Runaway Kids: Enduring Their Destiny

The following is an account of the Cafe Mohalla visit to Taabaar, by Siddant Nowlakha

10 year old Vipul (name changed) was just as shy and timid as a child of his age could be, while meeting a bunch of strangers desperate to get his attention and amuse him. He would smile at times, and then give a look as if he was bored.  Then Vipul joyously announced that he has recently knitted a ‘jhola’ (hand-bag), and that he’s big fan of Sunny Deol, and also that his best friend is Bablu.

One may feel Vipul is just another kid, but will be surprised to learn that he is identified as ‘A runaway kid’.

During the exposure visit of a group of teenagers from Pravah, Jaipur, to TAABAAR, a local NGO working for enhancing the lives of kids who have fled from their homes at a young age. They left for reasons diverse and painful enough that separate stories could be written on each. Mr. Rakesh, a highly experienced and dedicated fellow, and a co-founder of TAABAAR shed light upon the lives of these children, some who are in the centre, some who went back to their homes, some who are still fugitive, and some who couldn’t survive this ‘filthy’ struggle of life.

According to him, every other child escaping his home is a case of violence or forceful education. Violence normally comes from the guardians of the kid and can range from moderate to extreme. Children often runaway to dodge studies as well, which they don’t find interesting enough or may even face abuse at   school as well.

Once the children run away, most of them can’t count upon many options but to reach a railway station and climb on any train available. The big bad journey starts there. They reach alien stations, which welcome them with fear and hunger. And local station gangs catch hold of them like a scavenger pounding on its prey. The  members of the gangs lure new-comers, offering them food and shelter. Once taken in, the child is pushed into age-old gang business of collecting used plastic bottles (and anything else they can get a hand on), which is sold up to for Rs. 1 per bottle. The frustrated child, disturbed by past memories, is now taught another part of ‘station life’- the drugs. Their ‘big daddys’ deliver ‘whiteners’, ‘iodex’ and other unconventional stuff, widely on hand in markets for completely different purposes, but used by for direct swallowing  or intaking with bread, as if fruit-jam.

The toxic matter attacks the nervous system, and the body loses  sensation for several minutes. This way the  sickening memories of the drug-taker may find calm for sometime, and hence provide a perception of tranquility. During this stage, some even damage their anesthetized skins with shaving-blades, one more way to express internal aggravation. In later stages they may become addicts, using their money to buy drugs, and when facing shortage of funds, jump into eve-picking, robbery and blood-shed violence.

As Mr. Rakesh told brief stories of various incidents, I was shocked to learn that many of these kids are traded like commodities among various gangs. They are beaten, may become  disabled due to accidents on tracks, are sexually abused, and suffer from diseases--including STDs--without ever getting medical treatment.  In one story, he told how a kid was taken back home, only to find that his mother was dead and alcoholic father sold his five daughters.

Fortunately, not every child has to cope with this misery all his life. There are rehab centers like TAABAAR which pick up those who have a chance to recoup, give them care, teach basic rules of respectful life, provide counseling & medics, inculcate skills like dancing, painting, art, stitching, and above all pour into them a sense that they are not unwanted on this earth, but do have a meaning for which they have to live.

Vipul, now in the garden, was vivaciously showing us his little gymnast skills on a trapeze-like swing. Though he refused to sew a formal-suit for me, claiming he is not that good with needle & thread (I’ll not mind mate..I am jobless right now and may require that only in 5 years till which hopefully you’ll learn) but its okay, I still love you. Oh! I can’t believe that I cared for human sufferings for the first time, too busy with my romance with animals.

Goodbye children. As I leave I remember that I gave my heart to all of you, as nothing more could I afford, and gave a moment from my life to hope that your future remains as bright as the yellow of the banana peel that one of you just tossed into the bin.