Stor of a sweeper....

‘I lost my mother when I was very young. I always tried to please my step mother. But I do not know why she never tolerated my shadow. She had beaten me a lot. I used to stand silently the time she has beaten me, I cannot cry, as she told me that if I cry she will throw me from the house. After tolerating all these one day finally she threw me from my home. I cried loudly all night by standing in front of the closed door, but not even my father came out to take me back. I came to Dhaka from Chadpur. I used to roam around all streets and sometimes ate from dustbins. Then one day I got this job, job of a sweeper. But the sad thing is, everyone hates us, no one talked to us. Today I am very happy brother, nobody ever took my photo, no one ever wanted to know if I have something to share. When you will tell my story to people please tell them not to hate us. If we stop cleaning, you will die. We are servant, we go into your rubbish, by becoming dirty we cleanse you, please do not look at us with hatred.