Time of Day: 9 am.
A faint figure walks down the
road as soon as the city wakes from its dreamy nights. She walks down slowly
but with a steady pace at the side of road where she walks daily. She clips her
hands in her ragged pink sweater, staring down at the ground as she makes her
way.
Dhanno is 12. Every day I see her walking
down from the slums at the end of the street to Jhawar Aunty’s home. It’s her
daily routine and it has become like a habit to watch her come down to my
neighbour’s home every morning at 9 and watch her leave at every 9 at night.
Initially hired as an aid to take care of Pallavi Bhabhi’s daughter, Aarya, she
has now become more like a house servant in their house managing most of their
daily routines. All day long while the mother spends her time, chatting on
phone and doing everything that goes behind the walls of their house, this girl
hops around the parking area and in front of their house carrying the child in
her tiny arms. Lately out of curiosity I asked Mom if ever this girl has time
for school or any kind of self education. The reply from Mom was an obvious one
but still it strike me with an abrupt and excruciating impulse. I was all aware
what fate had decided for this girl and there is no way in practicality this
child would be escaping the bitter reality of her life, I still felt the weight
of that despair ridden utterance hanging over my chest. Something was burning
it felt. Something that wasn’t right. I was aware of the evident reply I would
receive from Mom to my query but I wasn’t just able to digest the fact and I
was thinking it would have been much better if she would have simply lied to me
about this little girl. Maybe that would have made her life a little better, a
little less miserable, a little more to survival. That was exactly I was
expecting. To mask the truth with an ingenuous lie so to make it appear more
pleasant and appealing .But I knew this wasn’t how the world functions. The
pain and suffering are as much the part of this world as good and happiness. I
was too contended with my life till now, there wasn’t anything grand about that
day but it just hit like a random thrust stimulating me into a deep gorge of
mindlessness and empty dispositions and I found myself drowning into a callous
pool of abuses, hurling insults and calling names. Because such was the gravity
of that one sight that I couldn’t restrict myself from throwing all that to
those people who put this little girl into this wretched situation. It was like
something was compelling me to knock on the door in front of my house and beat
the pulp out of those bastards who never cared. And even if my abuses were
personal to me and confined to the walls of my room and more than that to the walls
of my heart, I felt a disgust and repulsion for this family living in front of
my own. But realising the verity of the prospect I had observed I knew I
couldn’t do anything or little about it. I doubted my own actions. And now I
hate myself for realising it. There’s a clear distinction between what you
perceive and what you observe. I had learned it.
Time of day: 10.30am.
Somewhere between the slab
counter and the shutters of canteen, the life of Rohit and his younger brother
gyrates. Every day during lunch time when he arrives at the table to clean it,
I try to look into his eyes and wonder if he ever thinks of becoming an
engineer or a manager like those he was catering to. But he looks too contended
with his way and running as an errand boy around the college. He hops down the
corridors, humming a tune which sounds to me something from his native land and
doing chores for the faculties and administrative folks. He always carry a
smiling face, cracking some jokes to anyone who calls him and there isn’t even
a slightest of regret or discontent in his eyes about his life and so does no
one cares. But is it really the way it looks? Or is it this guy makes it
appears? How can this fellow remain so cheerful even in such an environment and
maintain a positive outlook about everything else that is occurring around him?
Or is it just that he had learned too well to mask his repentance and
short-comings and things destiny had thrown towards him? Too much confusion building in my brain,
there is a train of thought running at expeditious rates that I couldn’t keep
up with it and so the apparent questions pops up again in my brain. I ask
Vaibhav to call Rohit and ask him about his relation to Mahendra Bhaiya, the
canteen owner. He seems to be taken aback by this unexpected query and
recognises him with hesitation as his Uncle. Vaibhav and I can sense something
fishy in the manner he tried to fool us, there was not even a trivial doubt
about it but admitting this to be something personal and none of our own damned
concern we decides to skip any further enquiry. I wanted to ask this guy if he
has any time for school but then the flashbacks of my 2nd year in
college flows in front of my subconscious eyes when Vaibhav and I asked about
the another guy who used to work earlier. And so I satisfied myself with the
ignorant thought that what difference fate would have made and added any further
distinctions to the lives of Rohit and his brother. All I could do is observe
this child everyday trying to make some sense of his life by cleaning the
leftovers from the aluminium tables and bringing tea to people. Another moment
of disgust for realising it and so I decide to put down the empty cup of tea I
was holding for last half an hour and proceed towards my class.
The ill-effects of the child labour is clearly visible in the society
and there isn’t denying a fact at no matter how much the jurisdiction and
government tries to put any obstruction to such malicious practises they would
still be evident unless someone, somehow comes with any viable and practical
approach to put an end to it. The federal laws and regulations constantly
proves to be futile and just a bunch of idiotic guidelines never making any
real sense out of themselves. Now I don’t know how to tackle this sickening
issue that continues to infect our culture and our daily lives but it would be
a genuine blessing if there could be any valid, legitimate and sincere
advancement against child labour.
And so this thought fades
gradually as I exit the door of the canteen and walk away.
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