"... India is pretty good at flaunting its achievements. We have in men like
Amartya Sen, international champions of the Indian model: How, for instance,
India prevented famine since Independence due to a free press and its
democratic political structure, held accountable by the media. But Sen, as
argumentative an Indian as any, does not see the apocalyptic reality of nearly
naked hollow-eyed hordes roaming the sun-baked urban vastness of India in
search of food and shelter, and perhaps love. ..."

Children Of A Lesser God
http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/OPINION/Editorial/Children_Of_A_Lesser_God/articleshow/725656.cms

Barely a fortnight ago, the Bihar government decided to help Chuhiya and her
family financially. Eight year-old Chuhiya earns her keep at a dhaba in Patna.

The real reason Chuhiya was chosen for the administration's benefaction is a
camera. She figured on a UNICEF postcard in a campaign against child labour.

If Chuhiya weren't a picture, the media wouldn't have noticed that the child,
like a million others in Bihar, was going through rites of what psychiatrist
Bruno Bettelheim termed "dis-integration of personality".

Bettelheim would know, he was a Nazi concentration-camp survivor. Last
fortnight, media reports drummed up a campaign that the Bihar administration
could not ignore.

How could a UNICEF pin-up child be refused her right to life? Real life, and
there is so much of the ghastly thing teeming around us, is a bitch in a ditch,
and it leaves us cold. But an image is different.

An image exacts from us actionable ethical impulses, simply because it's one
remove away from our physical environs. Image is reality sanitised through
distance. And these are mediated times.

The image is the real thing. Thanks to the incident of the post-card then,
Chuhiya might now join a school. What about 12 million children (a government
estimate) roaming the Indian streets, doing things they should not be doing to
make both ends meet?

According to the Human Rights Watch report, the number of street children is
115 million. If truth is somewhere in between, it is still a number large
enough to populate several European countries.

Only four out of 10 enrolled children complete class X, says Human Development
Report 2006, and nearly six out of 100 children do not survive beyond the age
of one.

What is the social and economic cost of these infantile phantoms hovering in
the wings of the Great Indian Opera? If they were to migrate to Europe, those
countries would have no option but declare themselves under a state of
emergency.

But in India, we are talking about superpowerdom, with the rate of growth
rocketing past 9 per cent. Never mind a global press gently mocking at our
smugness.

Where is the welfare, without which no society can claim it is civil? The
Maharashtra government is yet to implement most of the key recommendations of
its child development policy.

The policy drafted by the state's Women and Child Development Department makes
charitable noises like the "need for planned and structured "policy inputs.
Authorities have gone on record saying that money is not the problem, that "in
fact a lot of funds go waste".

According to an official, it is a "question of making public institutions more
accountable". Yet what makes these words dream-like as in a Bergman movie is,
for instance, an announcement by the state government on the eve of Children's
Day that it would "treat 1,200 underprivileged children to a day at the
circus".

How do we meet life and death issues armed with a trapeze in one hand and a
wriggling bear in the other? Outside the promised circus, real issues burn with
blinding brightness.

According to Delhi police sources, nearly 46 million children are estimated to
be missing in the country. When they eventually surface far away from where
they were born and long after, we see them as beggars, bonded labourers,
delinquents.

There is no central agency looking into this vanishing act. Very recently, the
police arrested a man running a private shelter for girls in Ghaziabad on
charges of rape and wrongful confinement of inmates.

This is not the first case of juvenile home abuse. Private or public, juvenile
homes in India are straight out of Dante's Purgatory.

Maharashtra alone has over 40,000 children whose souls are on fire in these
homes. Why pick on Maharashtra? Last year, the state wheedled over 40 per cent
of the Rs 16 crore national grant for social maladjustment schemes, being run
in these homes.

The state government itself has put in an equal amount into these efforts. It
is a moot point whether the money finds its way towards the destitute Indian
child.

On October 10, the Union government banned children below the age of 14 from
working in residences, hospitality industry and hazardous jobs.

This was all very well, but there has been no follow-up. Nor is it clear how
boys and girls freed from labour are to support themselves in the utter absence
of an income.

A sensible debate on the issue would have raised questions of rehabilitation of
nearly 20 million children "rescued" from hostile environments.

Where do these children go? What do they do with their newly found time? Are
they equipped to relate to society at large?

Do they have special schools? In the absence of back-ups, would it have been
better to allow them to disintegrate bone by bone in anonymous assorted jobs
and soften them up occasionally with a free ticket to the circus?

India is pretty good at flaunting its achievements. We have in men like Amartya
Sen, international champions of the Indian model: How, for instance, India
prevented famine since Independence due to a free press and its democratic
political structure, held accountable by the media. But Sen, as argumentative
an Indian as any, does not see the apocalyptic reality of nearly naked
hollow-eyed hordes roaming the sun-baked urban vastness of India in search of
food and shelter, and perhaps love.

Is the same system that kept the famine at bay responsible for the interminable
drought of spirit that sanctions star-crossed children a day at the circus, and
dark desolation when the clowns call for the curtain?

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