Eighteen, but with the attention span of an eight year old I sauntered into the auditorium wishing almost whole heartedly to be somewhere else. Just the thought of being restricted to one square feet of space for two hours irked me. Just when the two hours went by, I don't know. I've precious little experience of what plays are like but this one play changed it all. Unsuni, so apt and more importantly, so moving. Tracing issues like leprosy, communal violence, the cause of street children and the most hitting one - that of the manual scavengers, the play just left me feeling like one more of those hedonistic messed up idiots who feel their own problems are the biggest and those who've been taught to and who continue to insulate themselves from people whose sole problem is living itself. The play talked about this woman who spent fourteen years carrying upto 10 kgs of shit on her head having picked it up with her own bare hands. Can we even imagine how repulsive that would be? We can't. We're nicely cushioned and tucked away into our own little worlds, living our life with this feigned sense of well- being about the world, soothing our conscience saying "ah it's okay, someone else will pay that kid some money" when a kid taps our car windows at the crossing. We're ignorant, we're indifferent and we're callous. And that one bit of reluctant realization makes you and me just as good as the pile of shit that woman cleared away day after day. Maybe this sounds harsh right now, maybe I won't feel like this by dinner tonight but maybe the realization will get me somewhere.