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I grumble up and push my way into the crowded metro. I grab a hanger with my left hand and settle amidst a frenzy of the so called ’Advanced Homosapiens’. I smell, the lady’s body perfume. I could smell the man's sweat, who leans his arm above to hold the railiing. It’s quite an intolerable odour, this, strange appetite of sweat and deodorants. I look around and notice everyone looking down at there phones. Maybe phones are the reasons no one smells what I smell. A keen research suggest that, when we focus on a certain task we blur out our senses from the adjoining task. It's now been a month, since I’ve been working as an intern screen writer for this production house. I usually travel a lot. I have lived in a lot of cities but when I was picked for this weird North East part of my country, I was not quite sure. You know, how in your early twenties you are practically confused about every thing?! Well, my confusion only showed that my inbuilt, Fear,Flight and Fight mechanism were working perfectly fine. Now, for me there was only one solution for my problem -Schrodingers Cat. Yup! You have to test it to know it! I unlock the door to my rental room. A run down place with walls peeling off. Water gushing in, whenever it rains. I practically had one bed, just to sleep in and that is all I needed. I change and crawl in the comforts of my blankets...... Damn! I hear the neighbor’s kid cry again! I was quite annoyed with this ritual of crying vicariously at night. This has been the the Third time, I hear her cry and before I know, it is not a cry anymore, it's a scream of anguish and despair. For some strange reasons her parents turn on the T.V and blast ’out of tune’ hindi songs on it. Man! I hate people! The next day was my very deserving Sunday, the landlady, who happens to be very pretty, bought me breakfast. She suggested some places I could visit while my short stay here . I casually ask her about the ’Crying Girl’ next door. What I’am told next, made me obnoxious. Apparently, this 3y/o kid has a Certain Neurological condition which triggers anonymous reactions in her head. She cannot stand on her feet because of this condition and it broke my heart. After a couple of hours, I went out bought a Choclate and knocked on my neighbor’s door. A women who I suppose is her mother opened it, I told her, It was my birthday and I was here to distribute chocolates. She bought it. I walk in and sit on the bed besides this little girl. She is attempting to stand with the help of a giant squishy rubber ball. She fails and slips, as her little hands cannot quite get hold of the ball. I give her this chocolate, only to hear her mother telling me, ’she's diabetic’. I felt a unpleasant stir in my head . I gently carassed her soft cheeks and ogled at her lovely weary eyes which were visibly tired of crying and not getting sleep. ’Bye Trushali ’ I whispered and left that house with a heavy heart. I’ve always been suspicious of some of gods indelicasis. Like, the M-Theory or Quantum Measurement problem but this was the worst, Pain was the worst. I know, I’ll never quite understand why certain things turn out the way they do? Or why is there nothing I could do about it ? Except for the fact that the next book, I’m currently writing, starts with the words, ”I dedicate this Book to Trushali the bravest girl, I’m so glad, I met. Hang in there and stay strong little soldier, we’ll get you help”. I would have loved to write something which Includes more of dialogues but sadly the person I made my connection with, will never speak... ”PAIN DEMANDS TO BE FELT ”.