A cold morning in the slums, deep in the city’s shadows where poor souls huddled for warmth in their little huts, crying tears for a life for those who lived on crumbs and slender hopes as each day born and grows old, waiting for another and another.
The little girl, her bare feet numb to the cold, stood on the steps of the temple, her hands clasped singing sweetly, morning devotions, awakening the people of the slums, to offer their prayers.

A rich voice rising from the depths of a poor soul, the passion kindling fire from cold logs to bring warmth to shivering bodies.
In devotions her young mind searched for something divine for though she was a lesser mortal, she had a distinct feeling she had a life to live for something special. One day maybe there wouldn’t be such darkness and struggles and tears would be like jewels as lights shone bright and adoring voices would call her name.
“Devika!” A quiet voice called, interrupting her thoughts.
She opened her eyes and smiled at her friend and number one fan Ranbir, who always applauded her singing,.
“I have something for you.” he said, with an exciting look on his face.
He handed her a piece of paper and they sat on the steps of the temple, two urchin children, looking entranced at the beautiful picture of one of India’s young melody queen. She was coming to their small tropical country for a Mega show at the stadium. Her songs, a sweet, melodious voice the children often heard on little radios played in the slums. A voice that made the slums feel like a palace, and turned the rags into rich silks.
“How did you get this?” Devika asked.
“I found it on the roadway, close to the city. I picked it up because I know how much you adore her. Your voice is so much like hers.”
Devika sighed wistfully. “If only I could see her, listen to her sing live. But how can such a wish come true?”
Ranbir said nothing for he had no answers. They sat quietly for a long while, then got up and walked, each their own way; another day in their lives-outcasts in an unforgiving world.
The radios played her songs everyday as the city anxiously awaited the arrival of the singing sensation whose divine voice thrilled millions across the diaspora, touching hearts and souls in every little corner.
Devika continued to sing her morning devotions, holding her arms out to the heavens and even though her little heart ached for so much she asked nothing of the Gods. Her songs and her devotion told its own story, a child’s
story of her life and dreams.
On days when she was not helping her mother make clay pots to sell, she spent her time at Uncle Das’s Little Book Corner. An old man, once a teacher in the city, who lost his home and family, lived there in a small brick hut. He sold old books with worn, stained pages and taught children to read. Not much to live on but books and teaching were his love, books with invaluable teachings of science and religion. Devika hummed tune after tune as she dusted and packed and she told Uncle Das of the melody queen show.
“I know,” he said. “I saw Lata Mangeshkar show when I was a young man and it is still the most memorable moment of my life. She is the melody queen of all times.”
Old songs that never grow old-they are just vintage.
“I wish,” the little girl said, “I could go to the show but I can’t.”
“I know.” The old man said regretfully.
When Devika left, he searched and found a small piece of paper with old faded numbers.
“It’s time to call on an old friend for a favour,” he said to himself, a little smile on his wrinkled face.
On the afternoon of the show, Devika and Ranbir sat on the temple steps, neither saying much, lost in their own thoughts. There was an ache in her heart, knowing she couldn’t be at the show and he knew, simply feeling sorry for his best friend.
“I do not love my life now, Ranbir” she said quietly, “But one day, hopefully I can.”
“Devika!” She lifted her head and saw Uncle Das standing there with a beautiful woman dressed in a rich sari.
Devika was stunned to see someone like that in the slums.
“This is the daughter of an old friend,” Uncle Das said, “I’ve asked to repay an old favour to make your wish come true.”
The beautiful woman took the child’s hand and said sweetly, “Come with me so I can have you dressed for the show.”
Devika was speechless. She couldn’t believe this was happening to an urchin child of the slums. She turned to wave to her friend, as he stood watching her leave, with a smile now on his face. They made her look so pretty with nice clothes and shoes and she was given a special seat in the VVIP section. Tears gathered in Devika’s eyes as the singing sensation came on stage. She was everything the child loved about her and she applauded every song until her little hands hurt. Just before the end of the show, the singer looked at the little girl and said:
“Devika, would you like to come sing a song with me?”
Devika wasn’t sure she heard right.
“Oh my God!” she thought, “This can’t be real.”
But it was. She sang with her idol, her favourite song in the same sweet, melodious voice and in unison it sounded like one voice, rich and divine, that danced on clouds. The urchin child in her little mind had searched for something divine and found it.
True to her belief, she had a life to live for something special. It began now.