How the poor become poorer

This is not a paper on the theories of Economics. It’s not even a debate this time. It’s a true story, a painfully long story.

Often people wonder about this clichéd phrase 'the rich become richer and the poor become poorer'. While the rich becoming richer is a very easy phenomenon to understand, 'the poor becoming poorer part' needs some thought.

Ropan is a cobbler in a Leprosy Hospital. He is supposed to help leprosy patients (ah yes Persons with Hansen's Disease) with their Micro Cellular Rubber (MCR) footwear. I say he is supposed to, because he hardly works. He is one of those 'typical' case study material. Defaulting at work, alcoholic, wife-beating, gambling and add upon it 7 children. Yes you read it right - seven!! I knew him when I used to work in Bihar. I was asked to counsel him. Like all well-meaning counselees, he would nod with a smile, with a mouthful of khaini and went back to his ways, ever so often. The hospital authorities did not want to take any 'action' against him as they saw, in cinematic language 'the seven small children' behind him. He used this shield and felt that he could walk around scot-free.

Not for long.

It’s been more than 5 years since I left the hospital and Bihar. Ropan, I heard had never changed his ways. The hospital authorities had had too much of him and finally gave him a choice of either transfer or termination. Ropan opted the transfer - to a non-descript place called Salur in Andhra Pradesh, where they speak as much Hindi as the number of test victories the Indian cricket team manages to achieve overseas - close to NIL. Of the seven children only 1, the eldest (girl) had managed to complete schooling during their time in Bihar. The rest are yet to complete school education. 5 of those children have not gone beyond class 6. The youngest is 8 years and the eldest is 18 years. Government education in AP means Telugu, of which they cannot fathom a syllable. Their education now stands still. During their one month of stay in AP, the parents fought incessantly and with schooling not helping, the mother and the 7 children decided to come to Delhi to find 'their ways' in this wild city.

They tried to find houses near relatives, but the children didn’t like the experience. They now live in a truly Dickensian neighbourhood, in a run-down dilapidated shack with no 'eyes on the future'. The girl is a talented singer. But her mother doesn’t like her doing the rounds with the 'choir' party. She is on the verge of singing in a studio. The church they have been going have been very helpful in finding a job for the girl, but the mother is not very approving of the 'sir' who found her the job. To top it all the mother is an illiterate and still can’t get her grips with life in a big city. The elder children lament that her mother just doesnt seem to understand that they will not be safe with their 'safe' relatives. The naughtiest of the 7 children, is already careening on the edges with anti-social elements.

While we were speaking on the terrace, eagles were hovering above us near one of the biggest poultry farms I have ever seen. Here is a family, with innocent small children thrown open to the vultures and the eagles of this world waiting to prey upon them - in Delhi, of all places! The word 'vulnerable' was standing right before me crying between alternative sentences!!

Aisha the eldest and Akshit, the next who has not even finished class 11 are now left with bearing the huge responsibility of this huge family.

I spent about 3 hours with this family - which is teetering on its edge. I walked away with a well of emotions - sad, angry, disappointed, confused, troubled - but with hope. I am not able to walk past this story. Not another file to be stowed away for ‘further’ study.

Arent we, the 'Social Work' types, supposed to be making a difference in lives like these? On my way back I was asking more questions with few answers.

Thats why I wrote this.

I am exploring opportunities like vocational education/job for the elder children, hostel for the kids, monetary support etc., - but want to tread with caution. They are still not orphaned children, although their state would qualify for it. They exist in a set-up where the concept of family has just vanished into thin air.

If you guys have ideas, suggestions, contacts, networks or even questions that could help, do let me know.

Sara Sara Saara kaathu - English translation

I found that many people had required a translation of this beautiful song. I coulndt locate this on the net, so I decided to do it myself. People can suggest improvements where needed.

Šara Šara Šaara Kathu Veesum Pøthum
Šir ah Paarthu Paesum Pøthum
Šara Paambu Pøla Nenju Šaththam Pøduthey..

When the cold wind blows and when I look at ‘Sir’ and talk
My heart thumps like a rattle snake


Ithu Ithu Ithu Pøna Nenju Thaika
Otha Paarva Paarthu Šella Møththa Šøtha
Èzhuthi Thaaraen Møøchu Utpada..

I will write all my property including my breath to you
For you to stitch my broken heart with just a glance at me

Tea, Pøla Nee.. Ènna Aen, Aathura..

Why are you waiting for the heat to get cold as if I am ‘Tea’
Enga Ooru Pudikutha? Enga Thaani Inikutha?
Suthi Varum Kaathula, Suttu Eeral Manakutha?
Do you like our village? Is our water sweet?
Does the liver cooked in the village air, smell good?

Mutta Kozhi Pudikava, Moonu Padi Šamaikava?
Èlumbugal Kadikaiyil, Ènna Kønjam Ninaikava?

Shall I catch a desi chicken, shall I cook three measures?
So that you will think of me, when you bite the bones

Kamman Šøaru Rusikava, Šamacha Kaiya Kønjam Rasikava..
Mødakathan Rasam Vachi Madakathaan Paakuraen..
Retta Dhøsa Šuttu Vachi, Kaava Kaakuraen..

Come and taste the rice and be enamored by the hand that cooked it,
I have prepared rasam to allure you,
I have prepared two dosas and am waiting for you

Mukkanna Nøngu Thaan Vekkiraen..
Mandu Nee Kangayen Kaetkura..

I have kept three-eyed palm fruit.
But you fool, want its outer shell (with nothing inside)

Pullu Kattu Vaasama, Buthi Kulla Veesura..
Maatu Mani Šaththama, Mansakul Kaetkura..

You seep into my mind like the smell of stacked grass
You echo in my heart like the sound of the cow bells

Kattavandi Oattura, Kaiyalavu Manasula..

You are riding a cart, in my palm-sized heart

Kai Èzhuthu Pødura Kanni Pønnu Maarbula..
You are signing your name on the breast of this virgin

Møønu Naala Paakala.. Oøril Èntha Pøøvum Pøøkala..
I haven’t see you for three days and no flower has bloomed in this place

Aatu Kallu Kuliyila Urangi Pøvøam Pøønayai..
Thanna Vanthu Parthuthan Kirangi Pørenya
Like a pussy cuddling inside a grinding stone
I come out, see you and swoon off

Meenuku Aengura Køkku Nee..
Køthavae Theriyala Makku Nee..

You are a crane longing for the fish
But you fool you don’t know how to peck..

Kaatu Malligai Pøøthirukuthu Kaathala Kaathala
Vanthu Vanthu Oadipøgum Vandukenna Kaachala..

Oh my love, the wild flower has blossomed
Is the bee sick from visiting this flower ever so often??