THE LITTLE MESSIAH

Selling Hope for Differently Abled

2012-08-17T09:24:00.000+05:30

The tough path takes a tight ropewalk. Everyone knows that our lives are like those of funambulists. A slight imbalance and we are pushed to the corners of sorrow and regret. When we are in the surplus of our own belongings it is always difficult to fathom the pains of those who have less than us. The incident happened when the Udyog Nagri express left Orai station in U.P for Kanpur. I sat at the corner of my seat. The compartment over flowed with people and we exchanged sweat smells along with the local chitchats. The talk of politics is the general norm for commoners of U.P and every third person can boast to comment good on recent political situation. The whole discussion was involving when I heard the rustle of few chains and leather belts. I turned and saw at the gate of our compartment. There he stood with a bag across his shoulders. A torn shirt, unkempt hair and a shabby trouser adored him. His eyes had the spark of a motivated salesperson. He walked through the crowd. He kept calling for customers. The boy was hardly fourteen and he had the airs of a confident man. He kept attracting passengers using his talk tactics. I was amused by his adroitness of speech and all my involvement in the political discussion vanished, I turned to see how he managed to sell the chain and belts. A passenger agreed to buy and negotiation followed. The man gave him a fifty-rupee note but instead of taking it, he bent and hinted him to put it in his pocket. Then I tried to peep through the milling crowd in the compartment and see why he did so. What I saw completely shocked me. The boy had both the palms missing. He had two limbs without the appendage required to use it. He was there making and doing business. I was amazed the way he handled his load communicated with fellows around. He smiled and moved ahead whistling. He passed by my seat, he saw me staring at him in amazement. His palms were missing. He held the load in his elbow and whistled, sang and sold belts and chains to earn a living. What a great way to earn a living. The little chap was an angel who chose to work even in his handicap. He passed few more passengers, and due to the crowd, few of his leather belts slipped. I kept on watching what he would do. This boy had trained his palm-less hand to pick up his wares. He used his finesse to take control of troublesome situation. He was really taking control of his overall situation. The little angel boarded down at Kanpur Central (U.P) to board another train back his route to Orai. This was a little angel who I think was not selling belts and chains but he was selling hope for us.

There are millions who suffer daily across streets around you. Spare a thought for them. You can find ways to make them smile. A small step is beautiful. Give a smile, a kind word or just a polite look. This will be a small step for a journey towards fighting this social curse of child labor.

Mail your suggestions to ling2liang@gmail.com. Your ideas can help change the world, Spare a moment contribute a THOUGHT for a child labor

A Marine Drive Monkey Show

2012-07-28T14:40:00.000+05:30

Marine Drive

The little legs walked on the footpath. Rain poured heavily and the boy was wet. He walked in his dark red shorts. He wore a shirt where only two buttons loosely held the cloth together. The boy held a rope and on the other end of the rope walked his comrade. When human fail to feed a fellow human, animals are the undying support. This kid had as his comrade a monkey. He walked past families with kids staring at him. He occasionally smiled at his friend monkey. He kept on whistling to the monkey which jumped while walking. The maneuver of the monkey drew attention of the children and parents alike. The kid tucked his hand in the pocket and brought out some gram seeds and handed few to the monkey and then both walked. When he reached in front of Hotel Trident both the boy and the monkey stood on the pavement and looked at the colossal rise of human architect. The boy lifted both his hands and rested them on his head and gazed in wonder. The monkey mimicked him. They both started to walk again. Occasionally the kid called out to pedestrians and people at Marine Drive to offer them a Monkey show. Few kids left their parents and followed the little messiah with the monkey maintaining a distance.

Now the time for the show had arrived. Seeing a good number of audience the kid shouted to the monkey, "Chal mere dost shuru ho ja"(Come !my friend, start).

The monkey nodded in negation. The boy went close to it, said something in its ear and lo !!! the somersault and dances began. The monkey was full of energy. It danced to the drum beats of its master. Kids clapped. A girl shrieked out of fear. And many laughed.

When the show was over the monkey took a bowl from the master and went on to collect the money. A man approached and handed a ten rupee note, few kids who had the richness of having some coins with them threw at the monkey. A tiny kid came forward with a chocolate and gave it to the monkey and ran away screaming to his mother. The boy collected the earnings tied it in his handkerchief and put it in his cloth bag. The monkey showed him the chocolate. The boy hugged it with joy. He opened the wrapper and shared it. The monkey jumped to his shoulder and gave a clear indication that it wont walk.

