par·ent n.
1. One who begets, gives birth to, or nurtures and raises a child; a father or mother.
2. An ancestor; a progenitor.
3. An organism that produces or generates offspring.
4. A guardian; a protector.
5. A parent company.
6. A source or cause; an origin: Despair is the parent of rebellion.
I was watching the “news” today (if Zee News can be called a news channel, that is) or rather, channel-surfing when I came across this human interest piece about two sisters, Anjali and Rimjhim aged 5 and 6, who were abandoned by their parents a year ago. Their “parents” admitted them to a school in Patna, Bihar and never came back for them. Why, you ask? The same reason that the sex-ratio in Punjab is 800 odd females for every thousand males, the same reason that female infanticides/foeticides are prevalent, the same reason we still have dowry deaths, the same reason that human-trafficking of young girls is a booming trade, the same reason that poor farmers in drought ravaged regions of our country sell their female babies for paltry sums that wouldn’t even pay for half a semester of my engineering education, the same reason that the notion that it is futile to educate girls persists even in affluent families. And the reason is this-we have it in for girls, the females of the species.
We have X billionaires in our country-many who make it to the Forbes’ list, we aim at a GDP growth of 8% and then some more, we want Mumbai to become another Shanghai or what have you, we want more malls and metro railways, more foreign capital, more of India Shining, more of…just more. But we don’t care what happens to thousands of Anjalis and Rimjhims. We’d much rather tut-tut at their plight and change channels to watch Siddhu bluster in his colour-coordinated suits and pagdis. It’s much more entertaining.
This doesn’t happen to people like us, those born in privilege, those born on the right side of the tracks or the poverty line. But the chance of birth is what’s so uncanny. It’s like those rolling-of-the-dice probability problems we tackled while in college. It could have been any woman in my life. My mother, my aunts, cousins, nieces, best friend; it could well have been my story. What was fortuitous was our birth-that the chance of birth decided the luxurious course of our privileged lives. Good parents, good education and nurture that gave us a fair chance at survival and finding our place in the sun.
What disturbed me? Do I even need to answer this one? The inconsolable tears of the two cherubic little girls abandoned when they were barely out of infancy, the tragic hopelessness in their eyes, how they still wait for their parents, how their innocence was snuffed out so cruelly, how the people who should have taken care of them and protected them neglected their duties. They may have had their reasons. They may have had financial difficulties, may have struggled to make ends meet. I appreciate and understand fully. But nothing justifies hurting defenseless children and exposing them to a lifetime of pain and misery.
I think there should be gadgets (you know, like the ones James Bond or the fellows from Star Trek would carry) to determine someone’s “parentability”. Those of childbearing age would be subjected to these gadgets to determine if they would prove to be good parents, worthy of bringing a child into the world. And the tests would be made mandatory by law, failing which people would be subjected to the same plight that befell some in Midnight’s Children.
“Jo ab kiye ho daata, aisa na kijo/ agle janam mohe bitiya na kijo”
- Umraao Jaan
P.S. This may be a case for Linear Execution (borrowed from Puppy Manohar and Baby V)
