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Content Tip |
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Children's
Story Writing is a good creative outlet and can be used to
inspire others. |
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Destiny's Child
The incessant crying
brought Smitha out to the balcony. The Iron wallah’s baby was bawling
away. A thin cloth separated its tender skin from the pinpricks of the
gravelly road. The rusted ‘box on wheels’ that he used to iron clothes,
gave little shade to the poor child.
This scene was not new to
Smitha. She knew the baby’s mother well. She worked as a maid in a couple
of houses and had to leave the child with her husband for hours together,
and this was the plight of the baby on most days.
“Give her some thing to
drink” Smitha yelled over the din of the traffic.
Majeeth the Iron wallah looked at her balefully, “I just gave her some
milk to drink an hour back”, he retorted curtly.
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“She must be hungry
again”, said Smitha “I will go down the drain
just feeding this good for nothing burden”. Smitha’s sensitive ears picked
up his cruel retort and tears of anger and frustration welled up in her
eyes.
“If you can’t feed her
then why did you have her?” she replied angrily.
Again Majeeth gave her a vacant look.
“Paapa, having a child is
God’s will” was his remark, “You see I wanted a boy…” and his pause spoke
volumes. Smitha went inside too angry and nonplussed with the
conversation. The crying had only petered down and not stopped completely.
Exhausted the poor thing must be dozing, thought Smitha Quick in thought,
she was quick in action too. She grabbed twenty rupees from her bag and
ran down stairs.
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“Here buy some milk and
feed the baby, don’t you dare buy any thing else. Otherwise I will tell my
father”, she threatened, the only way she knew.
Majeeth was indebted to
her father in more ways than one and she knew he would hesitate to cross
that line. Smitha’s disturbed thoughts trailed behind her, all the way
into the house. She peeped out to see Majeeth giving the baby a bottle of
milk. The baby’s thirsty suckling brought fresh tears into Smitha’s eyes.
Finally the baby dozed off and a semblance of peace returned to their
neighborhood.
Lost in thought Smitha
didn’t realize that time had lapsed and slowly she got up from torpor and
went about her evening chores, and waited for her mother to come back from
work.
“Amma do you know that
Majeeth doesn’t even feed his baby daughter?” all the anguish of the
afternoon poured out as she narrated the incident to her mother. Tired
after a long day at work, Nirmala paid little attention and went about her
routine, as all mothers do, nodding and ‘tching’ at all the correct
places. “Amma you have not paid attention to a single word that I have
said” exploded Smitha, catching her mother’s attention immediately.
“No Kanna I heard every
word you said, but you must remember, they are very poor and a girl child
seems like a burden. The moment a girl child is born they think of the
difficulties of marrying her off, and of giving dowry. Our society is to
blame.” said Nirmala candidly. "All that may be true, but
is it too much to ask a father to feed his own daughter?” replied Smitha
emotionally. Realizing her daughter was more affected than she had
expected, Nirmala sat down to console her.
The futility of fighting
mindsets, conservatism, and ritualism were all funny jargons that Smitha
refused to accept. Nirmala finally gave up, only concluding that Smitha
should not get affected by such scenes as we lived in India, a country
abounding in such differences and injustices. Smitha’s young blood
simmered. She promised herself to keep an eye on the baby. The resilience
of human life against all odds, with a father who couldn’t care less and a
mother who could not care enough, the baby grew into a little toddler (a
pretty thing, under the layers of dirt). Her place was the same, a mangy
cloth under the same rusted vehicle.
Smitha was rushing to college one day, when the baby’s shrieks reached her
ears. A wail suddenly reached a shrieking pitch. Horrified, Smitha stood
rooted to the spot. It was the baby’s shriek that finally galvanized her
into action. She tore away the rope around the toddler’s hips and grabbed
the child. She could not make out who was trembling more.
Seeing a piece of chapatti
in her hands, a stray dog had crept upon the child, ready to pull the
piece from the hapless baby, when her shrieks had alerted Smitha. “Majeeth
,Majeeth, where are you?” she yelled. She did not expect a reply, she knew
he must have gone, to down a peg or two, leaving the baby tied to his
cart, at the mercy of crows and stray dogs.
“I will kill him if I see him” thought Smitha as she raced upstairs with
the child.
“Amma, Amma” she sobbed
out the story to her mother. "Calm down, we’ll do some
thing” consoled Nirmala. But Smitha‘s mind was made
up. She waited for her father to come back and told him: the baby was not
going back. “I will take care of this baby, and I am not giving her back
to that man”, she declared emphatically. There was pin drop silence as
they digested the fact.
Smitha’s decision was
radical, grudgingly (admirably) they accepted the fact that the baby was
here to stay. Majeeth and his wife came
around the next day, to claim the baby, but really to ask for money in
exchange. Her father settled that by willing to overlook past debts.
Majeeth’s wife was silently happy, and came around the next day to thank
them. The baby thrived, happier,
healthier and safer. Everyone’s darling.
Smitha gave the child a
new name, Vinita. A new life. A new chance at life! She changed the
child’s destiny.
Contributing Story Teller
Sowmya Srinivasn, 33yrs, married 2 children. Post graduate diploma in
Special education, a Masters in Psychology,from Annamalai Univ. Passion
for story telling, led to a certificate in Story Telling. I do story
telling at activity centers and libraries, and write whenever I have time.
sowmya03@gmail.com
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