Can you explain me the differe

At the cross-road, I live on a torn bedsheet

Along with my dirty little kids

One helping with my work, another one, two years old

And the third one in my lap

Covered partially from the scorching sun

By the dupatta that falls on one side of my head

Selling balloons and toys all through the day

Running behind those expensive cars to get a good sum to buy their share of cheap toffees 

To feed my clan, simultaneously on the makeshift Chulha

Along with hot rotis, I prepare garlic chutney

Some of you show mercy and grant me an extra penny

And some just shove off my children as if they were some filthy dirty puppies

Trying to spoil the shine of your car

But for sure I can feel

The disgust in your eyes  as they turn towards me

Whenever I try to feed my hungry little-baby

You mimic me as if I'm doing something unladylike

And portray me as a woman

Scuzzy, disreputable, and hateful

And sometimes even go on to pass on

Comments weird about my body

Some even go to the extent of saying

That I indirectly sell nudity

Whereas many of you almost every day

Show off more than half of your body 

Isn't my child's hunger comparable to yours?

Or is breastfeeding something you are not accustomed to

Can't you realise

That I too am a mother just like you

And my breast too is similar to yours.