Acidified Roses

Flower buds are soft and lovely. Children are still softer. We call them the future of a country. This expectation derives from family, social and institutional support that is to be given to these human buds to enable them blossom fully. A kid's palms are very soft. They are not allowed to become coarse. Elders use their leathery knuckles and stony palms to allow fine maps on kid's palms so that they grow up as successful, happy individuals. But there are kids who are yoked into the merciless grind of survival game right from the beginning. They earn for themselves. These human buds do not get the time to blossom fully before becoming the fully functional part of the productive society. Their palms are never at ease to allow fine lines to evolve for a happy future. The lines get cut by the razor sharp edges of harsh reality they tread upon on a daily basis. On an impersonally honking and noisy crossing in Delhi, two kids pulled their heavily laden rickshaw out of the traffic mess. Horns blared. Getting-late-to-office elders threw curses. Traffic policeman even gave stares as if they had broken all the rules in his rulebook. Unconcerned they just expertly managed the odds heavily stacked against them by this uncaring world. There was no kiddish strain on their faces. These two boy-men cared a damn about the situation getting worse around them. They tended for themselves. I do not think we have any right to nurture any expectation from them as adults. Society and institutions have not given them anything. These have just robbed them of their childhood. Equipped with stony experiences and needle sharp instances, these kids have the right to draw any damn line on their palms. They reserve every right to cock-a-snook at the so called civilized and rule-based society. By killing a childhood, the society loses its right to lay claim on the desired, suitable adulthood.