Charity

By Shubham Jhunjhunwala

We are born.

My doppelganger and I, we grow up.

I grow up to be wealthy. He grows up to be penniless. My riches are his claim and his incompetence is my inspiration to greatness.

Wading through life, I- I scream my success stories and revel in my destiny, he- he challenges his destiny and only survives at every phase it.

My intelligence is my asset, his experience holds the power to change the dynamics of this world.

When I sell my face in the crowd, he only watches from the putrid corners of life, the life which I now call a shame.

I buy luxuries with the power of my life, a life whose dream he forsook, looking at the divide of our existence. I growl at weakness and he only smiles at the sight of my dismay.

For me, I want to call myself a dictator one day. And he- he only chooses to live vicariously.

Money, power, lust are his only possessions with which he buys a life; humour, empathy, spirituality are his jewels of wisdom.

He calls his wife and son his family. He treads and the whole community breathes a sigh.

He has stories to tell, knowledge to give out. And his mirror, he sips expensive whisky in posh crowds.

He seems happy though, always wearing a smile, looking extravagant. The other only cries at the sight of my pain.

He looks at me every day, throwing money at my feet. I join my hands and I scream from within, 'My empathies'.

He sees me as a beggar. I see him as my mule.

I call my life a victory. He calls himself a sage.

And now, I shall close my eyes with my heart and mind uniting. And he is buried on the top of the hill.

We meet again, old friend.

Let's have a cup of tea.

By Shubham Jhunjhunwala