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ASPIRING CHILDREN They have the interest and the inclination but are there openings? RAGESH THULASIMANI

The dust settled as the wheels of the car rolled to a halt. The rays of the early morning sun graced us and enveloped the entire surroundings in a haze of orange. The paddy fields stretched to eternity and the dew on the leaves reflected the tenderness of the dawn and the whole field sparkled in multitudinous colours. The scent of the blossoms tingled our memories of the old times until they erupted into nostalgia of an unspent childhood in this serene environment. The day in the village had begun quite early. The rising sun symbolised the swelling spirits of the people who had now begun to come out of their small huts of mud and thatch.

Truly innocent

I felt a tug at the back and looked around to see a young girl dressed in brilliant shades of black and yellow. I guessed she must be around ten years old. She looked at me with expectant eyes that could melt even the toughest of hearts. “What’s your name dear?” I asked her in Tamil. A tender smile crossed her lips. “Rupini”, she replied coyly, her eyes half closed and now totally leaning on to my left. Her sweet voice filled my heart with glee as she involuntarily assumed the role of a younger sibling I never had. “What does your father do? Is he a farmer too?” I asked. “He is dead. I have never seen him but for the pictures I have of him.” she replied. The words hit me like a massive wave that hits the shores of the ocean. Her face hadn’t changed one little bit. She was smiling the same way but beneath this cheerful exterior there was a tinge of disappointment, an emotion of a childhood devoid of fatherly care and guidance.

She pulled me now towards a serpentine row of huts which seemed to progressively die down into the lake at the farther end. We walked on the muddy road bound by huts on both sides until we came up to one which was similar to the rest if you didn’t notice carefully. This one was beautifully adorned by drawings on the outer walls, coloured by the yellow of the turmeric paste and the shades of crimson of the vermillion. It didn’t take me much time to realise who had given life to the various animals that lay sketched on the wall. She beckoned me inside and I entered. I was greeted by her mother. Her face seemed to reflect the hardships she had endured over the years to bring up her daughter all by herself. It took my eyes a couple of minutes to adjust to the dim interior. I was seated on a beautifully woven mat of jute. Around me in this little place, things were surprisingly well maintained.

“What do you do for a living?” I asked the mother. “I work at a construction site nearby”, she replied. “Would you be willing to learn to stitch if the other women of the village are willing too?” I asked her. “I am ready to do anything for my daughter.” she replied with steely determination. “Anna!” Rupini called out affectionately, “would you like to read my poems?” She brought a small book bordered by beautiful flowy lines that had each of the letters of her name written in the petals of a flower she had drawn. As she read the poems out aloud for me, I was lost in thought as I had been exposed to a completely new world and life, one that I wouldn’t have ever thought of in the comfort of my house in the city. I was drawn back to reality by her sweet voice and the excellent poems she had written. “I must leave now”, I said, heading towards the door. I thanked her mother for her hospitality and came out ducking carefully under the low doorway. “When will you come back again?” she asked innocently. “Very soon, dear… very soon.” I promised.

Longing looks

 As I stepped on to the street, I was met by a tide of exuberant kids who had gleaming smiles and excited faces, all equally enthusiastic on my presence there. As I was drowned in the crowd of the sweet kids, a realisation dawned on me. It shone like brilliance in my mind giving me a glimpse of the Herculean task that lay ahead of me. There was not one but many such Rupinis, in this motley group of kids, the world was yet to witness. An insignificant quanta of time in our mundane lives could transform their lives and their dreams. The only thing missing was the care and attention and a platform for them to propel themselves towards a better future. I knew this was not a task I alone could carry on. My mind called out to the dormant world to respond.  As the noise around me grew louder, I just smiled to hold back the drop of tear which stood sparkling at the corner of my eye.

(Experiences based on a true incident on my trip to a village called Natham)

RAGESH THULASIMANI is a III Year B.Tech, IIT Madras

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