As the breeze roared up a storm of dust across the front-yard, Amir was lost in thought. That the dandelions in the yard danced mirthfully in the wind didn’t matter to him. That other kids in the street were busy beating up a street dog did not bother him. Amir was lost in deep, arresting thought.
He was wondering about beginnings. The start of everything. His own beginning. When was he born? Where was it? All alone since he could remember, fending for himself peddling peanuts with spices, Amir knew not how he started out in this world. He knew not whose breasts blessed him with the nectar of life. He knew not whose fingers he grabbed hard taking his first steps. He had never known the warmth of a mother’s bosom or the hug of a proud father. A child of the gutter, he grew up his own way.
“Ammi”, screamed one of the street kids, in anguish, as the agitated canine took a bite at him. A surge of emotion ran through Amir’s spine. Whom would he scream for when besieged with pain or panic?
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