The City in Motion, the Boy in Stillness
Every morning, the city wakes up in a frenzy of color—bright storefronts opening, taxis zipping through narrow lanes, people brushing past each other in a rush to somewhere. But at the foot of a cracked lamppost near the old train station, Raka stands in silence. A boy of twelve with eyes far older than his years, he wears yesterday’s shirt and tomorrow’s hope.
Raka doesn’t beg. He doesn’t shout. He simply waits—with a stack of folded newspapers under one arm, his other hand tucked into a pocket with holes. He watches the world move past him like film in fast-forward. No one stops. No one really sees him. But he sees everything.
Shades of Survival
Life, for Raka, has always been in black and white. Not because he’s never seen color, but because he’s learned not to chase it. Color fades. Dreams, too, unless you hold them tightly enough.
His day begins before sunrise. He picks up leftover papers from the depot, hoping to sell just a few before noon. With every headline he sells, he learns a little more about the world—its disasters, its victories, and its double standards. But the lessons he values most are the ones he learns from people: who offers a coin with a smile, who pretends not to hear, who stops long enough to say thank you.
In the black and white of his routine, Raka has found detail. Nuance. He knows which security guard will let him sit by the bench. He knows which kiosk auntie saves him a roll when she can’t sell out. He knows how to disappear when things feel unsafe.
Hope, in Black and White
Hope doesn’t always come wrapped in inspiration. Sometimes it comes folded in routine, whispered in silence, and hidden behind tired eyes. For Raka, hope is not loud or dramatic. It’s the quiet belief that someday, life will offer him more than survival.
He doesn’t know what tomorrow holds. Maybe a full meal. Maybe a kind word. Maybe a stranger who looks him in the eye and sees not just a boy on the street, but a boy with depth, with value, with vision.
The world around him might be filled with colors, but Raka’s story is painted in contrast—sharp, raw, honest. And in that black and white, there’s something beautiful. Something real.