Here I am, at my internship place, blogging. I should be writing a report on the Right to Education campaign I've been working on. I haven't even started my presentation. Yet, its amazing how I seem to feel like typing pages of nothing only when I am confronted with work. It's not like I don't enjoy interning at this place. It's a lot of fun. One of those learning experiences, where you get to learn how things work, where you're made to do stuff that you don't particularly enjoy (like typing pages and pages of names and phone numbers). At this point, you realize that once you graduate from law-school, you DO NOT want to end up sitting before a computer in a posh, swanky office and well, typing a list of names and phone numbers. Because, well, this is NOT what we're all working our asses off for. (Not that we do do this thing called 'work'. This 'work' involves a lot of lazing around, procastinating, goofing about, and then, finally, sitting up one night before with watery, lukewarm coffee prepared by a sympathetic roommate).
As a part of this Right to Education campaign that I am organizing, we went to this tiny, inconspicious slum-area in the vicinity of the city. The road that led to the slum was sandwiched between a large conglomerate and a huge tank. This road is unnoticeable. Often overlooked by the masses. This slum area is probably the worst one in the whole state of Tamil Nadu. I refuse to be descriptive, at this point. But I hope you can get the picture. We went to a large bus-depot, which seemed to occupy a good chunk of the land that was to be used for residential purposes, and summoned a couple of the rural folk. They nearly mobbed us and very barbarically began yelling out their problems, yelling at each other, trodding on each other's feet. This nearly turned into an affray, and it took a ton of energy and austerity to calm them down and get them to shut up. They went about ranting their problems, and then, it took me by shock to realize that the Government had completely neglected this area and had even cut them off electricity and clean water, let alone the others.
The residents there lived in huts. Not even tenements, but crude, hand-made huts, constructed with straw, wood, hay and mud. They didn't have clean water to drink, or even dirty water, for that matter. Water and electricity hadn't been supplied to them in ages. People were dying of thirst and hunger. This organization had previously filed an RTI demanding the amount of money that was to be channeled towards this particular slum, but it went ignored.
For a second, I felt like running away from it all. I was sick of the grubby streets, the stale air, and the angry masses surrounding me, asphyxiating me with their problems. And then, I looked into the eyes of a small four year boy. His eyes were large, nearly disappearing into an emaciated, sunken face. He had bald patches on his head that I am sure wasn't created with a razor, and his body was so skinny that I could nearly see his ribs jutting out. He tugged at my leg and looked at me, and in those large, impassive eyes that were devoid of expression, I saw a tiny flicker of hope. The feeling of running ebbed away and was replaced with remorse, with anger towards myself and a million other people who probably felt this way and let them suffer. I thought of the million children here, who were dying because they didn't get food. I thought of those children who scraped the ashes from pots that were used for cooking, to eat, and this was probably all that they got to eat for two whole days.
This organization isn't doing anything, apart from filing RTIs (I drafted one a couple of days back) and interacting with the rural folk, giving them a patient hearing. RTIs only reach deaf ears. They reach people who don't care. Selfish people.
The residents of this slum area are desperate. They want to live. They are desperate to survive. Their mere sustainance has to be fought for. They live like animals. And the Government doesn't care. We who live in actual houses, not made out of mud and straw, and who eat more than one meal a day, don't care.
We think we can't do anything about it. But we can. We actually, really can. But then again, we're human. People are greedy. They'd rather work in a fancy corporate firm and live in a cosy penthouse than deal with this.
I still shudder when I think of those large pair of eyes. And now is when I realize, I won't stop here. I'll continue.
