The railway uncle
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It was yet another dusky day and
the Guwahati railway station was , as usual, filled up with hustling crowd of
passengers, some of which waiting for their trains, others standing at tea
stalls gulping down tea and discussing politics while some panicking at the
enquiry counter, overloading the enquiry guy with arrows of questions seconds
by seconds. The loudspeakers echoed together with the announcement of the
arrival of the train for which Mr.Baruah was eagerly waiting. Mr.Baruah was a
middle aged person, probably in his mid 40’s, a resident of Guwahati. He was
not accustomed to travel in a train as he could very well afford the luxuries
of a flight but the weather of Guwahati planned a surprise train journey for
him and out of adventure he decided to travel in sleeper class rather than AC
class. The train arrived and Mr.Baruah boarded it and got himself seated. Other
passengers also took their seats one by one and soon the train was packed up to
the brim, with hardly any space for anyone.
The train chugged off the station
and picked up its full pace. The view outside the windows was very pleasant as
the train was passing through rural areas of Assam. Mr.Baruah was busy in his
short nap, which was broken by a sudden sound of abusing. He woke up and to his
utter surprise found a group of guys, probably in their mid 20’s, cursing and abusing a small kid of about 10
years old, just three compartments away. He inquired to a person sitting next
to him,
“What happened??? Why are they
abusing that kid?”
The man replied “nothing much,
just daily mellow drama. These kids nowadays sing in the public transport and
ask for money. Later on they have drugs with that money. These guys are doing
the right thing by abusing him. At least then he would feel shame.”
That kid, after managing to
escape the harsh words of those guys, again started to sing, with two stones in
his hand, which he tapped against each other and produced a musical sound which
goes very well with the song he was singing. Mr.Baruah was admiring the kid
from the starting of his song to the ending. As his song finished he started
asking people sitting around him to donate some money.
Some people gave, some didn’t.
Then he walked towards Mr.Baruah and said
“Sahib, give some money. I
haven’t eaten since two days.”
Mr.Baruah didn’t know what to do
or say. He noticed the kid. He
was too small, skinny. His hairs strands were dry and rough and certainly would
not have been oiled for months now. His shirt on his body was there for
namesake and his trouser did not fit him. One of his hands used to hold it on
his waist and he had the innovative technique of fastening it with a rope of
brittle plastic threads. He was standing expressionless just like an old
stuffed toy.
“Beta, what’s your age?”
Mr.Baruah asked him.
“Dus “
“Why you do this? This is
your age to study, to play.”
He didn’t say anything.
Mr.Baruah repeated the question.
This time he replied
“Sahib, I have problems in
my home. My father committed suicide as he was unable to pay back the loans
which he took for his business as most of the money he took went away in buying
his liquors. Since then, my mother works as maid in some houses to provide us
food, I have two sisters, they need to go to school so I have to work, no other
option left. I tried working in a tea shop but the owner thrashed me and fired
me when I broke a cup while washing them. People don’t give work to me for the
fear of being caught by police for child labor. Govt has setup strict rules for
that, but they should have setup some rules for feeding us too “
Mr.Baruah was stricken by
his words as some thunderbolt has stricken him. His soul was crying, even his
eyes were filled with tears but he was trying his best to stop them from
pouring out. The kid had great talent. He had amazing singing skills which one
requires year to learn but still can’t be perfect at. Still his talent was
getting wasted there.
When kids sing or dance in TV reality shows,
people appreciate them, praise them. But when they do the same thing in real
life, singing and dancing in trains to earn themselves bread and butter, people
abuse them, see them with dislike, curse them. This is our society. A small
kid’s words have shown the reality of life to Mr.Baruah.
The kid was getting
frustrated by answering questions. It was very obvious because the hardships in
life which he had faced in such a small age have shaped him in such a way that
he would get frustrated at the silly of things.
“Sahib, if you don’t want to
give money its ok”
These words of the kid
brought back Mr.Baruah from his deep thoughts back to reality.
He smiled. The kid became
curious as for why he was smiling by looking at him.
“Beta, what’s your name?”
“Mustaq ali, but friends
call me ali”, he replied with a feeble smile as his hungry stomach didn’t
allowed him to smile fully.
Mr.Baruah offered him some
biscuits which he had brought with him for the journey. Ali accepted it happily
and started munching greedily as someone will take away it from him. He
finished half of the packet and kept the other half in his pockets.
“You are hungry na??? Why
you ate only half?”
“My sisters are hungry too.
Half for them.” He replied.
This was more than enough
for the tears to drop out from Mr.Baruah’s eyes.
“If I ask you to do
something, will you do that for me?” Mr.Baruah asked, holding back his tears,
taking the child’s feeble weak hands in his own.
“Sahib, I don’t know if I
will be able to or not”
Mr.Baruah smiled and said,
“Will you sing in my next
film?”
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Poverty leads to hunger, hunger leads to child labor.
It’s the circumstances that needs to be changed, everything else will follow
themselves
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