What Narratives are we offering our Children?

The COVID-19 pandemic has had immense impact on human and economic activity in recent memory. It has pushed many global economies, including India, into an economic recession and disrupted life as we know it for adults and children alike. With schools being closed since March 2020, this has been the longest since children have been out of school. 

Over the last few months, the Indian government started opening up the country, its industries and daily activity. However, schools continue to remain closed for physical engagement while online classes have started since September.  

In all this, I wonder, if we think about what narratives we, as adults, are offering our children and young people at the time of such loss, anxiety, distress and disruption of life as we know it. 

The Indian government announced a country-wide lockdown with a 4-hour notice. This disrupted life, livelihoods and incomes of millions of people, largely from vulnerable backgrounds. Overnight, millions lost their daily-wage jobs, were left with unpaid dues, debt and without homes and sources of income. Over the next few months, we saw with horror one of the largest migration of families within a country as millions walked thousands of kilometres to get back to their homes, villages and safety carrying their children and meagre belongings. I saw with helpless grief as images of children on their mother's laps, father's shoulders, sleeping on suitcases on footpaths and pavements as they made this journey home. 

Ever imagine, what Narratives children and young people picked up from this suffering? Why do we have to walk? Why did we have to leave our homes in the city? Why isn't someone coming to help us? I a hungry and thirsty, why am I not getting any food and water? Why is the government not coming to our aid? 

The story of a young father who sold his mobile phone to get some food for his stranded family and then died by suicide is an image that I will take to my grave. Do we wonder what his 14-year old daughter is picking up as a narrative? There is no one for us. We have to fend for ourselves. It is easier to die than to live in so much suffering. 

As families, who did manage to reach their villages, they were ostracised, not allowed to enter the villages in fear that they might be carrying the virus. Families were stranded on the outskirts of their villages and towns, helpless, hopeless, hungry, thirsty and on the verge of giving up. States decided to shut down their borders and soon hundreds of families were stuck at State borders - not been able to crossover and not being allowed to come back too. Bunched in crowded camps until the government could decide what to do with this situation, many feared for their lives and lives of their children. 

What narratives do we think children picked up then? I am not wanted. I am an inconvenience. I am a discard. I am a virus spreader. Worry, anger, frustration, fear, neglect, loss of dignity and identity were all possible emotions that children felt. 

With school closures, millions of children lost their only source of daily meal that they got in school. For many children, school was a safe refuge from the violence and abuse at home and it was no longer available. For many children, school was a safe space from a unsafe neighbourhood while their parents went to work and now they had to spend all their time in these unsafe neighbourhoods. For many parents, school offered a safe space of care for their children and gave them the strength to go out and work in the hope that their children are safe and learning. The burden of learning now fell on parents who themselves might not have gone to school. For many children, school gave them safety from their abusers and now they had no safe space leaving them vulnerable all the time. 

With dwindling cash resources, children have to go seek work to support their families; girls are being pushed towards early marriage and are more susceptible to trafficking in desperate family situations. 
With the advent of online classes, there was hope of a pivot towards online learning resources to re-engage children. Yet, early reports have shown that online classes are not working for the most vulnerable with limited access to devices, internet and network issues and unconducive learning spaces. 

There have been cases of adolescents who died by suicide because they were unable to join online classes. There have been cases of enhanced bullying in online forums by teachers and peers. 
In all this, what narratives are our children and young people picking up? That, they do not matter. They are not important. 

In all this, No political leader has reached out and spoken directly to children and young people, giving them hope, assurances and strategies that prioritises their wellbeing, safety and learning. As the country starting opening up, it was important to revive the economy first and not prioritise opening up of schools and colleges so we can help children and young people heal first. Examinations were conducted in the midst of the pandemic putting young people at risk of contracting the virus. 

As people step out of their homes, they decided it was 'back to business' when markets got crowded and busier, when religious places got crowded and when restaurants, shops and malls got crowded. In all that, we told our children - you are not yet important. your learning is not important. young wellbeing is not important. your future is not important. 

As people stop taking precautions, stop washing hands and wearing masks. Start organising weddings, get-togethers and celebrating festivals while schools remain closed and young people continue to live in confusion, distress and anxiety, we are telling them, you are not yet important. 

As young graduates live in anxiety around their future because there are no employment opportunities, there are no adults given them assurances of a secure future. 

As we adults continue to ignore one of the most important stakeholder, our young people, we are telling them that they do not matter. 

Young people are watching us. learning from us. learning from our actions. learning from what and who we choose to prioritise and we are indeed failing them. 

This trauma that children and young people are experiencing is going to make place in their bodies, deeply entrenched in their being and yes, while some young people will come out stronger, most won't. Most will carry this trauma and it will shape the adults they will become in the future. Adults who don't care; who don't show up for young people; who don't stand with young people; and those who choose individualism over the collective; choose Ego over the Eco, choose development over wellbeing, choose economic growth over biodiversity, choose GDP over the planet. 

We still have time. We can show up for young people differently. We can show with our actions and words that they matter. That their safety, wellbeing and their future matters to us. 

Let's acknowledge and accept that we are failing our young people and commit to changing that. 

Lets think about what could be our most compassionate offer to our children and young people? 

Let's prioritise safety and care, take precautions to stop the spread of the virus, come together as a collective human force, as a nation to fight this pandemic. Let's show our young people that we can listen and support each other. Lets show more kindness and care for each other. Let's hold our political leaders accountable. Lets invite them to talk to us with plans, strategies, ideas to combat the pandemic. 