The little kid in dark red shorts with a monkey on his shoulder and a small collection from his audience walked to the other part of the area for new audience and a new show.

Mail your suggestions to ling2liang@gmail.com. Your ideas can help change the world, Spare a moment contribute a THOUGHT for a child labor

The Girl with Red Roses..

2012-05-16T15:30:00.000+05:30

She stood in front of Hotel Trident with flowers in hand. She walked slowly to the boy standing at the corner of the footpath. She raised her hand and offered him a stalk of rose. It was beautiful. The little tender hands pleaded him to take one. She said out, “Only twenty rupees, Sahib”. The young lad smiled and refused. The little girl in white frock moved to the other couples watching the beauty of sunset at Marine Drive, Mumbai. She was hopeful that few would pick up the opportunity of using the rose to please their inamorata. She walked barefoot on the baked pavement. She jumped from one couple to another. The child knew the knacks of convincing customers to buy the flowers. After much struggle, she was able to sell one rose. The customer was not a young lively couple who would use it for courting but an old man walking on sticks with a broad smile. He bought it and tapped away on the pavement. The lass was tired of walking. She sat at the corner of the pavement and looked at the horizon. Her eyes were blank. Her lips dry and hair rusty. She took out few crumpled notes and counted the money. She tucked them back in her frock, wiped her face and tied her hairs with a small rubber band. She got up again and walked along the footpath seeing a car approach the parking lot. She met a business failure there too. She walked along the Marine drive with a hope of getting a customer who would buy her flowers before they wither. The lass walked past small boys of her age playing with their dogs. She walked past old couples staring at the stretch of the sea. She walked past a group of young beautiful girls coming. She walked past everything jolly on the side of the sea. All the way, she never gave up hope and asked almost everyone to buy her flowers. She slowly walked out of sight. The joyful ambience of the area never saw the grief on the face of the little child. She was able to manage something from the joys others. The little lass, in white frock, is another example of the millions working on the streets of any country to feed themselves. She represented the cauldron of children working as child laborer. She fought through the reluctant crowd at Marine Drive to pay heed to her small self-dependent work. She is one of the millions of Little Messiahs around the globe.

Mail your suggestions to ling2liang@gmail.com. Your ideas can help change the world, Spare a moment contribute a THOUGHT for a child labor

Raju .. The Performer

2011-11-28T17:41:00.001+05:30

Travelling with a Child Labor

The train wheeled in the station and halted at platform no 3. The drowsing passengers slowly stirred and started moving in random orders. Women clad in burqas rushed towards their compartment with their army of children following them. Few fell but got up and gathered speed to match the steps of their mothers. Sari clad mothers too rushed towards the train. The door of the compartment jammed. Slangs were exchanged. Filthy ‘F’ words reverberated in the compartment. Few decent looking villagers (women) covered their faces with the end of their scarves. Slowly the crowd made some treaty and battling women boarded the train munching words of local abuse. Three people stood outside on the platform patiently. A middle aged woman draped in green sari accompanied by two kids. One was tall and maybe he had an age of 8. The other was a small child of two and a half feet. He seemed four. They had a fourth member with them. It was a tabla. The train whistled and jerked. People filling water bottles on the platform rushed back to the compartments. Then the mother took the tabla and patted the boys to rush. They all hurried and got in the coach. I thought it queer for a mother to stand on the platform when the train was waiting and board it only when it was about to leave. The machine gathered speed. I got up to my side upper berth. I saw the lady adjust her dress. She squatted on the floor and kept the tabla on her lap. She smiled at the younger kid and kissed him. Then she thumped the tabla. The resonance filled the compartment. The boys took position and started performing tricks. The younger of the two kids had moustache drawn with kohl. He sprang on his feet took an iron ring from his mother and twisted himself inside. Later the two children formed a human wheel and rolled themselves along the compartment floor. When the whole performance was over the little lad took out his cap and walked from berth to berth and expected some return for their performance. Many of my co-passengers ignored them. A family scolded him away from their seat. Another lady stroked his hair, took out a big chocolate and handed it to him along with some coins. He grinned and moved ahead. A mother asked her little daughter to thank this little performer. He approached my berth. I held out a crumpled ten rupee note and asked him his name. He was reluctant in telling his name. I pulled back the money; he looked at me his bright eyes shone. The little lips gave way to a sound and a lisp came out, “Laju.” I got it, his name was Raju. Raju took his collection and handed it to his mother. The lady tied the money in a knot of her sari’s border and gave him the chocolate. Raju divided it in three parts. He forcibly inserted one in his reluctant mother’s mouth, gave the other to his brother and took the smallest part for himself. The train reached Unnao and they stepped on the platform. Slowly they disappeared in the crowd. Another little messiah is seen as a volunteer child labor. His poverty is the cause. He travels and entertains people of letters and he is letter less.

