Children of a Lesser God

NOTE: This is a true story, unlike the other works I had written. 13 of us had gone to attend a program conducted by the NGO Samatol on the 22nd of August, 2010. Runaway street children were reunited with their parents by the NGO. Parents and Children were seeing each other after several months and in some cases years.

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In that auditorium, where 20odd families had shed tears of joy after being reunited with their families, I noticed one kid who looked a bit sad.

“What’s your name and how old are you??”, I asked. “Rafiqque, 12”, he replied.
“Where are you from??”, “Bhagamari, Orissa”.

I almost felt like an interrogator; I prodded him more asking him how he managed in Mumbai alone and why he ran away from his home.
It was a sad tale.

“My parents used to beat me very often. I used to quarrel often with my little sister. My father used to beat me with a stick on some days because of the quarreling. Some days I couldn’t sleep because of the pain.

One day while playing, I pushed my sister. My sister fell and hit the ground. She was crying and her lips and hands were bleeding a bit. I didn’t intend to hurt her. I helped her home. My father saw her bleeding lips, and got angry. He grabbed an iron rod, and shouted he’d kill me. I ran and ran and ran. I didn’t think. I boarded a train at the station and left.

I begged on the train and bought food. The train’s last stop was Mumbai CST, and I wanted to see Mumbai.

I made friends with some kids on the platform. There were lots of restaurants close by. I cleaned plates and utensils the first day and got enough money to buy food. After that I became a rag picker. For each bag of plastic collected, I used to get Rs 20. Whatever I earned I spent that day.
Each day I used to be at a different station, one day at Kalyan, one day at Dadar, another at CST. Some of my friends used to beg for money. Some pickpocketted.

I used to do a lot of bad things then. Whenever there was more money, we used to spend it on cigarettes, paan and glue(Many street children are addicted to consuming adhesives, toothpaste, vicks etc). Some children also used to buy drugs at the paan shops and have them.

One day I met a man at Kalyan who offered a job at a food processing company. He told me that he will give Rs 2000 a month, a place to stay and food to eat. I obliged.

He had assured me that the job was safe and involved just wrapping plastic on food. I was taken to a factory in Badlapur, a satellite town of Mumbai. The ‘food processing’ company was actually a chemical factory.

They used to wake me up at 4 in the morning and make me work till 8 in the night. There were other kids also there. All of us slept on the factory floor. It was tough sometimes. They used to beat us up when we didn’t work. I was made to handle some of the chemicals by hand without any gloves.

After a month, I became sick, very sick. I contracted a high fever was feeling very dizzy. They continued to make me work and one day I fell unconscious. I don’t know how I reached the hospital. I just remember waking up in a hospital with some tubes inserted in my arm. I was very weak.

I was in the hospital for 3 weeks. Latha didi found me in the hospital. They paid for my treatment and took me to their ‘Manaparivartan’camp on the outskirts of Kalyan.
I enjoyed the camp a lot. We learnt a lot. I drew a lot of paintings, made a lot of friends. It was nice.”

Rafiqque was called by one of the volunteers for some reason. The program was coming to an end. Of the 26 atleast 20 were reunited with their familes. Some after 5 months, others after a year or two. Getting kids who just landed up on the stations to want to go back to their homes was easier than getting kids who have survived on their own for months to change their mind.

“These kids after a month get addicted to consuming chemicals, gums, toothpastes, anything that they can get their hands on. Gaining the trust of addicted children is very difficult. We can’t do anything if they are not willing to come with us..”, lamented Latha didi, a volunteer with the NGO.

There were many such stories. Stories that made me doubt whether humans were any better than animals. And all of this was happening in front of our eyes and yet we do not see them. How many times have we seen and ignored???

I was watching Rafiqque. He seemed sad for some reason. I saw him finally crying holding onto a volunteer.I overheard some of his cries, and it made me cry too.

“I love my sister a lot. I want to go back…. I want to see her again….Will I ever see her again????????”

I noticed that the volunteer was also struggling to fight her tears. She had no consoling answers this time.

Rafiqque was one of the unlucky ones that day. His parents were not found in the village he mentioned. I cannot imagine what the unlucky ones were feeling then. They saw 20-odd friends of theirs holding onto their mothers and crying their hearts out. They had seen the emotions on the faces of the mothers, fathers , brothers and sisters. The unlucky ones were still orphans, children of a lesser god.

There are several thousands in Mumbai alone like Rafiquee. The United Nations estimates that Mumbai has a quarter of a million(2.5 lakh) street children with the whole of India having 18million street children.

Rafiqque was only 12. There were several children younger than him.

Imagine how your life was when you were 8. When you were in your 2ndor 3rd standards. We used to cry purposefully, knowing fully well that that toy or plane would be ours if we cried hard enough. Love was showered on us by our doting parents, teachers and relatives. These kids at the age of 8 are all alone; subjected to the cruelest realities of our world.

Let us convince ourselves that the world is a nice and rosy place. Let us choose to not see any problems. Let us not believe that we are having problems. All is well. Let us only see what we want to see. Let us choose to remain blind.

Otherwise, will you be able to sleep comfortably in the night?????