Lets support government directives and initiatives designed for our safety. Let's show up everyday as a role model that we want our children to become one day. 

Lets give our young people newer, bolder, kinder narratives that build in them the capacities to help us, our communities and our planet to Thrive. This pandemic has given us an opportunity to let go of the past and embrace a new future with love, care and kindness. Lets show our young people that we truly care and are willing to change. 

A Decaying Society

A six-year old brutally gangraped, intestines removed and then murdered. A dalit man thrashed to death because he didn't remove his slippers while walking through an upper-cast neighbourhood. A man severely injured in a drunken pub brawl when a group assumed the man belonged to a different State. A young girl kidnapped, raped, murdered and eaten by a couple in the hope of conceiving a child when someone told them that they will be able to have a child if they ate the organs of a child. 

These form the predominant news in a national daily this week. These are, for me, all signs of a society and species in unfathomable decay. Over the years, I have felt this gnawing sense of a decaying society around me as values of compassion, love, empathy, care, truth, justice have rotted. Ofcourse, there are cases of human kindness, empathy, love and care. But, they are so few that we need to celebrate them like we are trying to hold onto the last few shreds of a fast burning rope on a bridge. 

The Himalayas have become a stockpile of human trash, pristine rivers drying up faster each year. Plastic and human waste found on the insides of sea and land life as human trash becomes fodder for the millions of animals and birds who have lost their habitats and thriving eco-systems. Rich mangroves been destroyed to build four-lane highways, coastal belts succumbing to man's need for more and more land. Vibrant western ghats torn down to make space for railways to transport the 'gold' of a developing nation called Coal. Tribal belts taken over with spurious legislation to mine rich minerals for a hungry country seeking to make it presence felt in the superficiality of global super powers. 

It is a decaying society that sees its humans and the planet just as a resource for extraction for an infinite growth paradigm.

In the privilege, I live in today, I can choose to not see the decay for it hasn't yet affected me. It is a mere inconvenience for me, something to talk about during our weekend catch-ups with friends and family. Something to share to feel angry about momentarily, give a privileged analysis of it, blame the government or a certain community for it and grab my next drink with an air of superiority that I belonged to the civilised breed. 

Yet, I feel it creeping into my bones as I feel more distrust and suspicion around me. I feel it in the anxious insecurity I feel in unfamiliar spaces. I feel it as I secure myself and my family further in gated communities, in closed homes, in air-conditioned cars and in having backup plans after backup plans to escape into my privileged cocoon when things get bad. A home in another country, a bungalow in the hills, a business in a safer country all ready to move when things will get crazy. 

I see it, I know its happening and yet this decay is not mine to own and take responsibility for. This decay is not my doing and not mine to undo. This decaying society will not affect me, might actually benefit me so let it be. 

Haresh

He had a cut on his lip and walked with a wobble probably from polio but I will never know. My earliest memory of him is when I was a kid and he would come home and help my mother with carrying 20-30 buckets of water from the tank on the ground-floor to our home on the first floor, everyday for years. Always had a smile and always hardworking. My mom paid him a few rupees for his labour and he never argued about how much he was paid. 

In addition, I saw him do odd jobs for people within our community in our neighbourhoods. Buy stuff, deliver stuff, fill up water tanks, repair things - He did all that he was asked to do and receive with humility all that he was offered. I am not sure if it was really humility or just desperation to earn his daily living. I remember, one time, when he did find courage to ask for more, he was told off sternly and said never to come back and we can find many like him. He bowed, apologised and turned up the next day. 

As I got busy growing up, Haresh became a hazy childhood memory. I saw him once or twice at community functions, always on labour for some family like ours. Always helping out, never really hired. I remember him for I admired him. I looked upto him. He represented humility, hardwork and grace to me. Alas, I didn't know then that he also represented oppression, exploitation and injustice meted out to the likes of him, who didn't fully comprehend the ways of the world. I don't know how he saw it from his own perspective and now I will never know. 

For many years, Haresh did odd-bit jobs for my mom and she used to pay him what she thought was a fair wage and sometimes gave him an old shirt or trouser that no longer fit my dad. She, ofcourse, always fed him for no one, absolutely no one can go out of her house without something to eat. 

With time, I completely forgot about him. I married. Moved out of my parent's place. He continued to visit my mom, always working. marriage, that had its own challenges. Never felt the need to check on him, ask him about his story. How he came to be the helper that everyone depended on in our community yet no one felt to improve his quality of life. 

I never found out where you lived. How you lived. Did you have dreams of your own? Who looked after your dreams? Your needs? Who held you on days when you didn't feel it. Who was really in your family? Your parents? Siblings? Argh! so many questions, all a bit too late. 

He passed away last month. September 2020. My mom felt terrible. She felt sad for him. She said, 'He was always there for everyone, until his very death. Yet, when he died, no one was there for him." It hurt to learn that he died; that no one was around when he was dying; that the very people he supported never knew that he was ill or that he died. Even days after his death, people would call my mom and ask her to send their medicines through Haresh. 

I don't know Haresh if people saw you, really saw you. I know I didn't. I don't want your life and memory to disappear into thin air so I acknowledge you here Haresh. 

For my mom, who held a job, three kids and a household to run, you mattered. You were important and it was because of you, our mom had more time her us. 

For the ailing widow, a relative, that you supported until your last day, your mattered. You gave her the reason to live on. 

You mattered Haresh.