It was Friday evening when all the News channels in an emulous act kept on focusing their cameras on a 60 feet deep pit in a village in district Kurukshetra. For the first time the name of my city “Kurukshetra” was seen on the news channels for the news other than “Suraj Grahan Mela” and “Geeta Jayanti Utsav”. A boy named Prince had fallen into that deep dark, merely 1 foot wide pit. Listening to the news, one first measures 60 feet by multiplying the wall of the house by 6 then snivels and cogitates about the narrowness of the pit and then about darkness. Mere thought of such situation haunts one’s mind and flashes of the Hollywood movies run through the eyes.
It took 48 hours for the army and medical team to take him out safely. In every news channel one could see the current situation. Our whole nation spent the weekend by sitting in front of TV, discussing the valor of Prince, a 5 years old child. The little boy deserves praise as it was not easy to survive inside that deep hole bored for the purpose of tube well. If a city bred boy was there he could have never been able to survive there because of high temperature, low oxygen, absence of light and fear of animals and insects. Those two days were spent watching interviews of those familiar faces and the video coverage of the hospital campus where we have spent 12 years after papa was posted to Kurukshetra. The first day, I enjoyed watching interviews of doctors who visit our place frequently being family friends.
Next morning, yes we were excited to know that whether the boy was rescued or not. But he was not. Okie.
Gradually, the whole episode that had to be a portion of news became just one news…breaking news, telecasted by all the news channels. The incident which I was comparing with a Hollywood movie scene turned out to be a Bollywood masala “maa kasam” kind of bathos. I agree that it was a news and the little boy was worthy of appreciation that he bagged. But it was not a news to be telecasted whole day whole night forgetting the Lebanon war and political make n’ break ups.
Few days back there was another news that blanketed the news channels; the news of a professor having affairs with his students. The media shew nothing but colossal dunce. Media is said to be a mirror reflecting our society and surroundings. I can now better describe it as an imbecilic spicy show that can attract and hold no other than loggerhead, illiterate and thoughtless portion of the society.
Thursday, July 27, 2006
Thursday, July 13, 2006
Mera Bachpan Aisa Kyon??
It was scorching summer of 2003 when 12-13 youth wearing white kurtas and blue jeans, were singing with passion on a temporarily made stage outside the reception area of MMEC. They were surrounded by crowd of not more than 100 people because it was not any western dance performance.
Suno suno ek baat suno…
Bade pate ki baat suno…
Bachpan ki un galiyon ki..
Un nanhi nanhi kaliyon ki....
They were performing a street play – “Mera Bachpan Aisa Kyon?” to make people learn that child labor is crime. Acting was good, script was marvelous and not even a single dialogue was spoken amiss. They had worked hard for about 1 week to frame a story, practice dialogues and of course knuckled down a lot for publicity. I too was a part of that play. My role was of a journalist who expostulates politicians for the multi-standard shown by them just to satisfy their bellies with votes and more votes. Before elections, most of the politicians target child laborers to make their vote banks heavy. After elections, blood banks loose level but who cares then.
Everyone congratulated us and appreciated the effort made. So, we guys decided to party in college canteen. What an irony? Just after 15 minutes of presenting a heart warming story of the children working in factories in deplorable conditions, all of us were being served snacks and cold drinks by a 10 year old boy who worked in canteen. I was ashamed and was appalled as nobody was bothered. Everyone was busy in gossiping. While getting back home I talked to my friend Priya who was also in the crew. A distressing feeling that we today truly did what politicians do led to discomfort.
I had made promises with myself that I would teach one poor child or after getting into job I would bring up one orphan. I remember I was so much determined. In fact, I started helping our maid’s daughter by providing her books, dictionary etc. But neither could I make it on nor did she show any interest.
Whenever I see little children, standing on pavements without clothes and food, begging for money I feel like just close my eyes or look at the sky. Giving money to beggars who can earn is itself a sin and I don’t ever do it.
Three years back, my summer training at MTNL, Janpath, was going on and at Shivaji stadium I was waiting for my bus with a co-trainee. To beat the heat, we decided to buy ice cream from the Mc Donald’s take away. But as soon as I opened my mouth to take a bite, I saw a little boy wearing a torn shirt, no foot wears under feet, face so dull with shabby brown-coloured hair, spread his little hands and said, “paisa”. I stopped and my hands started searching my wallet in my bag while my eyes fixed on to his ignoble looks, bleak eyes and sad countenance. But I decided to give him my ice cream. I did not want to be a sinner. Other boy standing with me said that this way you can never eat a toffee in Delhi. No response came out of my long tongue. The happiness of the cherub could be seen from the sanguine hopes that his eyes had regained and from his toothless laughter after getting the ice cream.
That day I held a long communion with my grandmother, discussing why some people are so rich and why some are so poor. In our nation there is such a huge gap between rich and poor. One dies of no food while other dies of hogging.
Animals and little children are my second love, first being my family. Their sufferings just redound to pain to everyone who feel concerned. If not millions, there are atleast thousands on this Earth who truly want to help disabled and orphan children. Hundreds have succeeded in their mission and rest lack resources. Multi-millionaires who spend oodles of money in paying tax can donate a considerable amount to NGOs working assiduously for children. But how many of them are sensible and honest? How many of them think about nation and not just about “me, my and myself”? There is enough in this world for everyone’s need but not enough for everyone’s greed – problem lies here.
