husband came home sober. She wished her husband didn’t waste all his daily earnings on alcohol and bought some food instead. She wished she could work. She looked at her legs. She wished she could walk.