As they skinned a dead cow
I stood guard,
chasing the crows away.

The leftover rice
gathered as alms
from sundry village homes
after long waits
turned piping hot in
my bragging.

Seeing my father
down the street
with a tell-tale drum 
slung around the neck,
I passed quickly
face averted.
Unable to state 
In the classroom
my father;s vocation
or his annual pay,
I fell victim 
to the teacher’s cane.
Sitting friendless
in the back row,
I broke down and cried, 
my grief invisible to
the world’s gaze.

But now,
Should anyone happen to ask,
I tell them readily:
Yes, I am a pariah girl.