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!
