4th January 2015:It is 10 AM in the morning and it is night out here. For one month, I have seen only endless nights, with rare sight of sunrays. We are people born out of the shadows. I can hear the thunder above me. I try to focus my attention on my math problem. I have always been intrigued by mathematics. It is the only real thing in this world. It is devoid of emotion and does not involve chance. I can hear the thunderstorm above my tunnel. Last week they were successful in destroying our third largest hideout. Around one fifty people died. Last year in our small little house my friend had come to visit me from Europe. She showed me her mobile and I read the latest news. Some militants had killed small children and the world was condemning them. I asked her, “I am a teenager, I don’t have the innocence of a child nor do I have maturity of an adult. What is the value of my life? Will anyone stand by me if I am killed.” She answered, “It is like a lucky draw, your value of life depends on which part of the world you are born. You know what makes me sad being away from home. I am pitied because I am from here, they sympathize, give me their support but I am never their equal, always beneath them, always” Three days after she left the war started and I knew she was right.

The earth is rumbling today.  Mother is boiling some potatoes in one corner. My father is peeping though the hole constantly while my sister is somewhere hiding with her lover, probably seducing him. I think this is the best time to have all the carnal desires fulfilled. No one has the time to judge my sister. I know from my experience is it is one pleasure which you can’t put a price on. Even religion fails to interfere with it. And it is a satisfaction which can heal the most dreaded heart.

My mother says it okay to die. She is a well read women. She told me if we take the entire universe, our planet is just a fraction of the entire system like we are. Our bodies will soon be part of this earth and in million years none of this will matter. I see a question of probability in my book and I wonder what would be the probability of us getting wiped out today. What would be the probability of me getting out and telling my story in this tunnel with the world? The probability that I will see my friend and weigh the value of two adult lives with value of two children. Oh! There comes my sister with a smile on her face. Good, she is happy. She puts her head on my lap and I place my books on her stomach. Another thunderstorm.

If God did exist, I would find a way to cheat. I would put my name in some country like New Zealand in my next life. I would see the sun every day and kiss the night goodbye. I can see the food is ready. My mother places the soft potatoes on the plate and starts peeling. It has been ages since…………………………………………………………

30th January 2015: I get an email from my mother. She has married an American and lives in Chicago. I am a student of Economics in London School of Economics. I know what is in this letter. I go to my lawn and breathe heavily. My best friend is dead. They found a book of Mathematics in the pile of soot.  I look up at the sky and close my eyes – Next life, we will cheat my dear friend. We will cheat.