SHE QUESTIONS ‘WHY’?
I am Kamala, 12 years old without any formal schooling and used to all types of manual labour. The constitution defines me as a “Child labourer’ and I represent all my brothers and sisters who live unheard and die unlamented. Many plans and policies are made and programmes held to provide us warmth but we receive a cold treatment from the people of this world. My friends Ratna, Shanti, Durga and Leela too find life a hard nut to crack.
Each of us have a fate of to mourn, tears to shed and our own story to tell if only you have a few minutes to spare in your awfully hectic schedule.
Life for me began with a misfortune, continues as a trauma that is too difficult to bear. I pick up all the useless things on the roadside people call me a rag picker, sometimes a maid but I am always treated as an object to be harassed, often kicked, and never understood. For me each day dawns with a new set of problems each more harrowing than the first. The terms security and stability are alien to my heart. I work in forlorn fields & farms; in the neighbourhood families of the so called educated and decent people but vulgar comments, indecent remarks, dark looks are hurled at me from all quarters. My self esteem is wounded as my youth is ravenously gazed at by the people capable of the darkest of deeds. I feel cheated every moment; the humiliation has shattered my heart to smithereens. The pain of survival, the struggle for existence is too severe to bear. I feel death alone would be a welcome relief. Don’t I have a right to a dignified existence?
On every 15th August and 26th January I hear our national leaders express sympathy for the girl child. I also hear them declare some packages for their relief & rehabilitation. Sick, shattered & forlorn, I am waiting for the aid to reach me- why am I so far away from all of them?
I pine for the joys of school life; I yearn for the security of family life. Like other children of my age, I too like chocolates, ice creams and merry go rounds. I too have a dream to rise above my circumstances & rewrite my destiny.
Why am not I eligible for all the good things of the world? Isn’t there any light at the end of the tunnel? Can I find some humanity in this wild life?
These questions beg an answer. Sorry if I have spoiled your day by my sorrowful tale of despair and deception. Used to the sugar and spice of life, this might be a bitter dose for you.
But I believe there are a few good Samaritans around, some good men and women whose heart would bleed at the sight of a suffering fellow passenger.
Will my trust be betrayed yet again by the people of this world?
RADHIKA DESHMUKH
I am Kamala, 12 years old without any formal schooling and used to all types of manual labour. The constitution defines me as a “Child labourer’ and I represent all my brothers and sisters who live unheard and die unlamented. Many plans and policies are made and programmes held to provide us warmth but we receive a cold treatment from the people of this world. My friends Ratna, Shanti, Durga and Leela too find life a hard nut to crack.
Each of us have a fate of to mourn, tears to shed and our own story to tell if only you have a few minutes to spare in your awfully hectic schedule.
Life for me began with a misfortune, continues as a trauma that is too difficult to bear. I pick up all the useless things on the roadside people call me a rag picker, sometimes a maid but I am always treated as an object to be harassed, often kicked, and never understood. For me each day dawns with a new set of problems each more harrowing than the first. The terms security and stability are alien to my heart. I work in forlorn fields & farms; in the neighbourhood families of the so called educated and decent people but vulgar comments, indecent remarks, dark looks are hurled at me from all quarters. My self esteem is wounded as my youth is ravenously gazed at by the people capable of the darkest of deeds. I feel cheated every moment; the humiliation has shattered my heart to smithereens. The pain of survival, the struggle for existence is too severe to bear. I feel death alone would be a welcome relief. Don’t I have a right to a dignified existence?
On every 15th August and 26th January I hear our national leaders express sympathy for the girl child. I also hear them declare some packages for their relief & rehabilitation. Sick, shattered & forlorn, I am waiting for the aid to reach me- why am I so far away from all of them?
I pine for the joys of school life; I yearn for the security of family life. Like other children of my age, I too like chocolates, ice creams and merry go rounds. I too have a dream to rise above my circumstances & rewrite my destiny.
Why am not I eligible for all the good things of the world? Isn’t there any light at the end of the tunnel? Can I find some humanity in this wild life?
These questions beg an answer. Sorry if I have spoiled your day by my sorrowful tale of despair and deception. Used to the sugar and spice of life, this might be a bitter dose for you.
But I believe there are a few good Samaritans around, some good men and women whose heart would bleed at the sight of a suffering fellow passenger.
Will my trust be betrayed yet again by the people of this world?
RADHIKA DESHMUKH