Children of Chance

The weather forecast for these days has been quite right, and the cold wind seemed to dip day after day, and the cloudy weather added to the woes of the common people, who have no big shelter to protect themselves from the cold wind blowing, especially at the early hours of the day. Those who live in high-rise buildings have nothing much to worry, even if the temperature were to dip to zero and even beyond; they have all the comforts set right to protect themselves from any sort of heat and cold; they cannot be touched by any kind of weather! But I would like to imagine the Ultadanga slum-dwellers who had lost their “hutments” at the fire that broke at midday!

It is said that over 500 families lost not only their shelter, but also all their belongings. Some of them were left to stand and stare at the bellowing of flames, slowly eating up all their possessions, however big or small they are. Now that these people are left to wonder what they could do to get back to life, there are politicians ready to play their cards, throw the sympathy trump cards, and get into the good books of the hapless victims of circumstances. There would be theories which may attribute the fire to the deliberate tactics of certain political parties in order to clear the place at one go. Whatever be the theories, one thing is for sure: these people have been left to huddle with open sky over their heads, and warm themselves with the rags salvaged from ashes!

It is hard to think of these poor slum-dwellers to rise up to new life like the proverbial phoenix; there is one saving factor: they are quite used to these kinds of predicaments; they have seen several such fires, and had begun life anew several times. It has become almost a routine affair for them to keep looking at life with bright eyes, and then let the flames devour their dreams at a time they least expect. This is one thing they do not have much control; to prevent such calamities dawn on their dwellings. They seem to be playing a duel with chance, and there are more chances that they lose the battle, with all the other forces supporting the chances!

Even as 2500 people of the slum struggle to gather whatever has been left behind by the merciful flames, for most of us, the event has not touched us in any way. Our food for three times is assured; the morning coffee and the evening tea will be there, even if the whole world were to collapse! Unless there is a major natural calamity, we are sure that our building is strong and will stand for another 50 years to say the least. What do we need to worry? Many of these people who have lost all their earnings and belongings, may wonder what they will eat before they go to bed; the parents may have to beg food for their children, and their plight may not touch my life in any way!

It is not that I should now rush to handover the food cooked for me to the hungry people; that would not solve the problem in anyway. It may only seem crocodile tears! How am I to express my solidarity with these people, that would make a difference, if not for the people I symbolically care for, but at least for me! It maybe a social-crime to enjoy a cozy evening inside my room well protected from excessive heat and cold, while there are people who do not have a decent place to lay down their heads tonight. Will it be possible for me to do something for them, which may make a difference? Probably there may not be anything which I can do to make a difference, except that I do not forget the faces of these people even as I go to bed with full-stomach, after having a warm bath! If I carry them in my mind at least for a while during the day, it will have its own impact and repercussion!

The Weather-beaten

There was once a lovely little flower plant. It was protected from all rain and shine, thunder and lightning and it enjoyed the cozy life indoors. Everyday in the morning, the master of the house would carry her tenderly and leave her to swim in the tender rays of the sun, and as soon as the sun began to scorch, the master would carry her back to the little niche he had made for her, and keep her for the day. Again when it is evening, he would leave her to savor the gentle breeze gliding over her, and take her back to her niche before he retired for the day. This had been the life for the flower plant, until when the master decided to take her to the garden, and transplant her there.

The little plant was still tender, but wanted to show to her master that she had the enough strength and stamina to fight against any oddity that may militate against her. The day she was planted in the garden, all the other plants looked at her appreciatively, and admired her youthful vigor, and the beauty that she brought to the garden. But when the sun began to scorch, there was none to protect her, and when a gust of wind chiddingly hit her hard, there were no protective hands of the master. She stood alone, waiting for someone to protect her from these aliens!

There were other plants, who whispered into her ears, worry not dear, you will soon get used to all rain and shine, thunder and lightning. Your tender body will become strong enough to resist all alien attacks. Your delicate body will become supple to dance with the wind, and take part in the cosmic dance of all plants and animals. She looked at the plants all around her, weather-beaten, shaggy and shabby! When the cosmic dance began, the lovely little plant would hop around, swaying her slender body, enchanting even the gods. But the old plants stood still, unable to contribute anything for the show of strength.

The little flower plant began to tell herself: why can't these old plants just give themselves to make this dance a collective effort. We only the young ladies do our best, why are the old ones not interested in this wonderful event. She began to grumble against every senior citizens of the garden, and at times in her anger would knock the old plants around her. She was the angry little plant, who others thought was too proud of her status and had begun to look down upon the seniors, who had their day, and were counting their days to receive farewell from their master.

One day one of the senior plants invited the lovely little plant close by, and after appreciating her for the new life she had brought into the garden, put forth a few questions to the little plant: have you ever seen a storm? have you ever been subjected to submergence in the flood waters, and could not find the land for weeks and months? Do you know what it is to be knocked down by a lightning? Have you ever seen the summer noon day Sun, roasted by the scorching heat? You are still too young dear, and you have still miles to go before you can tell the world that you have something to offer to them.

The lovely little plant was speechless for a while; she then realized that her journey into the world has just begun, and she should not have the audacity to sit in the seat of judgement to judge the world around. The following days were formative, and she began to feel the heat and cold, and her tender body began to swell and shrink; there were flakes coming out of her delicate body, and a thick skin formed over her, and she began to lose the childhood charm and the youthful magic; but she knew she was being toughened by nature to face the future ahead. She continued to dance, but the beauty now was not in her body, but in her dance, which flowed from her inner self!