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All In A Days Work

It was 6 o clock in the evening,12 candles lit in front of her empty eyes,a faint smile,some tears,and some bruises, they'd all had come to attend Jenny's birthday.

Some were new friends and some were with her ever since she could remember.But something inside told her that today was going to be different. 6 AM tomorrow, she would travel to the big city of dreams.Jenny's father who seldom got up from his drunken stupor had a fresh look on his face today.There was hope in his eyes.He had made all the arrangements,"she would be well taken care of" he thought,"besides she had no future here in this small town" he said to himself silently.

Jenny was getting dressed up for the evening, and had packed her bags for tomorrows journey.Deep inside, she knew it would be some time before she would come back.She took a long hard look at her corner in that one room house.She left nothing behind, certainly not her memories.

Jenny's father borrowed some more money,and bought a new bottle tonight,his last night of responsibility.He would be a free man from tomorrow,and perhaps rich too.Jenny's sale would fetch him 5000 bucks.!He had worked so hard for this deal, all in a hard days work finally paying off.

Suddenly,Jenny's out of focus eyes,and shaking body both came back to reality.
"Here's your 500 bucks" the man said gingerly...and then got up and left Jenny with her old friends..empty eyes,a faint smile,some tears,and some bruises and some new ones like the 24 candles...all in a day's or rather night's work.

The window rolls down,
A pair of eyes frown,
muffled voices drown,
seems from out of town.

Walking by the road side,
some tease and some chide,
I no longer try to hide,
move on,brush them aside.

It's been a tough night,
no sign of money tonight,
must get back for another shift,
this time I'll take the lift.

I am fighting for a living,
But i die everyday,
I hope this is my last outing,
I don't want to be a prey,
my fate is not be a destitute,
someday I will not be
this roadside prostitute...


  1. A moving post Gyan.

    I meandered in from Indiblogger ; did not see your comment in Blog-a-ton site with link to here. Were you late ?

    Contact Vipul if that's the case.., there are a few who could not make it in time as well..

    All the best :-)

  2. Thanks Madhu - I already did post it to Vipul , yet to hear from him.

  3. A moving story indeed...

    Many people look at Jenny's tribe with disdain, suspicion, pity, ignorance... and a whole lot of other emotions. Mostly negative.

    They are in the world's oldest profession.

    To my mind... it is because of them... that people like us are safe. I do not agree with the criminalization of them and/or their trade...

    PS: Do read Nethra and Pawan's posts. They too have dealt with a similar topic.

  4. You re right - wonder when the taboo tag will go from our society.

    thanks for suggesting alternative posts, will certainly read them!

  5. We got to read all the other posts and chose our favourite and then caste our vote.

    Check out this link:

  6. Very dark story indeed. Or should I say a harsh reality?!
    Nicely narrated. Short and crisp.
    All the best, sir!

  7. You really are a wonderful storyteller .. scathing narrative...

  8. @ Kartik - thank you for appreciating the story...sadly sometimes even stories are not fiction.

  9. @ Roshmi - just trying to get the work-life balance correct so that I spend some time reading some of the awesome posts..thanks for the reco's they were truly wonderful.

  10. @aria - long time no hear.... Thanks for your comment.

  11. Very poignant!! Very sad and painful too!! :(

    But a very good expression and execution. :)
    Cheers :)

  12. This is a very delicate topic that u toched.. well narrated.. good post!!

  13. @ Shilpa thank you - my objective would have been achieved even if 1 insensitive person changes the way he thinks or notwithstanding. !

    @ West wind - thanks for dropping by,and appreciating the post.

  14. hourt touching . painful if u ask me

    Ps- ur link in blog-a-ton "all in a day's work" post section is not working ... post it again if u may

  15. Thanks for pointing it out Naveen -I have informed Vipul, hopefully it gets rectified on time.!

  16. Raksha Raman -

    @Gyanban: Thanks for visiting my profile and thus helping me visit you! I loved the post and the way you have narrated it...It is simple and strikes a chord and makes one think hard! Poetry is something that not everyone succeeds at. You have done justice to both prose and poetry!

  17. Raksha Raman -

    @Gyanban: Thanks for visiting my profile and thus helping me visit you! I loved the post and the way you have narrated it...It is simple and strikes a chord and makes one think hard! Poetry is something that not everyone succeeds at. You have done justice to both prose and poetry!

  18. very touching. Very nicely put, short and crisp.

    and thanks for your comments on my post. :)


  19. Touching one! Nice post! :)

    Best wishes

  20. @ Tavish - am glad you liked it.

    @ Chandrika - welcome to Scrambled Egg. Thanks.

  21. You really are a wonderful storyteller .. scathing narrative...


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It's 5AM and the clock is late,
the rush to dress up and change my fate,
but the wrinkle is annoying the mane,
and the greys are flaying the vein,
I carry the mirror in mind,
leave the resigned sigh behind.

The train is packed with eyes,
I stand under the strain of lights
the dark skin is brighter,
maybe they'll like me better,
their shampoos leave no clue,
only the fan comes to my rescue.

Waiting for the elevator,
a minty breath drifts over the shoulder,
the noose around my neck chokes
gasps for breath and the heart pokes
the lights are incandescent inside
empty faces on the outside.

The tube-light and the guard flickers
People wearing strange monikers
floating close to the floor
a door opens, the stupor
he sashays along leaving them behind,
my eyes lose him and hope to find.

Clocks go by and the hours shiver
the cardigan shrugs off and the  lips quiver
a sudden surge of reason, cold air ,
aimlessly slides off my ruffled hair
witness  to the porcelain teapot stare,
bits an…