Espousing a keen sense to follow the conventionalities, and somehow handle the hormonal-led heightened palpitations of early youth desire, Ballu got married at sixteen, became father at seventeen, a grandfather at thirty-five when his eldest daughter gave birth to a girl. Imbued with the routine colors of a mundane low-income household, any little pleasure comingled with lots of pain as if in payment to the former, harrowed by continuously evolving challenges, trying to forget the painful constriction of life through cheap liquor, in the next ten years he had many grandchildren.
Sadly, his youngest grandson was born with congenital defect concerning food canal and the respiratory system. A complicated surgery followed. The infant didn’t survive but he left his mark—a bill of three and half lakh rupees to be settled by the poor family. They are landless daily wage earners. It meant they had to borrow the money. Now life and living will exact a bit higher price from them. But they aren’t crestfallen. ‘After all, we come to this world to do exactly these kinds of things only,’ he philosophizes.
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