The Poor Little Rich Boy

There was once a clichéd poor little rich boy in the city of Karachi. The poor little rich boy had all the candies in the world.  One can safely say that he was he was raised as a staunch hedonist. Yet the poor little rich boy was forlorn and ignored. Everywhere he went, he was treated as either poor or rich as a little boy.

He was not accepted in his entirety at all, the core of his identity being that he was a paradox of different economic subcultures and familial influences. He delved into the intricacies of business and also into the intricacies of the world of art at the same time. But the poor little rich boy could never comprehend that like him, art and business do not go hand in hand.

So the poor little rich boy wandered around the concrete jungle of Karachi in search of acceptance and love. But the poor little rich boy had one more problem, he could not feel anything. No matter what perils of the world hit him, he thought that by not feeling he would become stronger. This error of perception had turned him into someone akin to a zombie.

While the poor little rich boy was wandering around he stepped into a puddle. The puddle was coming from a dripping pipe of a house of a female banker. The puddle was hazy and his steps had created a gentle ripple in it. When the poor little rich boy stared in the puddle he saw a hazy reflection of a good looking man.

He was awe struck and continued staring at the unfamiliar persona in the murky reflection of the puddle. He continuously stared at it till his mind conjured all sorts of names for the person in the reflection, but he could not find any. The poor little rich boy now still wanders the streets in search of similar puddles, which tease his brain and heart, but eventually dry up. But who is to explain to the poor little rich boy that the search for puddles must also stop for him to reach the next level of consciousness.