This Is Wrong Honey!!

We both were sitting alone in front of a 'crowd ridden' space of a mall until he came in a flash, flattened his palm in front of me and with his 'hard to figure out' expressions said nothing. His malnourished body was telling what he was in need of, few pennies that couldn't vaporize his hunger but at least can leave enough in him to beg for few more and this time to feed his parents as well. 


"Go away." I said in a 'not pleasant to hear' tone.


It wasn't new for him. He might had been left his pride and honor the day he saw the lights of this world.


He remained motionless, his little hands were intact but it did negligible effect over me. 


"What do you want? Go yar please!" I warned after getting irritated by his breathless way of looking at us. Finally, he moved without uttering a word. 


"Hey Listen" she summoned him and took a 50 rupee note from her purse and gave him. That little boy grinned like a merchant who just found gold in his bathtub.


"Now this is wrong. You are not supposed to give him that, it's like supporting child labor." I yelled.


"Oh! Philosophy?" she laughed.


"Ah! not philosophy. I was telling you that it is wrong honey."


"WRONG???? Ramming red lights is right. Hmm? Passing comments over girls which your friends do proudly, is cool. Right? You know, we complains too much. This is wrong, this shouldn't be done blah blah....Common, we simply do what we want, no matter what we are supposed to. These are Indian traits with which a child here born with"


"I had heard people accusing government over filthy Indian roads , blaming mindless people, while having their gutkha from sachet, throwing wrapper anywhere they want and then taking a blind spit shot at spittoon which never embeds in the target." she went on and on and I was listening like a 3 year old child. I fell short of words.


She continued and this time her voice was much softer, "Look at that kid. His family must have been begging for years, his future generation would beg as well. He will spend his whole life wiping glass windows, and flattening his palm to beg from so called intellectuals like you. Believe me, the day you turn the fate of those poor kids, i would stop showering my gratitude to them till then don't expect me to change."


(I don't know whether she was right or wrong.)


That boy was now getting the attention of his fellows who were busy hovering over that 50 rs. note. This pumped his chest and he was looking at us smiling. Who knows if it was his way to thank.