Who will listen, and to whom? After standing in a long queue for more than an hour, we were about to reach the Pandal. The central Durga Puja pandal, situated at the heart of Delhi, is famous for conducting the festival for decades. As the city lit up with decorations and the enthusiasm of people, there were hardly any who noticed the children sitting around the corners of the road.
She, a six-year-old girl (approximately), half asleep, was sitting at the corner of the road while the queue moved forward one by one towards the pandal. There was a pause made by people with every step they took, but hardly anyone took a second to reach out to her. By identity, she was possibly a beggar, sitting on the cold surface over a piece of plastic. The plastic, placed in front of him, served as a place to collect money if someone, by chance, gave her some sympathetically. Her eyes said she wanted to sleep badly, but who would have mercy on him to let that happen? Her body language was saying he didn’t want money. What she really wanted was a good night’s sleep and a full tummy. What else can a child ask for?
Her mother was most probably sitting nearby with a few more children of hers. If not begging, then there was a chance she was selling random articles, which made it easier for people to put their hand inside their pockets and buy something. It was not only the story of him and his mother , the whole CR Park was surrounded by such people. Some children were even naked, crying their soul out for food and sleep.
While it was a season for them to earn some extra pennies besides their regular routine of begging, it was also another hope to get a chance to be seen. What I noticed and resonated with was a profound sorrow and disappointment in the government. The government, who was supposed to end poverty first, is busy quarrelling over power and possession. The conflict and envy over seats, tariffs, and taxes are so pivotal for them that they often ignore the echoing eyes of the poor. While it is easy to say food, clothing, and housing are the basic necessities of people, having access to them is out of reach for the poor. They deserve the joy and happiness of the festival too, but I feel ashamed to even use the word deserve, because the very use of the word directly contrasts with equality. Think, why should anyone have to ask for the things they deserve? And to whom, and how?
If any special guest was invited, they were asked to move out from the place. They were treated badly by the police, who refused to allow them to wrap up their small stalls within the given time. And what worse could the police do to them? They crushed their stalls and took all their money as punishment for not complying with the so-called rules of the cops. And if they tried to manage things against the rules, there was always some force ready to take money as a bribe. The crimes, the superiority, and the poverty,all get buried under the bustling cities every year. But who is going to raise the voice?
All the newspapers and publications have, for the past few weeks, covered only the joyous side of the occasion. But is this what journalists are meant to do? To leave unheard the voices of the people, to ignore the stains of politics that politicians carry? Everything has its upside-down world, and so does this.
As I moved each step closer to the pandal, the silent cry of the child faded with the noise of the crowd inside. The forepart was so brightly lit that the background was left in darkness. All I remember is a child, with sleepless nights and an empty tummy, asking not for money but for someone who could hear his voice!
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