Raju .. The Performer

Travelling with a Child Labor

The train wheeled in the station and halted at platform no 3. The drowsing passengers slowly stirred and started moving in random orders. Women clad in burqas rushed towards their compartment with their army of children following them. Few fell but got up and gathered speed to match the steps of their mothers. Sari clad mothers too rushed towards the train. The door of the compartment jammed. Slangs were exchanged. Filthy ‘F’ words reverberated in the compartment. Few decent looking villagers (women) covered their faces with the end of their scarves. Slowly the crowd made some treaty and battling women boarded the train munching words of local abuse. Three people stood outside on the platform patiently. A middle aged woman draped in green sari accompanied by two kids. One was tall and maybe he had an age of 8. The other was a small child of two and a half feet. He seemed four. They had a fourth member with them. It was a tabla. The train whistled and jerked. People filling water bottles on the platform rushed back to the compartments.  Then the mother took the tabla and patted the boys to rush. They all hurried and got in the coach. I thought it queer for a mother to stand on the platform when the train was waiting and board it only when it was about to leave. The machine gathered speed. I got up to my side upper berth. I saw the lady adjust her dress. She squatted on the floor and kept the tabla on her lap. She smiled at the younger kid and kissed him. Then she thumped the tabla. The resonance filled the compartment. The boys took position and started performing tricks. The younger of the two kids had moustache drawn with kohl. He sprang on his feet took an iron ring from his mother and twisted himself inside. Later the two children formed a human wheel and rolled themselves along the compartment floor. When the whole performance was over the little lad took out his cap and walked from berth to berth and expected some return for their performance. Many of my co-passengers ignored them. A family scolded him away from their seat. Another lady stroked his hair, took out a big chocolate and handed it to him along with some coins. He grinned and moved ahead. A mother asked her little daughter to thank this little performer. He approached my berth. I held out a crumpled ten rupee note and asked him his name. He was reluctant in telling his name. I pulled back the money; he looked at me his bright eyes shone. The little lips gave way to a sound and a lisp came out, “Laju.” I got it, his name was Raju. Raju took his collection and handed it to his mother. The lady tied the money in a knot of her sari’s border and gave him the chocolate. Raju divided it in three parts. He forcibly inserted one in his reluctant mother’s mouth, gave the other to his brother and took the smallest part for himself. The train reached Unnao and they stepped on the platform. Slowly they disappeared in the crowd. Another little messiah is seen as a volunteer child labor. His poverty is the cause. He travels and entertains people of letters and he is letter less.

There are millions who suffer daily across streets around you. Spare a thought for them. You can find ways to make them smile. A small step is beautiful. Give a smile, a kind word or just a polite look. This will be a small step for a journey towards fighting this social curse of child labor

Mail your suggestions to ling2liang@gmail.com. Your ideas can help change the world, Spare a moment contribute a THOUGHT for a child labor.

A rag pickers day .....

Some Child laborers Work here too ...

A pig loitered around and foraged in the garbage. She stood in the corner afraid to move in the heap. She was afraid of the animal. The animal grunted and then kept sniffing the plastic bags lying around. The little girl stood in the corner. She searched for a twig or a stick. She could find none. She picked up a stone and threw at the animal. The animal moved towards the other side of the heap of garbage. The little girl stepped into the heap and started collecting the plastic bags. She took the plastic bags shook the contents out and kept the bag in her plastic sack. She was a rag picker. Her job was to collect plastic bags and bottles. She did it every day. She moved further in the heap picked out up a plastic bottle. There was something written on it but words were of no use to this child labor. She was never introduced to the wonders of words. It was a bottle of some milk product. She brought it closer to her nose and soon she removed it. The smell was repugnant. She kept it in her sack. The child foraged in the place where the pig looked for food. A lady from the nearby building came. She was carrying a dust bin in one hand and a small packet in the other. The little rag picker looked at her and smiled. She stepped down to the side of the heap. The lady came nearer and shouted to her, “Hey  ...Chutki take it and throw near the far end of the wall.” The child laborer dropped her sack and ran towards the lady. She took the dust bin and ran over the heap of garbage and poured out the contents. The foul smell from the bin rose. The pig ran towards the content, a few dogs also came towards the fresh dump. The girl handed over the dust bin to the lady and smiled. She wiped her hands in her frock and bent to gather her collection in the sack. The lady handed her the other packet in her hand and said, “Eat it… You might be hungry.”

The girl smiled she didn’t speak. She sat down on a stone nearby opened the packet and started eating. She occasionally fed the dog which squatted nearby. This was the only dog which never barked at her unlike other dogs. The child laborer ate the food and kept the plastic packet in her sack. The little laborer who was also a child took her sack and walked towards the next lane in hope of collecting more plastic bags and bottle.

The laborer had no schools to go and no friends to play. She had only a dog following her. Slowly they faded in the distance.

There are millions who suffer daily across streets around you. Spare a thought for them. You can find ways to make them smile. A small step is beautiful. Give a smile, a kind word or just a polite look. This will be a small step for a journey towards fighting this social curse of child labor.

Mail your suggestions to ling2liang@gmail.com. Your ideas can help change the world, Spare a moment contribute a THOUGHT for a child labor

Differently Abled I am ...

I clean your MESS to live ...

