Every CHIRIYA needs to
fly! Every fledgling deserves to determine his or her destination. Every child
is special. Every child is born free! Let us pledge to give them their freedom…
The sound of our
speeding train produced a mechanical hum while we, the passengers sat inside
the compartment and headed towards our destination. This was yesterday night,
when I was traveling to Shimla. Yes, Shimla, the alpine town where uncle
Devendra Shome lives. He had always lived there with his wife and son, Amit
Shome. Amit is now an engineer and lives in Bangalore. However, uncle Shome and
his wife, aunt Deeksha, still lives in Shimla. I, along with aunt Padma, had
decided to visit them for a couple of days.
As I boarded the train
with aunt Padma and the huge serpentine vehicle hooted its whistle and moved
out from the platform, the glimpse of a face flashed in front of my eyes… It was
the face of CHIRIYA! Yes, it was the name of the little girl servant who worked
in Uncle Shome’s bungalow. I met her only a couple of times during my annual
visits to Shimla, before she disappeared. Nobody knew where she went. She
vanished unnoticed from our lives, like a passing tempest.
The first time I met
her, Chiriya herself was about eight or nine years old and was the resident of
a nearby village. She was a child whose parents needed financial support by any
possible means and thus sent her to work, like many others of her age. She used
to clean the tables, wash the utensils and also arrange Amit's room.
I was seven-years-old,
maybe, and Amit was about five. Her complexion was dark, her hair was always
untidy, her dress was mostly worn-out, but her teeth were white! When she
smiled, her teeth showed as a stark contrast to her entire appearance. She
looked like a little lanky baby ghost!
Occasionally, during
afternoons, Amit and I used to ask her to play hide-and-seek with us. Little
Chiriya could run very fast! She was so fast that I once told her, “Chiriya,
you should become an athlete!”
Chiriya didn’t know the
meaning of becoming an athlete and used to reply innocently “Bhaiya, I am happy
here! I get good food. I get money. My Baba and Maa are happy too!”
Once I asked Maa, “Why
does Chiriya have to work? Why does she need to wash the plates?” However, I never
received any satisfactory answer. Then one day, I heard that Chiriya was gone.
Nobody knew where she went. Deep within my young heart, I felt an unknown pain
and I told myself, “She is gone to become an athlete!”
****
We were in the first-class
compartment, occupying one lower and one upper berth. Opposite to us, was a
lady, Mrs. Mathur, and her son Dipak. The little boy was about ten-year-old. He
had a round, melon shaped face with large expressive eyes. I liked his innocent
smile and the tone of his sweet melodious voice. It reminded me of my own carefree
childhood.
Presently, as we stopped
at a major Railway Junction, a little boy came inside with a broom and began
sweeping the floor vigorously. He finished his task within minutes and raised
his hand for some monetary reward.
Aunt Padma said sternly,
“We didn’t ask you to do this. Why are you asking for money? Why don’t you go
to school little lad?”
The boy replied with a
smile, “My parents don’t have the money to send me to school. I work here to
earn for them. I don’t beg, I work to earn.”
Aunt Padma didn’t have
any reply to whatever she heard. I took out some money and gave them to the
boy. A melancholy filled my heart. I guess, aunt Padma understood it and held
my hand tightly. I said to her, “I suddenly remembered Chiriya!”
****
Aunt Padma and Mrs. Mathur
had been chatting while I sat near the window and looked at the changing rural
landscape. As evening fell, the veil of darkness covered everything and I shifted
my attention inside, within the compartment, towards the conversation between
Aunt Padma and Mrs. Mathur.
“So, Dipak is a young
star!” exclaimed aunt Padma.
“He had been acting in
television soaps for the last four years. We are going to Shimla for a shooting…”
ejaculated Mrs. Mathur proudly.
Mrs. Mathur shifted her
focus towards Dipak and said in a serious voice, “Dipak, you had been
memorizing the script for the last few hours! How long more do you need to
finish the task?”
“Maa”, answered little Dipak,
“This is a lengthy script and is so boring. Its taking me a long time to
finish! Can I read my storybook for a while and then memorize?”
The little boy had not
lifted his eyes from the bunch of papers ever since he boarded the train, this
afternoon. However, Mrs. Mathur replied with a dry smile, “Son, first finish
your work and then you can read your storybook. You need to be fully prepared
for the shoot.”
Mrs. Mathur handed over
a sweetmeat to Dipak, perhaps as a reward to complete his mundane task, and
kissed him on his forehead. The boy returned a tired look and then dug into the
bunch of papers. Even today, as I looked at Dipak, the face of Chiriya flashed
past my eyes and I felt an unknown pain.
Child labor is a crime!
We all say this, admit this. However, a collective effort is never undertaken
against it. How will that happen? Is there an answer to the problem that the
little sweeper boy raised yesterday? Are not the likes of little Dipak a victim
too? Are there not millions of Chiriya across the breadth of this country, whom
we had been employing for years?
I don’t have an answer.
However, as I sit here in Shimla tonight, and write this journal, the questions
keep haunting me. I am writing this in my journal so that when I shall read
this piece after years, I shall be able to feel the pain, feel the desire to
fight against it.
Every CHIRIYA needs to
fly! Every fledgling deserves to determine his or her destination. Every child
is special. Every child is born free! Let us pledge to give them their freedom.
May the little CHIRIYA in every child be able to flap their wings and fly high!
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