Gurgaon traffic slowly made its way through the city's dusty roads as morning commuters patiently crawled inch by inch on the uneven asphalt. The sun shone radiantly from above, its heat permeating through the atmosphere and settling as little drops of sweat on drivers' foreheads. It was only 10 am in early April, but it appeared as if the summer peak had already arrived, as if the climbing sun was mocking at the futility of an air conditioner against its mildest flares. Amid the honking of automobile horns and the revving of engines but to no avail, my Innova jerked to a halt. The colour on the approaching traffic signal had turned to red just as the car had reached the intersection. "Damn !", I muttered to myself as the prospect of another forfeited breakfast in the office seemed to materialize. "This is not turning out to be a very good beginning to the day."
As the digital countdown until the next one minute started, I looked out the window to my left. There was the usual mix of autorickshaws, motorbikes, schoolbuses, cars and the occasional lorry or tractor eagerly awaiting the green light. To my right, I could see a steady stream of morning traffic shunting off in the direction of Sohna road. But what I saw next was hugely discomforting, for it questioned my very belief in the innocence of children and in the bond between siblings.
A little girl was resting on the sidewalk, siting cross-legged. She probably resided in one of the neighbouring slums that dotted the surrounding area. She was wearing a dull green salwar kameez; a thin layer of rubbery worn out slippers separated her feet from the burning ground. Wrapped in her red dupatta was a toddler, barefoot and covered only in a ragged old white t-shirt. The girl would not have been more than twelve, and her baby brother (or was it her brother?) not more than two. As soon as the signal turned to red, she leapt up and set the toddler on his feet. Out of the blue, a hard slap landed on the little boy's cheek from her elder sister, as I watched with eyes wide open. Then another, and then another. This continued until the baby was crying uncontrollably, until his eyes profusely spewed out tears which refused to dry even in the parching heat.
When the baby could look no more pitiable, she took him in her arms again and carried the poor little urchin into the stationary traffic. Moving from one vehicle to another, she begged for alms, often pointing to the bawling toddler and pleading how he hadn't been fed for so long. The trick didn't seem to work - it's very difficult to find true empathy, or for that matter, any form of emotion nowadays. People tend to conserve it as a precious resource - unless, of course, it can fetch them something in return. The bystanders had probably already witnessed her clever device and were therefore not falling for her miserable attempts at convincing them for money. If they indeed had, nobody bothered to ask what she was doing on the road on a Monday morning when other children were going to school; why she was abusing her own little brother when other siblings were happily playing pithu together with their friends. Just as the girl knocked on my window, the signal turned green and the needle on the car's speedometer swung to the right. With an air of business, as if accustomed to this routine, she strolled back to her station on the sidewalk while a fleet of automobiles flowed past her through the crossroads. This one hadn't been a very good exploit. She should probably hit her brother harder next time.
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At a time when 27 crore Indians live below the poverty line, we have come to accept the fact that economic disparity is inevitable. There will always be that huge band separating the uber-rich and the famished poor. But we can still try to somehow reduce the gradient of that band. We can try to ensure that poverty does not thrive as a business where young innocent children are employees without pay. Perhaps the best means to this motive is through education.
The first step would be to draw these kids out of the shadows. I shudder at the thought of how their lives might turn out if they also spend the rest of their childhood on the roadside, and maybe coax their own younger siblings, future sons and daughters to follow their lead. The malaise of poverty can never be cured from the country if we allow this practice to persist unchecked; if we continue to be ignorant of its marginalizing effect on the lives it controls.
“Children must be taught how to think, not what to think.” ― Margaret Mead
As the digital countdown until the next one minute started, I looked out the window to my left. There was the usual mix of autorickshaws, motorbikes, schoolbuses, cars and the occasional lorry or tractor eagerly awaiting the green light. To my right, I could see a steady stream of morning traffic shunting off in the direction of Sohna road. But what I saw next was hugely discomforting, for it questioned my very belief in the innocence of children and in the bond between siblings.
A little girl was resting on the sidewalk, siting cross-legged. She probably resided in one of the neighbouring slums that dotted the surrounding area. She was wearing a dull green salwar kameez; a thin layer of rubbery worn out slippers separated her feet from the burning ground. Wrapped in her red dupatta was a toddler, barefoot and covered only in a ragged old white t-shirt. The girl would not have been more than twelve, and her baby brother (or was it her brother?) not more than two. As soon as the signal turned to red, she leapt up and set the toddler on his feet. Out of the blue, a hard slap landed on the little boy's cheek from her elder sister, as I watched with eyes wide open. Then another, and then another. This continued until the baby was crying uncontrollably, until his eyes profusely spewed out tears which refused to dry even in the parching heat.
