Sharmili
'I am a Brahmin, okay?And if my relatives see me taking food from you, they will not let me back into the house.' 'Where is your house, Sharmili?' 'It's here, in Besant Nagar.' 'Can I take you there?' 'No, they don't like me, they will throw me out.' 'Who doesn't like you?' 'My Aunty, its her house.' 'Do you have any other relatives here ?In chennai?' 'You are asking me too many questions. I will go from here, I don't want your help.' 'Sorry if I was intrusive. I won't ask you any more questions. Can I move your bags to the side,but? You are blocking the street.' 'NO! DON'T TOUCH MY BAGS!' This was the conversation which kept repeated, like a broken record, on a sunny morning in the streets of Chennai. Sharmili looked haggard, much older than she probably was and completely delusional.She was skin and bones, wore four torn, dirty Kurtis on top of each other, p