“Ma’am, may I come in?” A voice from outside the door called
out. Manushree looked up from her work and replied, “Yes please”. Her assistant
entered carrying an assortment of colorful files in her arms.
“Ma’am, the first file contains the records of all the child
laborers our organization has rescued from households and industries last year.
The second file contains details regarding their rehabilitation and
reintroduction into the mainstream society as skilled workers.” said
Manushree’s assistant , placing two files on her desk.
Manushree opened the first file and ran her eyes through the
details typed out neatly on a plain white paper. A photo of a girl with a gap
toothed smile stared back at her. Her bright lively eyes pulled Manushree back
down the memory lane to that day where a girl with similar dancing eyes was
given a second chance at life. That day, which was etched in Manushree’s memory
like it happened just yesterday.
***
Her grubby fingers clung on to
the balcony railing. She could stand there the whole day looking down at the
park. The summer holidays had begun and the children spent their every waking
hour playing in the park, while their mothers cried hoarse, willing them to
stay away from the sun, and come home. Manu too was oblivious to the sun
scorching her tender skin.
“Manu, andhar aao! Wash these plates,” her mother called out.
Reluctantly she turned back
into the house to help her mother with her chores. Manu’s mother was a maid at
Mrs. Nita’s house. Some days Manu accompanied her mother and helped her with
her work and on other days she stayed back at home, cooked food, looked after
her siblings or played with the street urchins in her free time. Today she had
insisted on accompanying her mother to Mrs. Nita’s house. It was on Manu’s first
visit to the house that she discovered the magical view of the world below,
where children played with net bats and feathered balls, big bright orange
bouncy ball and a colorful long rope on which little girls skipped gleefully.
It had amazed Manu that there were so many things to play with when all she
played with were stones and pebbles. If you hit your opponent by pelting stones
at their legs while running, you would win, Manu had a bad aim and hence she
always got pelted at. She had a lot of cuts and bruises below her knees, but
then, she didn’t mind, it was all a part of the game.
Manu helped her mother wash the
dishes, and then soaked dirty clothes for washing as her mother mopped the
floor. Nita swallowed a lump of guilt and discomfort, as she watched Manu go
about her chores. Often at dinner parties, she had vociferously voiced child
rights issues and quoted articles from the Constitution designed to abolish
child labour. Yet here she was, mutedly watching a six year old doing mundane
household chores, Nita herself avoided doing. Her own six year old, sat
surrounded by her color pencils and crayons, oblivious to life’s harsh
realities meted out to her lesser privileged peers.
Bored of coloring, Nita’s
daughter got up to watch cartoons on TV.
“Wind up your things beta, how many times do I have to tell
you to keep your things back at their proper places? Look at the mess you have
created!” lamented Nita.
“Koi nahi mem Saheb, Manu will keep everything back in the right
place.”
Manu looked fascinated, by the
array of colors, spread on the floor, a bright contrast to the boring white
marble tiles; she greedily grabbed, a handful of crayons, and ran her fingers,
around their stubby worn out tips. She examined each color pencil carefully
before keeping it back in the box.
Nita was observing Manu, she
smiled seeing Manu’s evident excitement on holding color pencils and crayons. She
remembered how her own daughter had carelessly lost several boxes of colors,
and how her interest in them lasted a mere half an hour. Nita went to her
daughters room and pulled out a few old color books and drawing sheets from the
bookshelf. There were still a few unused sheets in them; she took an old yet
unused box of colors from the cupboard.
“Manu come here.”
Holding the child’s hand, armed
with the colors and sheets, Nita led her to the very balcony where some time
ago, Manu stood enraptured by the sights below. Seating Manu on a chair, Nita
pulled one for herself, and handed Manu a drawing sheet and a bright red
crayon. Manu’s eyes lit up on seeing the colors on the books. Guiding her hand,
Nita wrote a big red “A” on the drawing sheet. Manu squealed in delight and her
happiness stood out in the medley of sounds coming from the park below.
When the day’s work got over, Mrs. Nita decided to have a
chat with Manu’s mother.
“Why don’t you send Manu to school?” Mrs. Nita said. “It’s a
pain to see the little thing work. By sending her to school she can get a
better job when she grows up.”
“I can’t afford the school fees, Memsahib.”
When Mrs. Nita suggested paying for Manu’s education, Manu’s
mother was not too enthusiastic.
“Memsahib, I’ve
found a house for Manu to work. School vagerah
is not for us poor people. I cannot afford to lose an additional source of
income. My husband abandoned me last year and I’ve two more mouths back home to
feed. School will not feed my children and me, memsahib.”
“Okay, tell me how much extra will you earn by employing Manu
somewhere?”
“At least a thousand rupees more” replied Manu’s mother.
“Fine then! From next month onwards I will pay you thousand
rupees extra. Just let Manu go to school.”
Overjoyed with an unexpected rise in her pay, Manu’s mother
agreed to send Manu to school, though she occasionally grumbled about how
nothing good came out of studying so much.
School opened windows of several opportunities for Manu.
Intelligent and bright, she topped school and received scholarships to good
universities. Mrs. Nita on the other hand tried talking to her neighbors
against child labor and tried dissuading them from employing children below 14
years at their houses. However due to lack of resources and means to fight this
social crisis, she was unable to help other children like Manu.
***
Years later one day a petite girl rang the bell of Mrs.
Nita’s house.
The moment the door was opened, Manu rushed forward to hug
Mrs. Nita.
“Nita aunty, remember, the little girl who stood in your
balcony enchanted by the sights below and to whom you gave a new lease of life?
Yes, today your Manu is going to the top university of the country. How can I
pay back all that you have done for me?”
“Pass it on, Manu,” smiled Mrs. Nita. “Often poverty driven
families are reluctant to send their children to schools as they fear losing an
additional source of income. This is a serious problem that needs to be
tackled. There are so many children who need to be rescued, who need to be
given their right to education and right to lead a respectable life. Fight for
their cause, Manu.”
“I promise, Nita aunty.”
Manu went on to become a legal expert on child’s right’s
issues. She opened an NGO ‘Nitanjali’ in her gratitude to Mrs. Nita. She fought
aggressively for children’s right to education. Her NGO also ran a part time
recreational centre where the parents of these rescued children where equipped
with skills to earn enough to sustain their family, without sending their
children to work.
***
The creaking of the doors jolted back Manushree from her
reverie. In walked her assistant, accompanied by a little girl of around 4
years. Her big round eyes looked scared and suspicious of her new surrounding.
“Ma’am, this is Meenakshi. Our team rescued her from the
cracker factory on the outskirts of the city.” Manu’s assistant informed her.
Manu beckoned the girl forward. Shy and awkward, the girl
approached Manu’s table slowly and reluctantly. Manu took out something from
inside her cupboard and placed it on the girl’s hand. It was a bright red
crayon. The girl’s stance softened and her face broke into a smile. “After all
these years, the charm of the bright red crayon still worked,” Manushree smiled
to herself.
Many
a times, we see right before our eyes, children being employed at various
households, factories, restaurants, shops etc. We quietly ignore. But when it
comes to a debate, we raise our voices against child labour. It is time we act
on these arguments and douse the flames of child labour before it annihilates
the future of our nation. Let us do our little bit, to make these little lives,
a little better.