Today I eyed a cherub..
A bonny face…
slouching gait with ignoble looks..
two little bleak eyes that really knocks…
those two dimming stars knocked my heart.
standing glum and silent
her eyes so weary,
cheeks so pale,
whole countenance..
telling her childhood’s tale.
Listen if you can..
Its me a poor bairn.
Listen….
I opened my eyes yesterday…..
I saw the birds chirping…
I saw the wind singing….
Clouds drumming….
Trees dancing……
And bees buzzing….
My heart hailed the beauty…..
I joined my fatigued hands……
Prayed for the food and water….
Energy and happiness….
Prosperity and kindness….
I prayed for…
Food to chirp like jovial birds.
Water to quench my dry mouth’s thirst….
Energy to sing like wind…
Prosperity to enable my wrenched mind….
Kindness to make feel other what I do…..
Birds, animals, insects and plants….
All have reasons to sing and dance….
My reasons are confined and diluted…..
Stowed and hidden in pockets of many…
All my entreaties are vain……
Everytime washed in sorrowful rain….
Why God gave me this perdition to suffocate??
Why did he never try my sufferings to alleviate??
What is my sin??
My poverty or their richness??
Suno suno ek baat suno…
Bade pate ki baat suno…
Bachpan ki un galiyon ki..
Un nanhi nanhi kaliyon ki....
They were performing a street play – “Mera Bachpan Aisa Kyon?” to make people learn that child labor is crime. Acting was good, script was marvelous and not even a single dialogue was spoken amiss. They had worked hard for about 1 week to frame a story, practice dialogues and of course knuckled down a lot for publicity. I too was a part of that play. My role was of a journalist who expostulates politicians for the multi-standard shown by them just to satisfy their bellies with votes and more votes. Before elections, most of the politicians target child laborers to make their vote banks heavy. After elections, blood banks loose level but who cares then.
Everyone congratulated us and appreciated the effort made. So, we guys decided to party in college canteen. What an irony? Just after 15 minutes of presenting a heart warming story of the children working in factories in deplorable conditions, all of us were being served snacks and cold drinks by a 10 year old boy who worked in canteen. I was ashamed and was appalled as nobody was bothered. Everyone was busy in gossiping. While getting back home I talked to my friend Priya who was also in the crew. A distressing feeling that we today truly did what politicians do led to discomfort.
I had made promises with myself that I would teach one poor child or after getting into job I would bring up one orphan. I remember I was so much determined. In fact, I started helping our maid’s daughter by providing her books, dictionary etc. But neither could I make it on nor did she show any interest.
Whenever I see little children, standing on pavements without clothes and food, begging for money I feel like just close my eyes or look at the sky. Giving money to beggars who can earn is itself a sin and I don’t ever do it.
Three years back, my summer training at MTNL, Janpath, was going on and at Shivaji stadium I was waiting for my bus with a co-trainee. To beat the heat, we decided to buy ice cream from the Mc Donald’s take away. But as soon as I opened my mouth to take a bite, I saw a little boy wearing a torn shirt, no foot wears under feet, face so dull with shabby brown-coloured hair, spread his little hands and said, “paisa”. I stopped and my hands started searching my wallet in my bag while my eyes fixed on to his ignoble looks, bleak eyes and sad countenance. But I decided to give him my ice cream. I did not want to be a sinner. Other boy standing with me said that this way you can never eat a toffee in Delhi. No response came out of my long tongue. The happiness of the cherub could be seen from the sanguine hopes that his eyes had regained and from his toothless laughter after getting the ice cream.
That day I held a long communion with my grandmother, discussing why some people are so rich and why some are so poor. In our nation there is such a huge gap between rich and poor. One dies of no food while other dies of hogging.
Animals and little children are my second love, first being my family. Their sufferings just redound to pain to everyone who feel concerned. If not millions, there are atleast thousands on this Earth who truly want to help disabled and orphan children. Hundreds have succeeded in their mission and rest lack resources. Multi-millionaires who spend oodles of money in paying tax can donate a considerable amount to NGOs working assiduously for children. But how many of them are sensible and honest? How many of them think about nation and not just about “me, my and myself”? There is enough in this world for everyone’s need but not enough for everyone’s greed – problem lies here.
Today I eyed a cherub..
A bonny face…
slouching gait with ignoble looks..
two little bleak eyes that really knocks…
those two dimming stars knocked my heart.
standing glum and silent
her eyes so weary,
cheeks so pale,
whole countenance..
telling her childhood’s tale.
Listen if you can..
Its me a poor bairn.
Listen….
I opened my eyes yesterday…..
I saw the birds chirping…
I saw the wind singing….
Clouds drumming….
Trees dancing……
And bees buzzing….
My heart hailed the beauty…..
I joined my fatigued hands……
Prayed for the food and water….
Energy and happiness….
Prosperity and kindness….
I prayed for…
Food to chirp like jovial birds.
Water to quench my dry mouth’s thirst….
Energy to sing like wind…
Prosperity to enable my wrenched mind….
Kindness to make feel other what I do…..
Birds, animals, insects and plants….
All have reasons to sing and dance….
My reasons are confined and diluted…..
Stowed and hidden in pockets of many…
All my entreaties are vain……
Everytime washed in sorrowful rain….
Why God gave me this perdition to suffocate??
Why did he never try my sufferings to alleviate??
What is my sin??
My poverty or their richness??
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