The Unprivileged

                                                    

                                                   It was roughly around fifteen years ago. I was in my sixth standard. My father is a hostel welfare officer, whose job is to essentially manage a government hostel. Government hostels majorly have students from the economically backward sections of the society. These are the students from small, remote villages who cannot afford a living in the towns where they come to study. My father was the in-charge of such a hostel with 100 odd students in which one boy stood out. He was a short, stout and dark skinned boy from a small village who was sincere in studies and polite in manners. He looked neat for a student from government hostel. He wore old but clean clothes and used to neatly comb his overly oiled hair. He smelled like coconut oil. He had the hand-writing of an artist. Also, he used to sing folk songs exceptionally well. Whenever he sang those folk songs explaining the beauty of the villages and the songs with revolutionary undercurrents in his loud, coarse tone, it aroused emotions in everyone who listened. The tragic songs that he sang brought tears to the eyes of listeners. He had a cheerful and heartfelt smile on his face whenever he greeted people. My father liked him and asked him to study at our home in the evenings. We studied under the same roof, sitting beside each other, gossiping and playing most of the time. Whenever there was a power cut in the evenings, everyone in our house gathered at a place and it was time for his song. A year passed like that and he became part of our everyday life. One day he got news from his village that his father got paralyzed. His father, who is an agricultural laborer, who is the sole earner in his family went to work in the fields that day and had a paralysis attack. This boy rushed home and did not return for a while. We later got to know that his father would not recover from paralysis in near future and things got very tragic in the coming days. He is the only boy in his family and he suddenly had his father, mother and two younger sisters to take care of. After some time, it became pretty clear that this boy had no other option but to work and earn money to look after his family. He left to Hyderabad to work in a hotel as a waiter. Around the same time I had to leave my hometown to join a residential school in Hyderabad. Even though he was in touch with my parents as he saved his money with my parents, I could not meet him after that for a few years. He saved every penny that he earned. In six years of time he did the marriage of both his sisters while taking care of his mother and father.

                                          

                                      After a long gap of six years, I met him on a few occasions; once in graduation, once while I was working after graduation and pretty recently after I got into my new job. Not once could I ask him how he was doing looking straight into his eyes. I could not, because his eyes spoke volumes. They spoke about ordeal that he had been through. They spoke about the promising boy that he was a fifteen years ago.  They spoke about the dreams that he had to kill in the bud. They spoke about the lost opportunity and inequality in this society. His smile was no longer cheerful or heartfelt. I don’t know if he ever sang a song again in his life after he joined as a waiter. I don’t know how he had suppressed his love for books. Many uncomfortable questions bothered me every time I met him. He could have been in my place if not for the financial status of his family. I could have been on the other side, if I was not fortunate enough to have born in a well off family. I simply could not stand the difference that money has created between us.  He is married and has two kids when we recently met..  He is still struggling to have a decent living. I wonder if anything in this world can bring back on to his face that priceless smile that he had long back.

                                  I know he is just one among the millions of poor our country has. Their stories are unheard of. They have dreams like everyone and they must be waiting for an equal opportunity in the face of financial distress. I have made up my mind to give at least 1% of my salary to one such person in need. I feel, we cannot wallow in the asymmetry of the society. I know for most of us working, we would still be better off without that 1% of our salary. We can still watch movies, we can still buy gadgets for ourselves, we can have food in expensive restaurants, we can still see places around the world. But the person on the other side will never be able to do any of these things in his life, without that 1% of our salary.