When you are a kid, you dream big. You might want to be an actor, singer, scientist or even a president of a country. After all, kids are pure. And their dreams too.

But, how can the narrator of a novel represent the hopes and dreams of all the kids of the world through just two lines of words? It would be presumptuous to even think that someone can know everything and even more to think that we can understand everything.

Like most kids. Arun too had dreams. Big dreams.

He wanted to eat a full plate of biryani from the Rajveer Hotel. And he wanted to eat it with his best friend Ram. Unlike the name suggests, Ram is not a computer component nor is he the seventh avatar of god Vishnu. He was just an eight-year-old homeless beggar on the streets of Mumbai just like Arun.

For them, having just a meal was heaven. And if there was a choice between heaven and a plate of biryani. They would have chosen the plate of biriyani, no questions asked.

And this dream led to Arun landing a job as a pickpocket. With his nimble little fingers and short scrawny body, he was a formidable force on the overcrowded streets of Mumbai. He swiped left and right, picking all the pockets that he could lay his hands on.

After every day of hard work. He would go to his big boss to hand over the profit. And once in a while, the big boss will praise Arun and give him a couple of rupees. But most of the time, it would just be a pack of, a day old rice and curry.

Most people would think this was cruel. Making kids pick-pockets and taking the money from their hands. But for Alan, It wasn't like that at all.

For all his life, he was living in the streets begging for money, dodging the flying spit and curse words. He had seen enough to know that Big-boss was the best there is.

If there were better people. Where are they now? Have they become so rare that he couldn't even find one in his eight years of splendid life.

Besides that, The Big-boss feeds him and keeps him safe from all the rival gangs. Way better than being cold and alone in the slums. After all, the slum is a dangerous place. You wouldn't even realise when one of your kidneys goes missing.

But Arun's life changed after witnessing the death of Ram. He died in a traffic accident. A drunk driver had driven through him turning his brittle malnourished body into a bundle of mangled flesh and broken bones.

In the corner of his vision, Alan could see the swiftly driving luxury car speeding up without any remorse to flee the scene while his friend laid bleeding on the pavement clutching a plastic bag that contained some letters that spelt Rajveer Hotel.

After forty years of 'life'. Alan died of lung cancer because of not being an avid smoker. God and his jokes.

He had no achievements, family or friends in this 'life'.