There is a boy named Shabbir who sells ‘bhutta’ (corn) in front of Select City Walk, Saket, in Delhi.
One day I was walking through the streets, as usual, to my home and decided to capture on my phone, some of the things which I encounter on my way, things that would soothe my eyes, make me smile and evaporate the stress of the heavy day at work.
The first photo I took was around 100 or 200 meters away from the Malviya Nagar metro station. There are the people who sell ceramics, colourful vases, pots, hanging decors, bonsai and artificial plants. I am told people prefer these plants to living ones due to paucity of time to take care of them. They are colourful and make me feel alive and happy.
Further, on my way, I see Jamun-Wala Park just in front of the DLF Mall, in Saket. Whenever I reach here, I feel amazed. Amazed because, a few years ago, it was so full of garbage, that while crossing, you had to hold your breath and wait to pass the area.
Then next, I meet Shabbir. Yes, the boy I was talking about earlier. It is not a pleasing sight to see: a small boy handling coal, roasting ‘bhuttas’, struggling and sweating to make enough money to eat meagre meals twice a day. I wanted to reach out to him, ask him if he’s okay doing what he’s doing. I wanted to ask, “Where are your parents? Why are they not doing this? Do you go to school?”, but all I could gather the strength to ask was “Bhaiya kitne Ka diya?” (Brother, how much is it for?). I asked him to roast a ‘bhutta’ for me and I kept watching him. I asked his name and took his permission to click a picture. He didn’t mind. I asked him to smile, but he couldn’t.
While I was still taking it all in, several thoughts buzzed around in my mind. “What can I do for him? Is it even child labour?”. He was doing it with all his heart, maybe not, but I didn’t know. I felt pity for him, and I am not even sure if I should have or not as he had chosen to work to earn his livelihood. But did he even have a choice in making that choice? He, after all, had to do something to earn money. He had taken the responsibility to help his parents to fulfil their daily needs. And, he had not chosen to beg.
He charged Rs 15 for the ‘bhutta’, I gave him 20, very well aware that the extra Rs.5 wouldn’t change a thing. Still, I did. The next day, I met his mother and asked her, “Does he go to school?” I felt relief when she said, “Yes, he is in 3rd standard.” “Lekin kya karein madam, pet paalna bhi toh zaruri hai” (But what can we do madam, we also need food to survive), she added, understanding on her own why I had asked her about his schooling.
Maybe, she read my eyes. I just nodded. I realised that on an empty stomach, he couldn’t he sleep nor could he play. He needed to do what he was doing.
There are many Shabbirs out there in the city who eventually get a chance to go to school but don’t get the opportunity for recreation, or sometimes even to just sit and breathe. They don’t relax, they don’t play, they work instead and sweat all day. The least we can do is, maybe, hear their stories?