There are millions who suffer daily across streets around you. Spare a thought for them. You can find ways to make them smile. A small step is beautiful. Give a smile, a kind word or just a polite look. This will be a small step for a journey towards fighting this social curse of child labor

Mail your suggestions to ling2liang@gmail.com. Your ideas can help change the world, Spare a moment contribute a THOUGHT for a child labor.

A rag pickers day .....

2011-11-21T18:10:00.004+05:30

Some Child laborers Work here too ...

A pig loitered around and foraged in the garbage. She stood in the corner afraid to move in the heap. She was afraid of the animal. The animal grunted and then kept sniffing the plastic bags lying around. The little girl stood in the corner. She searched for a twig or a stick. She could find none. She picked up a stone and threw at the animal. The animal moved towards the other side of the heap of garbage. The little girl stepped into the heap and started collecting the plastic bags. She took the plastic bags shook the contents out and kept the bag in her plastic sack. She was a rag picker. Her job was to collect plastic bags and bottles. She did it every day. She moved further in the heap picked out up a plastic bottle. There was something written on it but words were of no use to this child labor. She was never introduced to the wonders of words. It was a bottle of some milk product. She brought it closer to her nose and soon she removed it. The smell was repugnant. She kept it in her sack. The child foraged in the place where the pig looked for food. A lady from the nearby building came. She was carrying a dust bin in one hand and a small packet in the other. The little rag picker looked at her and smiled. She stepped down to the side of the heap. The lady came nearer and shouted to her, “Hey ...Chutki take it and throw near the far end of the wall.” The child laborer dropped her sack and ran towards the lady. She took the dust bin and ran over the heap of garbage and poured out the contents. The foul smell from the bin rose. The pig ran towards the content, a few dogs also came towards the fresh dump. The girl handed over the dust bin to the lady and smiled. She wiped her hands in her frock and bent to gather her collection in the sack. The lady handed her the other packet in her hand and said, “Eat it… You might be hungry.”

The girl smiled she didn’t speak. She sat down on a stone nearby opened the packet and started eating. She occasionally fed the dog which squatted nearby. This was the only dog which never barked at her unlike other dogs. The child laborer ate the food and kept the plastic packet in her sack. The little laborer who was also a child took her sack and walked towards the next lane in hope of collecting more plastic bags and bottle.

The laborer had no schools to go and no friends to play. She had only a dog following her. Slowly they faded in the distance.

There are millions who suffer daily across streets around you. Spare a thought for them. You can find ways to make them smile. A small step is beautiful. Give a smile, a kind word or just a polite look. This will be a small step for a journey towards fighting this social curse of child labor.

Mail your suggestions to ling2liang@gmail.com. Your ideas can help change the world, Spare a moment contribute a THOUGHT for a child labor

Differently Abled I am ...

2011-11-03T00:26:00.002+05:30

I clean your MESS to live ...

Lalla was aged 10 and was crippled. He had a squatting posture and could never spread his limbs. He moved by dragging himself on his hands. He stood at the platform and enquired the men nearby about the approaching train. When the train halted at the station he buttoned his shirt and started towards the compartment swinging on his hands. His hands were the only functional limbs he had. He moved with a reasonable speed. Held the steps of sleeper compartment and dragged himself inside. The compartment was jam packed and many stared at the handicap of Lalla who had already learnt to ignore the gazes. He rolled his shabby shirt’s sleeve and started his work of cleaning the compartment floor. He did it in his own unauthorized way. Sometimes passengers even threatened to call the police but hunger knows no threat and the boy carried on his chore like an artist moving his paint brush. He swept the floor from one corner to the other and then turned around the staring faces. He crossed from one berth to the other hoping a coin to fall in his hand. Some scolded him to get away others warned him not to steal the foot wears. A richly clad young man even went on to add, “I know they are a group functioning under some local goons.” Lalla just ignored pushed himself on his hips towards the passenger on other berth. A coin or two sometimes came as a surprise from some compassionate passenger. Lalla now gathered speed because the train was about to depart. He hurried to the door when a beautiful little girl came to him and handed him a packet of biscuit and smiled. She gently lifted her long frock to show him the steel braces which held her polio infected legs. She smiled at him. He smiled back nodded and rushed to the door. The train was leaving the platform. With a skilled gesture he held the handle near the door and flung himself on the platform. He looked at the packet of biscuit. The little girl rushed to the window and shouted, “BYE.” Lalla waved back, turned around and started towards the yard swinging his squatted body on his hands.

