Independence to me is…

As the train from Muzaffarnagar in Uttar Pradesh came to a screeching halt at the old Delhi Railway Station, a flurry of action erupted at the platform. Coolies rushed towards the train to ensure some work for the day while an unusually large contingent of security forces kept an eye on the passengers getting off the train. Amidst this hustle bustle of activity, 11-yr old Faisal looked out with curious eyes from one of the coaches. Hesitant to get down, he stayed there for some time till he was pushed out by a family of six waiting behind him. Once out, he was there…yes he had actually reached Delhi, the city of his dreams, the city where he thought everybody can earn a living, where there is enough to eat and nobody sleeps with an empty stomach….at least that’s the picture that he had conjured up in his mind. But now he was clueless. He had run away from a drunkard father, a mean stepmother and utter poverty in hope of a better life in Delhi. And now, he was here… at the railway station, clueless about what to do next. Suddenly, a security staffer came to him and started asking questions. Why was he there? Who had he come with? What was he doing there? The scared Faisal was too numb to answer. The security officer held him by arm and shouted, “Don’t you know it is 15^th August today? The security is stiff for Independence Day. You can’t just stroll by here and there.” He cursed him in the choicest of terms before shoving him out of the platform.

So, there he stood, near a tea stall, thinking, ‘Independence’ and what it means. It was a heavy word for him but it sounded hollow as it carried no meaning for him. Throwing it out of his mind, he started looking at the rusk kept at the tea stall. He had not eaten anything for two days and was painfully hungry. The experienced eyes of the tea stall owner spotted the boy and he shouted for him. As Faisal approached near, the owner offered him tea and biscuits and asked him to wash the empty glasses and tea cups. The day passed with washing utensils and no meal was offered throughout the day. At night, he again got something to eat. But there was something else waiting for him. At around 11 pm, three peddlers came to the stall and whispered to the tea-stall owner. After some conversation, the owner pointed towards Faisal and they smiled at him. Next thing Faisal knew was that he was in a dingy room in the Seelampur area of east Delhi with the three guys who drank for two hours before asking Faisal to take off his pants. His fate was written on that Independence Day in that room in Delhi and similar is the story of umpteen Faisals who reach Delhi in hope of a better life independent of hunger, fear and poverty.

The word ‘Independence’ sounds as hollow to me as it did to Faisal on that fateful morning. 61 years after India proudly acquired independence, every head should hang in shame for having subjected the future of India, its children, to all sorts of atrocities ranging from child labour to sex abuse to trafficking to pedophilia to many other afflictions. Considering this reprehensible situation, independence to me is…simply meaningless. It is just another vain word which becomes the buzzword every August.

Another movement is required, another struggle needed to free India of the despicable malady of child abuse. This Independence Day, let’s pledge to say a strong ‘No’ to child abuse. Let’s pledge to contribute to teach a child. Let’s pledge to help rehabilitate children found on the traffic signals and railway stations. Let’s pledge to boycott those who rob children of their innocence. Let’s pledge to give Independence the meaning it is yearning to attain.