Lalla was aged 10 and was crippled. He had a squatting posture and could never spread his limbs. He moved by dragging himself on his hands. He stood at the platform and enquired the men nearby about the approaching train. When the train halted at the station he buttoned his shirt and started towards the compartment swinging on his hands. His hands were the only functional limbs he had. He moved with a reasonable speed. Held the steps of sleeper compartment and dragged himself inside. The compartment was jam packed and many stared at the handicap of Lalla who had already learnt to ignore the gazes. He rolled his shabby shirt’s sleeve and started his work of cleaning the compartment floor. He did it in his own unauthorized way. Sometimes passengers even threatened to call the police but hunger knows no threat and the boy carried on his chore like an artist moving his paint brush. He swept the floor from one corner to the other and then turned around the staring faces. He crossed from one berth to the other hoping a coin to fall in his hand. Some scolded him to get away others warned him not to steal the foot wears. A richly clad young man even went on to add, “I know they are a group functioning under some local goons.” Lalla just ignored pushed himself on his hips towards the passenger on other berth. A coin or two sometimes came as a surprise from some compassionate passenger. Lalla now gathered speed because the train was about to depart. He hurried to the door when a beautiful little girl came to him and handed him a packet of biscuit and smiled. She gently lifted her long frock to show him the steel braces which held her polio infected legs. She smiled at him. He smiled back nodded and rushed to the door. The train was leaving the platform. With a skilled gesture he held the handle near the door and flung himself on the platform. He looked at the packet of biscuit. The little girl rushed to the window and shouted, “BYE.” Lalla waved back, turned around and started towards the yard swinging his squatted body on his hands.  

The LOST Childhood

The Lost Childhood

                

Searching for Hope

Where is my joy?

This is for those whose eyes are shut; ears stuffed with selfishness and are dumb to the ever changing social atmosphere. A small child laborer speaks for himself -------

“Why should I speak? No one cares for us.

 Babuji, this world is manifestation of individuals with deep loathing for street and lane encroachment platoon. They think we are an army of parasitic blood, sucking the nation’s economical frontier. We are poor, have no home, eat a single meal---------that’s why we are criminals. The crime is we are born in such a society where the benefactor is material. Our dream is folly for those minarets of prosperity. A single morsel is mountain for each and every boys and girls in our community. We scale such peaks daily but are never reported. The media does the noble job of bringing our photos out in the newspaper with caption ‘The social pollutants litter the streets and the government does nothing to remove them’. We don’t know who cares for us. Our plight is unheeded. Our tears are not wiped. Our wishes are not accounted for. Schooling is meant for boys with big houses. We are considered social burden. Oh! Sorry worse than them. The animals after birth have the opportunity to search for food but we are cursed not to have that noble opportunity. We the humans of streets look for job at the age of three only, to have one meal. The cakes of our labor are taken by our lords who boast feeding us. The government penalizes them (people who offer us jobs for food they offer us) for keeping child laborers and the moment they throw us away we are left unemployed. After some days we starve and wait for death to free us. Freedom is right of every human. The death will surely reduce the number of child laborers and the administration can brag about the reduction in number of parasite children because no data is available for people dying of hunger. Long live your social revolution”.

• The smiles and brightness of dreaming eyes become dull in daily work schedule. 
• A chirping small girl is subjected to the whip of child labor only to become silent and morose. 
• A ten years boy pulls rickshaw with a man of fifty who is unconscious of the crime he is committing.

The hands which need pens get hammers and shovels, the eyes which long for toys get handicraft tools to dim them. 

Oh! The nation is marching towards increasing GDP, NDP and of course power grabbing path but no one knows that the mighty body of India has cavity inside. The loop is becoming vicious and caring for downtrodden and underprivileged is crime. The rubbles are these children’s toys, the shovels their cricket bat the hammer blow their cricket shot and brick laying their field strategy. Their hunger is practice session and starvation is reward for taking birth. What should we say “Long live equality or long live child labor”.

                                                                                                       

Where is CHUTKI ?

The Lost ChildHood..............

They looked around. The shop was open. The bright eyes reflected the naughtiness. He pushed her forward and they moved towards the shop. She looked around and slowly he pulled out the bread packet from counter. They bent below the counter and slowly walked away. She told him, she didn't like the idea but was hungry. Raghu knew his little sister was kind and never voted stealing the bread. But poor little boy had no other option. Their father lay drunk in the corner of the room and mother was out doing her daily chores in the big kothis (big houses) in the big streets. Raghu feared the children there. He felt weak talking to them. Most of the children were kind barring a few who thought it a bad to play with him. They reached their house. Chutki opened the door. It creaked. She stared blankly in the silence of the room. Turned around put her finger on her little dry lips and cautioned Raghu to be silent. She tip toed in the room. Her little body moved near the drunkard lying in the corner of the room. She looked at her father with a grieved eye and the two slipped in the kitchen. Chutki giggled with joy at the thought of having bread today. Both of them vowed to keep the secret that they stole the bread. They ate bread only. Chutki drank a full glass of water kissed her brother and ran out shouting, "You are the best". Raghu knew he was no more the best having taught his four years little sister how to steal bread. He cursed himself and got up to go out. He wiped his tears with his sleeves. The little lad slowly stepped out of the kitchen and then walked outside. He saw children playing on the street. He looked around for Chutki. He walked past the lamp post. He searched in the lane. Slowly Ragu became anxious. He was puzzled. The little boy searched for her everywhere.He asked the women living in the neighborhood. He called aloud, "CHUTKI".   He ran to his house, shook his drunken father. His father slapped him and yelled at him. On being informed about Chulki not being around, he shouted, "Let her go to hell." Raghu slowly walked out of the room. He went to the main street and headed towards the shop where he stole the bread. His eyes wandered around the streets, and his heart echoed the question "Where is CHUTKI?"