If you happen to be on the road,
on National Highway 150,
And passing through the mountains,
Landscapes so nifty,
Beware!
Drive with care,
Do not get lost,
In the greens, or the frost.
You may be in Ukhrul,
Where the air is so cool,
The sights are so nice,
You may get enticed.
Look out on the road,
For a small child,
Limping or maybe crawling,
Dragging his legs behind.
You might also see,
His hut on the side,
Pieces of tin put together,
Is how it'd get described.
If you go in,
You may not find anybody inside,
They would be at the river,
Loading sand from the bed dry.
Working overtime,
To earn much needed cash,
To get him up on his legs,
Watch him make a dash.
Their only grandson,
Otherwise,
Crippled for life.
Please slow down,
Let him pass,
Howsoever it is,
Let him live his life..
*The child described in this poem is not fictional. I've met him. He lives in Ukhrul, a district in Manipur, in a road-side dwelling. He has a disorder that has left him crippled, and his grandparents don't have the necessary means (read money) to get him treated in Imphal (the nearest city with somewhat decent medical facilities), which is 85 kms away. If you'd like to help, please feel free to send me an email. I'll get you in touch with a friend who is making efforts to help the child. *