She

Sometime back, I had read in the newspaper about the plight of a little girl in a very similar situation that I have depicted in this poem. This is what prompted me to write and share my opinion about Child Labour - a social evil prevalent even in modern times. She Abandoned by her mother at birth and rescued by a child activist, she finally found a home in a local children’s orphanage. How she spent her first few years, she is clueless and so are we. But when her mind began registering things, she was a five-year old already. Her home was a dingy, shabby place with not much air or space. She and others in her home relied on Samaritans for all their needs. She ate, she played, she slept, she dreamt of a better home, of more food, of toys, of tender loving care. Then one day she woke up to find - that her dream may become a reality. A family came to see her and took her home with them. Her new home seemed in every way the home that she dreamt about at night for here were people - old and young and she had better food and clothes. Little did her mind realize that everything in life is not what it seems – she was brought home by the family just as a domestic help. She has sparkling eyes and an innocent smile, a sweet voice but a frail body – and she is all of ten. She wakes up at the crack of dawn while all others are in deep sleep. She cooks, she serves, she cleans, she washes and does these silently. And when everyone leaves the house, she sits by the window, dreaming, thinking… will she always be here? Or will freedom let her fly sky high? Will times get better or will life always be unfair to her? While the family dines at fancy joints, she eats the same stale left-overs. While the family takes a vacation, she is imprisoned within the four walls. One morning she had to iron - a large stack of clothes and at the same time, make breakfast as well as lunch. What human can carry out so many tasks simultaneously? And she – all of ten, was no robot but just like you and me. When she failed to do all that, she was yelled at badly and also spanked. As though all that was not enough, her hands were singed with the hot iron. She wailed, she cried, she sobbed, she sighed and wished her Destiny had never brought her here. The scars of the burns on her hands may heal easily but those etched in her mind shall remain permanently. With no loving looks and no soothing words, she cried all day and she cried all night and only her tears kept her company. This is the story of many little girls - here, there and all over the world. Why blame it on God shamelessly, while we watch helplessly? The least we can do is to make a pledge - it’s never too early or too late: when we see so many hapless little girls, in them let's see our own little ones. Let us teach our girls compassion and empathy - for it’s just a twist of fate - that our girl is our girl and not merely a she. 07 June 2010 12: 40 pm