My brother sent me this picture; I had no idea he captured it at that moment. Midway through our displacement, as we fled on foot with our bags on our shoulders, I was stopped by an exhausted, weary woman. Worn out by the road, she was dragging her disabled daughter in a wheelchair. With absolute humility, she asked if I could push her daughter to relieve her of some of the exhaustion. The road was packed with people, and the sun was scorching our skin with its rays. I had already walked more than three kilometers and fatigue was starting to consume me. The daughter sat completely motionless, literally being eaten alive by the sun. That day, I didn't feel the physical toll as much as my heart was consumed by grief for that mother, enduring such a long and brutal journey.
This is just a fraction of the immense pain we lived through, and continue to live through, with every passing moment.
Have just returned home after watching the Voice of Hind Rajab and i am devastated to put it mildly. There were just about 10 people in the theater, a crying shame for a city like Mumbai