The Voice of Innocence
By Purnojit Haldar
Reviews, Vol I, Issue IV
Painting Courtesy - Early Childhood by Donald Zolan |
“Did
he who made the Lamb make thee?”
-‘The Tyger’, William Blake
[The
title of this article is ostensibly inspired by ‘Songs of Innocence and Experience’ by William Blake, a poet of
unparalleled vision who lived in the 18th century London.]
Blake’s desperate plea
to an indifferent mankind for rescuing ill fated children resonates in the air
as we still witness children of our times, their innocence getting marred by worldly
malice. To counter the incursion of the ‘evil’, Blake invoked the spirit of a
ferocious Tiger in a child. Children of our times are on the verge of losing
their innocence to experiences that lead to a chasm of vicissitude.
A few weeks ago, I went
to a barber to get a shave. You must be aware how awkwardly the footpaths in
cities like Kolkata are occupied by people with varied professions. I met the
barber at such a place on the pavement just outside our hostel. An old rickety
chair, a few bottles of lotions, shaving creams and mirror against the wall
were the only things that formed his shop, with no shed or cover over the head
from rain or sunshine. Some of the customers did refuse to sit without an arch.
The barber arranged for some bamboo poles and sheets of plywood and plastic to
form something that resembled a thatch.
On the open side of the
footpath to the right, the bus drivers parked their vehicles, which helped the
barber’s shop separating itself from the road for the time being.
The barber charged Rs.
10 for performing a shave. Just next to the shack, there was a cot on which the
bus driver and conductors rested after having the midday meal at some wayside
hotels where the filthy dust flew in. A stench from the hotel leftovers invaded
the area mercilessly. This was where I saw the kids taking a nap on the cot,
sharing with the rest of the bus staff. The men talked seedily, puffed at fags
and uttered slangs at times, clearly not a place for kids who looked to the
world with eyes wide open, surprised at everything they saw and learning from
everything they heard. The barber’s kids sat on the cot after returning from
their morning school, waiting for the food their mom would bring. As they sat,
people looked at the kids furtively, sometimes with glances that proclaimed
paedophilia or disapproval. And the father somehow couldn’t manage another
place for them until he was done with his business of trimming and it was time
to go home.
Usually those kids had
nothing to do except for sleeping on the cot or playing inside the parked buses
while their father works. Next time as I approached the barber, I asked him
about his kids and their schooling. The kids studied at a nearby Hindi school,
in addition to going to tuitions. But the barber seemed an unhappy man as he
spoke, since the school did not teach in a proper way and all they knew were
English alphabets, numbers and a few words. At this, I proposed to teach them
and start over right from scratch. The father agreed to this. I took them to a
secluded spot inside our hostel to teach as well as save from the uncouth
glances. The textbooks they brought consisted of tough lessons. I decided to
explain things carefully. But this was not really an easy going. The kids were
sweet and they took interest in what I was going to teach them. Explaining from
their “Paryavaran” book (“Paryavaran” means Environment) was often difficult,
mostly because they had never seen a woodpecker pecking at a hole in the tree,
or a chameleon licking the air, or a hippo wallowing in mud.
I thought about the
lucky kids who have access to the 4th generation digitized classes.
How neatly and adroitly the teacher could show images and videos of every
creature and thing to the learners! And here I was, fidgeting about how to make
them not only know things about nature but also make them see and feel. They
had no TV to watch a cheetah chasing a gazelle or dolphins wagging their tails
merrily on Animal Planets or Discovery Channel. Sad it was, for the heart of
this metropolitan city is no longer made of nature but bricks, wires,
skyscraper buildings and shopping malls. The city does not seem to have a place
for nature and kids like that. I simply couldn’t arrange for a feasible way of
talking nature into them, which seemed a terrible loss to me as a teacher.
I thought it would be
rather a better idea to ask their father to buy them a slate-board so I could
draw pictures of the flora and fauna to make the environment lessons
interesting and explain the interdependence bonding nature and us. But the
father could not afford it and I had to forsake the plan, unable to buy them
one by myself.
Later as I pondered
furthermore, I found that there was a huge, invisible chasm they were growing
up in. The father had managed to provide them with minimal education. But what
lies next is uncertain. No doubt, these kids were in a better condition than
those who lived and fed at the railway stations, lacking the basic amenities
kids need. But what could possibly be the future of these kids? I did not know.
The boy might end up being a barber just like his father and the girl would
work in some households or simply get married. With their non Bengali
upbringing at home and Bangla everywhere else, these two kids vacillated
between two languages and cultures at the same time. I checked on their mother
tongue and was surprised to see how they had started to speak the names of
fruits by their Bengali names, oblivious to their Hindi counterparts.
Over the weeks, the
kids started to like me and consider me a part of their small world. Their
jubilant faces reminded me of kids of my own villages whom I missed all the
while and even more deeply I remembered my childhood days of fishing with a patch
of cloth or making ‘firkis’ out of Banyan leaves, the secrets of which I was
delighted to share with them.
While the NGOs work for
the slum dwelling kids everywhere, these kids born to a part of a larger non
Bengali families who migrated to a different state have remained uncharted.
There are not much provisions available from the State Government. Seriously!
What is the world actually coming to? A whole range of kids are going to turn
into trash, unattended to their basic rights and requirements despite being in
a metropolitan city. And the encroachment of an ‘evil’ version of kids will do
away with all ‘songs’ of their ‘Innocence’ and ‘Experience’. It’s time we begin
rethinking about it, because the smiling “Chimney Sweepers” and the ‘meek Lamb’
cannot survive in such a vicious world.
“So your chimneys I
sweep & in soot I sleep.
There is little Tom
Dacre, who cried when his head
That curled like a
lamb’s back,
Was shaved, so I said,
‘Hush, Tom! Never mind
it,
For when your head’s
bare,
You know that the soot
Cannot spoil your white
hair”
[‘The Chimney Sweeper’: William Blake]
About the columnist:
Purnojit Haldar is a poet and freelance writer, hailing from Malda, West Bengal. He currently lives in Kolkata. To follow his blog, click www.purnojithaldar.blogspot.in
Touched the inner child of my heart!
ReplyDeleteThank you, Disha.... keep reading
DeleteRead again!! Felt awesome!
ReplyDeleteRead again!! Felt awesome!
ReplyDeleteHeart touching
ReplyDelete