Attempting to Finish Boo's Book

So for nerdfighter book club, the ever awesome Mr.John Green has asked us to finish Katherine Boo's award winning novel, Behind The Beautiful Forevers. The only problem is I just can't finish the damn thing.
(Caution: This may spoil it a tad bit for those who haven't read it yet)

The book is about Mumbai under city and how families in the slum called Annawadi cope with the fluctuating global markets, the over population and lack of space, the harsh weather, poverty, corruption, religious discrimination, careless governance and just generally ruthless people. It introduces you to characters that are both essentially good but unfortunately flawed, like, well, all of us.

Annawadi-a relatively small slum housing 3000 people in 335 huts-is situated inconveniently on ground that belongs to the Mumbai International Airport; and I was conveniently unaware of it, and that bothers me.
In my defence, there are a lot of slums in Mumbai. 

Who am I kidding, that's a pathetic defence. That's exactly what annoys me. There are so many slums in this city but my ignorance and nonchalance has left my nose up high for so long. I have failed to imagine complexly at the lives of my citymates. There are so many flaws in this city and in our systems it's actually scary, but when looked at closely, the flaws are a product of desperation. Policemen finish their detection hastily and ask for under-the-table cash, but because they're not paid enough by their superiors. Doctors at government hospitals wrongly diagnose patients when convenient.

...The doctor entered the room with the results of the forensic investigation. Abdul was seventeen years old if he paid two thousand rupees, and twenty years old if he did not. 

 Abdul sat up, angry. He didn't have two thousand rupees, and what was it with this rich doctor, asking a boy in detention for cash? The doctor held up his hands, rueful. 'Yes, it's rubbish, asking poor boys like you, but the government doesn't pay us enough money to raise our children. We're forced to take bribes, to be kamina.' He smiled at Abdul. 'Nowadays we'd do almost anything for money.'

Abdul couldn't help but feel sorry for this friendly doctor, especially when the guy relented and declared him to be seventeen. A few days later, Abdul would find himself feeling concern for a Mumbai policeman. 

 I'm only lucky-so abundantly lucky-that I am not in such a vulnerable position, that I've been born to a wealthy family (and by wealthy I mean the availability of running water, electricity, an internet connection, and the privilege of good private schooling and regular meals.) 

Apart from making me guilty, the book has filled me with a sadness that is different from the one I received upon the death of Alaska Young and Augustus Waters, characters that take more than a hundred pages to understand and appreciate. Even the unfair end of Sanjay, a character that was introduced for no more than three pages, made me tearfully put down the book for a week long pause. 

The reason this book hurts so much is because all of this takes place here in Mumbai. Here in my backyard, every single day. For as long as I can remember, metropolitan Mumbai has portrayed a different picture to me-autorickshaws and bad roads, massive malls and pani puri stalls, juhu beach and pan stained sidewalks, bollywood, beggars and BEST buses. I'm not saying I was completely oblivious to the plight of so many families living here, I just wasn't aware of how deeply fucked up things are.

I'm just glad my eyes are wide open now. 

Old photographs.

Well they're not too old. They're only from a year and a half ago.

I had a smartphone with a camera for a short while in 2012, a lot of close friends to take silly photos of, hilarious breaks in between my irregularly scheduled classes, WhatsApp for those I didn't meet often, random outings with buddies, a couple birthday parties and a lot of memories I wanted to keep safe by the means of photographs.

Soon after, we got busy with our portions, exams came and went and came again, Facebook profiles were deleted, students migrated, gaps widened, friendships faded, new friends were made along the way, hurdles were overcome, boring college paper work was filled out, practicals were conducted, tests were discreetly cheated on by masses, crash courses were attended, marks were distributed and somewhere in the middle of it all my smart phone was replaced with a dabba.

Now, my boards are done with, my entrance exams are all over, congratulations have been received and I got myself a new phone.

*quick jump of joy*

Say hello to my Moto e! It's what I'm typing this out with. I'm back on WhatsApp and have a bunch of other social apps downloaded on this beauty. Also, I put in my old SD card.

Only just now did I look through the silly photos and videos I took then. I can't believe how much fun I've had. They're not just photographs, they're a moment in time, a moment in my life and the lives of others captured still; a tiny piece of time for me to keep forever. It's funny how nostalgic I feel about it though, it's not like I've lived a long time. Like I said, they're only from a year and a half ago.
Maybe it's because of the people the photos remind me of. Maybe knowing that I'm going to see them less often after our admissions are done with makes me value these photographs more.

It's a scary business these admissions.