Child labour, the truth

If poor people would stop having children, then they wouldn't be exploited. Only problem is that sometimes when people have children, they are not poor, but later in their lives, poverty sets in. Then the choice in the third world is either to go hungry and die because of it, or to beg, or to have the whole family work. The least that happens is malnutrition.

There was a time when me and my siblings worked to wind silk threads into small lots, to earn a few annas. It was piece work from a friend of my aunt - said friend's husband had a silk industry. They were very rich, but my mother refused to accept monetary help from them.

We would often walk long distances, to save a few paisas. The school bus charged Rs. 30/= per child. With private buses, we could save Rs. 5/= per month per child. That meant a lot to us, even though we had to get up at 4:00 in the morning, and take the first bus to school at 5:00, and walk at least 4 kilometers as well. We were the first people at school, before 7:00 am, earlier than even the sweepers. The school started at 8:00 am. We didn't take any lunch. It would have been too expensive. On the way back, we had to walk even longer distances, because the buses were full. We never reached home earlier than 4:00 pm. When I reached home, I was hungry, and sleepy. Often the sleep would take precedence over hunger.

My father had been very unwell. His business had run into problems. He no longer had any income. When he became ill, his partners ransacked the business premises in Karachi and everything of value was lifted. In India, my grandfather had a lot of property and a lot of money, but his eldest son wouldn't let him help us, for my father had taken a principled stand against interest. My uncle was very annoyed with him for this, and wanted to teach him a lesson for being so principled.

When we left India in 1947, my father had businesses in Delhi and Calcutta. My mother's house and my father's business premises in India were taken over by the Indian Refugee Board. We couldn't go to live in India with our grandfather as according to the Govt. of India rules, we had been declared enemy absconders. We could visit him, but for a few months only, and the visit would cost money.

In desperation, my mother wrote a letter to my grandfather, telling him he could disown her, but how could he live with the knowledge that his grandchildren were going hungry.

My grandfather had a showdown with his eldest son, and a princely sum of Rs. 500/= per month started coming to my mother.

It wasn't enough, and our uncle stopped the stipend when my brothers left College to start supplementing the stipend. They used to go to the prestigious Aetcheson College in Lahore. The Principal asked my brother to stay on. He would give him a scholarship. My brother was brilliant, but his scholarship would only cover the cost of his education and keep. He wouldn't be able to help mother, so he refused. Later on, when he got married, though, his wife made sure all his income went into her hands, and they started living away from us, so after my father became ill, mother did not have an easy life, until well into her seventies.

Mother wanted us all to have the best education. There was'nt enough even for food or rent, let alone fees for the English medium schools my mother wanted us to go to. My uncle was opposed to us having any education, least of all in English medium schools. To this day I wonder how my mother made ends meet, and sent us all to missionary schools where the fees per child, after brother concession, was Rs 25/= per month. We, as children, were aware of how short money was. I remember never asking for anything. At school, I decided not to participate in any activity that needed money, and almost every activity needed that.

When I graduated from the Uni of B'ham, I looked at the price tag for attending the convocation. It was ten pounds. I decided to save that money. It would help my mother. That is why I do not have a picture of me in the graduation gown. I don't regret it. Just mentioning what one's priorities become.

I remember in my childhood, mother cutting and cooking stalks of spinach and similar vegtables for us. Nowhere else have I seen these being cooked. There were times when we even ate our rotis only with chutney made from mint leaves and green chillies, things the grocer gave away for free with vegetables.

In those days the butchers used to throw away chicken heads, liver and other chicken parts. A woman that used to help my mother with housework (we were still middle class, no one knew how we made ends meet), had a husband who was a butcher's helper. He used to take all those parts home, and sometimes my mother's helper would bring a portion of these to my mother, who would give her a small sum for these. Apparently even that small sum was too much for my mother, for even that treat wasn't often. That comprised our protein intake.

I loved what my mother cooked, and I know now why she was the last to eat, alone.

My brother went to a roadside quack for a serious operation. He almost died.

Some of the health problems we have faced are probably due to malnutrition at that age.It would have been worse without the extra income from our child labour. I am glad that friend of my aunt gave us work. It helped.

Would you rather we starved!

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P.S.: The helper with housework was only for a short period. Perhaps my mother was pregnant or just had a delivery. and maybe the protein intake stopped when she stopped coming.

I asked my mother why we had that lovely dish of chicken heads only for a short time, and why she hadn't taught this dish to my wife or my sisters, as I had it only for that brief period. And then the story came out. Until then, mother had kept the full extent of our family's financial problems from me, at least. And it hadn't occurred to me that "chicken heads" was a "poor person's food".