The LOST Childhood

2011-10-03T21:32:00.008+05:30

The Lost Childhood

Searching for Hope

Where is my joy?

This is for those whose eyes are shut; ears stuffed with selfishness and are dumb to the ever changing social atmosphere. A small child laborer speaks for himself -------

“Why should I speak? No one cares for us.

Babuji, this world is manifestation of individuals with deep loathing for street and lane encroachment platoon. They think we are an army of parasitic blood, sucking the nation’s economical frontier. We are poor, have no home, eat a single meal---------that’s why we are criminals. The crime is we are born in such a society where the benefactor is material. Our dream is folly for those minarets of prosperity. A single morsel is mountain for each and every boys and girls in our community. We scale such peaks daily but are never reported. The media does the noble job of bringing our photos out in the newspaper with caption ‘The social pollutants litter the streets and the government does nothing to remove them’. We don’t know who cares for us. Our plight is unheeded. Our tears are not wiped. Our wishes are not accounted for. Schooling is meant for boys with big houses. We are considered social burden. Oh! Sorry worse than them. The animals after birth have the opportunity to search for food but we are cursed not to have that noble opportunity. We the humans of streets look for job at the age of three only, to have one meal. The cakes of our labor are taken by our lords who boast feeding us. The government penalizes them (people who offer us jobs for food they offer us) for keeping child laborers and the moment they throw us away we are left unemployed. After some days we starve and wait for death to free us. Freedom is right of every human. The death will surely reduce the number of child laborers and the administration can brag about the reduction in number of parasite children because no data is available for people dying of hunger. Long live your social revolution”.

The smiles and brightness of dreaming eyes become dull in daily work schedule.

A chirping small girl is subjected to the whip of child labor only to become silent and morose.

A ten years boy pulls rickshaw with a man of fifty who is unconscious of the crime he is committing.

The hands which need pens get hammers and shovels, the eyes which long for toys get handicraft tools to dim them.

Oh! The nation is marching towards increasing GDP, NDP and of course power grabbing path but no one knows that the mighty body of India has cavity inside. The loop is becoming vicious and caring for downtrodden and underprivileged is crime. The rubbles are these children’s toys, the shovels their cricket bat the hammer blow their cricket shot and brick laying their field strategy. Their hunger is practice session and starvation is reward for taking birth. What should we say “Long live equality or long live child labor”.

Where is CHUTKI ?

2011-10-01T18:08:00.001+05:30

The Lost ChildHood..............

They looked around. The shop was open. The bright eyes reflected the naughtiness. He pushed her forward and they moved towards the shop. She looked around and slowly he pulled out the bread packet from counter. They bent below the counter and slowly walked away. She told him, she didn't like the idea but was hungry. Raghu knew his little sister was kind and never voted stealing the bread. But poor little boy had no other option. Their father lay drunk in the corner of the room and mother was out doing her daily chores in the big kothis (big houses) in the big streets. Raghu feared the children there. He felt weak talking to them. Most of the children were kind barring a few who thought it a bad to play with him. They reached their house. Chutki opened the door. It creaked. She stared blankly in the silence of the room. Turned around put her finger on her little dry lips and cautioned Raghu to be silent. She tip toed in the room. Her little body moved near the drunkard lying in the corner of the room. She looked at her father with a grieved eye and the two slipped in the kitchen. Chutki giggled with joy at the thought of having bread today. Both of them vowed to keep the secret that they stole the bread. They ate bread only. Chutki drank a full glass of water kissed her brother and ran out shouting, "You are the best". Raghu knew he was no more the best having taught his four years little sister how to steal bread. He cursed himself and got up to go out. He wiped his tears with his sleeves. The little lad slowly stepped out of the kitchen and then walked outside. He saw children playing on the street. He looked around for Chutki. He walked past the lamp post. He searched in the lane. Slowly Ragu became anxious. He was puzzled. The little boy searched for her everywhere.He asked the women living in the neighborhood. He called aloud, "CHUTKI". He ran to his house, shook his drunken father. His father slapped him and yelled at him. On being informed about Chulki not being around, he shouted, "Let her go to hell." Raghu slowly walked out of the room. He went to the main street and headed towards the shop where he stole the bread. His eyes wandered around the streets, and his heart echoed the question "Where is CHUTKI?"

