What's your status

There are a few, who would want to answer this question... The others might be just too humble, or too secretive, or too frustrated to answer the question..
My status??
Relationship status :- single
Social status          :- middle class
education status     :- Graduate
mental staus          :- mostly insane
health status           :-.....

Needless to say we keep adding several dimensions to our STATUS QUO as per the process of evolution, day by day and year by year. But there was a Sultan I knew whose status remained pretty much stable, during the span of two years that I got to know him.

Sultan had and still has a big brother Kaptaan, and had an elder sister Sonia. When Sonia died in mishap two years back, playing in a local park, and her mother was beating her chest at her death (while the entire community was being decorated to celebrate Shabbe raat), a local guy-father of five, standing near me, passed a remark "arey roz wo kooda bin kar iske liye 50-60 rs kamaa kar le aati thhi, tabhi maatam manaa rahi hai.." . And something  stopped me from blurting out, "Oh, is this why you have five children? "          (  There ARE times when I wonder if poverty changes the way a mother loves her child, but my sane minds advises me to experience motherhood, before irrationally thinking on how a mother should behave, in any circumstance) . Sultan's dad had a bad habit of drinking ( so predictable), and enjoyed excercising his hands and feet on his wife every night ( this was also predictibly on its way), and the family survived on rags.

Sultan was assigned to me. (I took extra curricular sorts class lectures for younger children at AID-Noida) . And I have always been proud about my deftness at handling children and their complicated behaviour. But he was the simplest one. I knew his reaction to any stimuli- it had to be pure physical violence! He had a tiny limber sun baked brown body, a face always smudged, cheeks had permanent tear stains, mostly wore an oversized white shirt, which hung on his shoulders like a cloak. And he was the most predictable of all. I knew , if Sultan was sitting with any other child, somebody would shout from that end (could be Sultan or other child) complaining that the other one was hitting, and even before I was able to turn my head, two of them would have entered into a scuffle. And maximum times it was NOT Sultan who started the fight. But most of the community kids did not really like him. And end result, Sultan used to shoot out of the classroom wailing. I had a soft corner for him in the beginning, but that lasted for very short period of time, only till the time he did not hit ME out of anger. He was angry most of the time. The soft corner was reduced, but I still took him as a challenge.
Now I tried my wits to their end, to make Sultan enjoy the class. There were days when I was glad that he managed to sit through twenty minutes, and other days he ran out of the class, stomping his foot, and looking for his elder brother to protect him from a child who attacked him. I tried to read his personality, if he was fascinated by colors, or by stories, liked to draw, or watch some animated movie, or experimenting with cutting paper, or clay modelling. His attention span was too short. He was a boy with a very simple taste. And his only distraction or attraction was entering into a fight with some or the other classmate. After 2 months or so, I gave up on him. And obviously he had no trust on my capabilities from the very beginning. From then on Sultan was happy not to be tortured to attend any class. Whenever he saw me in the community, he grinned at me, or happily slapped my back. And I could never zero down on my ways to react. (especially when he slapped me. One part of me liked it, that he liked me somehow, and acknowledged my prescence, and the other was too conservative to let a student barbariously slap a teacher!)
There was this hot day, days after I stopped going to AID-noida community center (and took to my real passion zealously), that I was standing on the corner of a road, when somebody slapped me on my back. And I knew it was not some guy ;) . I turned and encountered Sultan.I was soooooo happy to find my ex-student, and happier that he recognized me. But then there was an addition to his outfit. He carried a white bag, full of some tit-bits-pieces collected from roadside. His grin and enthusiasm was ever-same. Only my heart-beat was dampend. Only if I had not given up on him!