Kid-nabbing: Stories from real life

Did the title startle you? Yes, they are out there catching the kids. No, they  are not kidnapping them. They are not goons – they are out to do good – well-wishers of society, but their wish starts with self love. “If you love yourself then only you can love others.”

The watchman of our building has a nine year old son, Amit, who is a darling of all the aunties of the flats. They want him to feel they have a special bond with him because it is useful when they want him to run errands. Some stale food item, or a fiver, or a cast off shirt of their children is sufficient to lure Amit. Four years ago  Amit’s mother had run away abandoning him. Today he is a happy, shrewd, street smart urchin. He is an asset to his father – brings in extra money by running errands. His feet should have been turned school-wards. That’s how I came across these kid-nabbers.

Like I said they are not goons. These philanthropists are poor, blighted teachers. The craze for English which lead to a mushrooming of English medium schools, taking all our ‘Shaloos’ (remember the Ariel ad?), has stumped them. Their ZP (Zila Parishad) aided middle schools now are short of students which may lead to dismemberment of sections, which in turn will cause them loss of jobs.

It used to be quite respectful, earlier. On the result day these alert teachers would be ready on war footing. The parents who came to get the result were greeted as long lost relatives, and asked if there were younger siblings in the family or if there were other children in their neighborhood. Teachers who owned vehicles would take these parents to the blessed homes and get copies of the report cards and Transfer Certificates for these new children back to school. The teachers contributed among themselves to raise fund for these contingencies.

From January onward they would do some PR work also, like coaching the children to praise their school and teachers before the neighbors. They even maligned other schools in front of prospective parents. It was all about winning the game – somehow, anyhow.

Now the scenario has worsened. To keep the flag flying, to save classes from disappearing they still need children. In groups, in twos and threes, they are out scouring bastis and galies for children. Their saving grace is that they haven’t been reduced to hawking like vendors ‘Bachche de do, Bachche!’ (give us your kids!). It may even come to that in future – it is a sobering thought.

I was approached by one such teacher searching newer pastures and I thought of Amit. This group of teachers was happy as far as this session was concerned. They had come back triumphant, happy from their successful adventure. They had been victorious – they had procured twelve students to be admitted in class five. They had raided a beggars’ colony. They had promised the children books, copies, uniforms, midday meal. Yet the children were reluctant because of the distance. The teachers promised them free conveyance. The lure of the rickshaw ride clinched the deal.

The new norms allowed the children to be admitted into the fifth standard because of their age. She told me the teachers are having a tough time disciplining this unruly lot.

The Head-Mistress was teaching in tenth standard. While writing on the black board, she suddenly felt a pull on her palloo. She turned and looked down. There stood one of her newly found gems, “Ai teacher, ai teacher you had promised you will give new drais, kab deingi?” (You had promised you will give us a new dress, when will you give it?). He was assured that it will be given very soon and that he is not supposed to enter a class without taking permission. The latter part fell on deaf ears because he ran out with a ‘hurray’ to tell his friends that they would be getting new dresses the next day.

They have no idea that the benches are for sitting. When they feel like resting they lie down under the benches. All they wait for is their midday meal and have any number of helpings – almost ensuring that they won’t have to have dinner which may (alas!) be non-existent in their homes.

The rickshaw ride is the most exciting event of their lives at the moment. They are always on the lookout for their rickshaw-wallahs from the window. If  their ride arrives and parks in front of the gate one hour before the school is  over,  these students run out of their class with whoops of joy, fighting among themselves to reach the rickshaw first, leaving a disturbed class and a stunned teacher behind. The rest of the class is also picking up this new, interesting school etiquette to the chagrin of teachers.

However, there is hope yet.

Amit and Amit’s father refused to be a part of this sarkari school. Their disgust was properly conveyed by the word ‘sarkari’ because calling it a government aided school lends it some respect. They have grasped the importance of English for a bright future. Amit is nabbed by the idea of going to  a khonvant. Some generous souls have collected money to send him to a nearby school called Hindu Gyaanpeeth Convent (?), obviously sans nuns. His socioeconomic background is going to cause hurdles.  Will any good come out of it or will he be a school dropout boasting of his glorious assay into a convent school in the years to come? Yet to be seen.