A DIALOGUE WITH TAQDEER- (CHILD LABOURER'S DESTINY)

2010-10-27T14:43:00.002+05:30

CHILD LABOURER(छुट्टन ): "क्यों बोलूँ मैं ? कोई न पढ़ेगा ....कुछ बदलेगा नाहीं .परसों मशीन में कलुआ का हाथ पिस गवा ! ऊ हमरा चचेरा भाई, 8 बरस का है, काम करता है , मैं भी करता हूँ ".

आदमी : कहाँ ?

छुट्टन - तन-नेरी में (Leather Tannery)

आदमी - क्या करते हो ?

छुट्टन - चमरा उठता हूँ और द्रुम मशीन में डालता हूँ .

आदमी - कितना मिलता है ?

छुट्टन - पचीस - तीस रुपिया, और कुछ मेरी छोटी बहिन ले आती है वो शैखु के भत्ते पे ईंट चुनती है. माँ बीमार रहती है. अब्बा मोटिया (load bearer) है.

आदमी - पढ़ते क्यूँ नहीं ?

छुट्टन - जितना कमाता हूँ खुद ही खा - जाता हूँ, तो साला पढ़ाएगा कौन . छुटकी को पढ़ाकर शादी करवाऊंगा . चाय के लिए शुक्रिया . तुम नेता हो का - अब्बा से कह दूंगा तुम्ही को वोट देंगे मैं तो अभी 10 साल का हूँ .

Not only chhuttan, millions of Indian talents with such sparks which can ignite the hearts of millions are daily burdened by the weight of labour .Oh sorry LOVE of labour and - You ? A SILENT OBSERVER. You can change the world of this dreamer by thinking for children like him.

LISTEN TO THE SILENT BEATS OF YOUR HEART. You are the crier , you are the silent crier think for him, speak for him. Speak against child labour. Speak against this bulwark of social atrocities met by an underprivileged child. Gather courage to break this ice of penury, which is killing many talents.

Mail your thoughts for change.

Email: ling2liang@gmail.com

The little lips....

2010-10-27T14:41:00.003+05:30

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

"I am black because of my work . No I am not dark complexioned. I break coals for the thekedaar. He has a big godown for coal bits. I am a girl. What can study do for a child like me? I have never been to school. I earn for myself and my parents for them. Some money serves as a morsel for my sisters and me. They are very small. Rahmana is six others are smaller. I am very big .I am '8'. My mother never went to school. She is earning for herself. We are all self-dependent. We do not need to study. Food is our first concern. If we start studying who will care for us, even the thekedar will throw us away. Thekedar uncle says school is bad for my sisters and me. His son goes to school, it is only meant for those boys who live in kothi........................hee-hi-hee-hi, I and school, no sir we are not born for that."

The little lips quivered and the bright eyes wetted. With the same sky for both you and them, no one cares for diverting happiness, hope and light from their lives. You are the chosen one to change their course of fate. You can take up your powerful thoughts and sound the buggle to free them from this doomed state. They do not need money, they need your thoughts. They need affirmative steps to the road of their freedom from chains of labour.

Change your attitude towards them , you will find your brother and sisters in them. They are like you, you are like them . So change yourselves, to change them. MAIL YOUR PRECIOUS THOUGHTS. Your thoughts are invaluable to change the world of small wonders.

Email: ling2liang@gmail.com

Silence .............. Hear the Light & See the Music

2010-03-24T22:23:00.001+05:30

Silence and Me ....

Silence has the mysterious power of confronting the barriers of man’s limit. Accomplishing this innate quality takes man life time to feel the inner oneness with infinity. This silence is inborn and talent. Man takes drastic steps to move out of his cocoon. The shell explodes with the zeal and emphatic resonance of blending shades of universal alchemy. Man takes fragile vows and silence forges it into hardened steel. The sword of silence slices the thin air to reap blankets of solace. The expanding evolution in the cacophony has reduced silence to a speck which can be felt by a small group of people only. Unveiling it in the darkness can scatter light and uncovering it in the light can be an ostentatious event. The symphony of silence with feat makes the accomplishment a necessity for recognition. The dwindling colossus figure of your existence takes the catastrophe of modernity as a remedy but the real light of life is silence. The silent movers are silent achievers. The silent crusaders are silent kings. The silent warriors are silent reformers. The silence is in you. The silence is you when you feel the oneness with society. The silence is in you when you feel the unity of free air with your inhalation. Your inspiration is your soul. You can mold your own eternity. The lord of lords has given you the power of extremes all you have to do is stick to it and melt your ‘self’ in the silence of silence.