When the baby could look no more pitiable, she took him in her arms again and carried the poor little urchin into the stationary traffic. Moving from one vehicle to another, she begged for alms, often pointing to the bawling toddler and pleading how he hadn't been fed for so long. The trick didn't seem to work - it's very difficult to find true empathy, or for that matter, any form of emotion nowadays. People tend to conserve it as a precious resource - unless, of course, it can fetch them something in return. The bystanders had probably already witnessed her clever device and were therefore not falling for her miserable attempts at convincing them for money. If they indeed had, nobody bothered to ask what she was doing on the road on a Monday morning when other children were going to school; why she was abusing her own little brother when other siblings were happily playing pithu together with their friends. Just as the girl knocked on my window, the signal turned green and the needle on the car's speedometer swung to the right. With an air of business, as if accustomed to this routine, she strolled back to her station on the sidewalk while a fleet of automobiles flowed past her through the crossroads. This one hadn't been a very good exploit. She should probably hit her brother harder next time.
While this scene was enough to ruin my Monday morning, a similar event transpired the next day. When I reached office, Shruti was fixed to her laptop screen, searching desperately for something. Jai and Deepak were standing to her either side, staring as she typed away on her internet browser. I gave her an inquisitive look, wondering this was too early in the day to be worried over work. She rolled her eyes as she looked up.
"Aapko pata hai?"
"What?"
"A woman approached my cab at a traffic signal, begging for money. She was carrying an infant - numb and still as a statue made of stone. I'm sure the baby was drugged. I've read about this on Quora but I never believed it, until today. I asked the cabbie to halt so that I could ask her about the infant, but the stupid driver didn't stop the car."
"You might be wrong. The baby might just have been sleeping, or sick."
"No, this is not unusual. These things happen", Jai interjected.
"I'm searching for an authority to whom I can report this", she continued. "Is there one?"
"You can dial 100"
"Oh, no. They would dismiss it as irrelevant. Isn't there a dedicated helpline for such matters?"
"I don't know", I answered honestly.
"There should be one. They have a helpline for reporting frivolous complaints. This is a much bigger issue. How can these children survive for long! Kids in orphanages would have a much better life."
"Not necessarily", I suggested, although not confidently.
"Well, my mom visited an orphanage once. From what she told me, the kids were at least well fed and educated. They didn't have to spend their childhood by the roadside, serving as props for this heinous business, or begging for alms so that their lunatic father could get his daily dose of daaru."
I could not dispute her premise. She was right.
"Aapko pata hai?"
"What?"
"A woman approached my cab at a traffic signal, begging for money. She was carrying an infant - numb and still as a statue made of stone. I'm sure the baby was drugged. I've read about this on Quora but I never believed it, until today. I asked the cabbie to halt so that I could ask her about the infant, but the stupid driver didn't stop the car."
"You might be wrong. The baby might just have been sleeping, or sick."
"No, this is not unusual. These things happen", Jai interjected.
"I'm searching for an authority to whom I can report this", she continued. "Is there one?"
"You can dial 100"
"Oh, no. They would dismiss it as irrelevant. Isn't there a dedicated helpline for such matters?"
"I don't know", I answered honestly.
"There should be one. They have a helpline for reporting frivolous complaints. This is a much bigger issue. How can these children survive for long! Kids in orphanages would have a much better life."
"Not necessarily", I suggested, although not confidently.
"Well, my mom visited an orphanage once. From what she told me, the kids were at least well fed and educated. They didn't have to spend their childhood by the roadside, serving as props for this heinous business, or begging for alms so that their lunatic father could get his daily dose of daaru."
I could not dispute her premise. She was right.
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At a time when 27 crore Indians live below the poverty line, we have come to accept the fact that economic disparity is inevitable. There will always be that huge band separating the uber-rich and the famished poor. But we can still try to somehow reduce the gradient of that band. We can try to ensure that poverty does not thrive as a business where young innocent children are employees without pay. Perhaps the best means to this motive is through education.
“Education is the most powerful weapon which you can use to change the world.”
― Nelson Mandela
“Education is essential to change, for education creates both new wants and the ability to satisfy them.”
– Henry Steele Commager
“Children must be taught how to think, not what to think.” ― Margaret Mead
Can each one of us not collectively sponsor a child's education, at least at the primary level? Can this not slowly, but surely, reduce the number of kids who are made to squander their days on a traffic signal hoping for trinkets from a merciful, maybe even gullible, stranger? When these educated kids grow up, do they not add to the "productive" workforce? And once they are themselves out of the darkness, would they ever want to send their progeny back in? Would this not solve to an extent a problem that the country has been grappling with since the time of its independence?
It doesn't take much effort on our part. There already exist organizations like the Smile foundation and World Vision India that have long started working towards this cause. All we need to do is just spend 5 minutes on their website every few months purchasing a book, a school uniform or part of the tuition fee for an aspiring young kid. Is that too much to demand from ourselves?
If yes, this begs the question:
As a nation, are we really committed to 'Vision 2020'?
It doesn't take much effort on our part. There already exist organizations like the Smile foundation and World Vision India that have long started working towards this cause. All we need to do is just spend 5 minutes on their website every few months purchasing a book, a school uniform or part of the tuition fee for an aspiring young kid. Is that too much to demand from ourselves?
If yes, this begs the question:
As a nation, are we really committed to 'Vision 2020'?
