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Tribute to The Street Kids of Mumbai Documentary I used to pick pockets And steal tomato at the market place I beg on the streets of Mumbai, India’s largest city I stop drivers and ask for spare change I usually get a few rupees -25 cents I’m a runaway I feel like I’m eleven, It’s all my mothers fault She beat me when I wouldn’t fetch water Well, my birth mother died My father’s new wife felt pleasure in inflicting pain onto another woman’s child Street gangs and drug dealers roam these streets Thugs are thieves They snatch chains from women’s necks An eleven year old boy puts his few possessions on a tree They have stollen his clothes, blanket and mat The twenty year old who looks after us Was struck by a train He was drunk and taking a walk When the train cut his leg off He knows these streets well He looks after us and our money He introduced us to drugs One of it , whitener, gets inhaled from a cloth We are a gang And he’s the leader I use the substance every day And get high off of it What are you doing here? You give this town a bad name An officer says to us Once a week the church gives us some cclothes and some food to eat Eat everything and fill your stomachs When they submerge the idol, [god of war , Signaling the end of the monsoon season] People drop money We dive in after the coins and catch them Signaling the end of the monsoon season] I go and run into the the sea I get a bath, too I jump up and down and go under The gang leader has taken him away Away from there hangout place The guys say that he does dirty things The boy said never to him An outreach person with lived experience Is worried he’s been abducted And goes out to find him Our gang leader denied all the allegations And was smack by police They gave him a warning Next time he’s off to the big house I’m going to a boarding school for homeless boys I’m not scared I’ll have no problem making friends I’ll tell them I have none I’ll sweet talk them They may be bigger than me But every small kid gets big one day He will first have to be weaned off drugs, His first two months there Us twins love and fight We go everywhere together We sell scrap metal and plastic bottles We find and sell used pots and pans and glassware Our father is an alcoholic That man gives me nothing but trouble , says mum It’s been three years since we’ve gone When we did go, we skipped school And lied about our where-abouts We roamed the streets and came back home at 6’0 clock Just in time for mum’s home cooking Half of our wage we keep The other goes to mum We dropped out, When our mum found out, We got a beating Mama sells watermelon And is too busy to keep and eye on us When dad is sober, he is nice When drunk, he swears Me and my twin brother go to bed and pretend to slumber Scared , under our blankets , Our heads are over A young girl , at seven years sells flowers I stop cars and pitch a line It’s raining and umbrella she’s without With confidence and uncertainty She tells a driver I’m going to eat lentil and rice I work even until midnight Like many others, I live in the slums In a room with grandmama and my two brothers and our new baby brother mum dumped on us She might be married now She abandoned us My grandma is very special to me She helps me bathe and feeds me She helps me do laundry Marckincia Jean Narrative 06/18/19

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Tribute To the Street Kids of Mumbai Documentary

Tribute to The Street Kids of Mumbai Documentary I used to pick pockets And steal tomato at the market place I beg on the streets of Mumbai, India’s largest city I stop drivers and ask for spare change I usually get a few rupees -25 cents I’m a runaway I feel like I’m eleven, It’s all my mothers fault She beat me when I wouldn’t fetch water Well, my birth mother died My father’s new wife felt pleasure in inflicting pain onto another woman’s child Street gangs and drug dealers roam these streets Thugs are thieves They snatch chains from women’s necks An eleven year old boy puts his few possessions on a tree They have stollen his clothes, blanket and mat The twenty year old who looks after us Was struck by a train He was drunk and taking a walk When the train cut his leg off He knows these streets well He looks after us and our money He introduced us to drugs One of it , whitener, gets inhaled from a cloth We are a gang And he’s the leader I use the substance every day And get high off of it What are you doing here? You give this town a bad name An officer says to us Once a week the church gives us some cclothes and some food to eat Eat everything and fill your stomachs When they submerge the idol, [god of war , Signaling the end of the monsoon season] People drop money We dive in after the coins and catch them Signaling the end of the monsoon season] I go and run into the the sea I get a bath, too I jump up and down and go under The gang leader has taken him away Away from there hangout place The guys say that he does dirty things The boy said never to him An outreach person with lived experience Is worried he’s been abducted And goes out to find him Our gang leader denied all the allegations And was smack by police They gave him a warning Next time he’s off to the big house I’m going to a boarding school for homeless boys I’m not scared I’ll have no problem making friends I’ll tell them I have none I’ll sweet talk them They may be bigger than me But every small kid gets big one day He will first have to be weaned off drugs, His first two months there Us twins love and fight We go everywhere together We sell scrap metal and plastic bottles We find and sell used pots and pans and glassware Our father is an alcoholic That man gives me nothing but trouble , says mum It’s been three years since we’ve gone When we did go, we skipped school And lied about our where-abouts We roamed the streets and came back home at 6’0 clock Just in time for mum’s home cooking Half of our wage we keep The other goes to mum We dropped out, When our mum found out, We got a beating Mama sells watermelon And is too busy to keep and eye on us When dad is sober, he is nice When drunk, he swears Me and my twin brother go to bed and pretend to slumber Scared , under our blankets , Our heads are over A young girl , at seven years sells flowers I stop cars and pitch a line It’s raining and umbrella she’s without With confidence and uncertainty She tells a driver I’m going to eat lentil and rice I work even until midnight Like many others, I live in the slums In a room with grandmama and my two brothers and our new baby brother mum dumped on us She might be married now She abandoned us My grandma is very special to me She helps me bathe and feeds me She helps me do laundry Marckincia Jean Narrative 06/18/19

Book: Reflection on the Important Things