Kids Stories

Irshad

This is a short story about a young boy of 10 named Irshad. Irshad, along with his 11 brothers and sisters live with their parents in the slum of Pilkhana. Irshad was a child-laborer who worked 9 hours a day making locks for metal trunks. His daily wage was 10 rupees (20 cents). Each week he collected his money, gave 55 rupees to his father, and kept 5 rupees for himself. One week he decided to use those 5 rupees to rent a bicycle for a few hours. He had never ridden a bicycle before, but having spent hours and hours enviously watching other kids riding around, he thought he would get the hang of it quickly. For a while it seemed he did. Irshad rode around that slum with such pride, such accomplishment, and such joy. Yet while riding past a woman making fried Indian sweets called jilebies, he lost control of the bicycle and ended up falling in the deep frying pan of burning oil. He was diagnosed with 60% burns which began at the base of his neck and ended half way down his right thigh. Irshad was rushed to the government hospital and injected with numerous painkillers, but after 3 days in the hospital, the burns themselves still had not been treated. For days his cries of anguish echoed through the hospital wards. Then he became too weak to cry. His older sister came from the village and decided that her brother should die at home in peace surrounded by his family, rather than in this hospital with every bed filled, every inch of floor space used, blood stained sheets everywhere, doctors seemingly numb to the anguish surrounding them, and dead bodies which lay covered until workers from the morgue made their evening rounds. The doctor told Irshad�s mother that it was only a matter of days before the child would die.


I was having lunch with my dear friend and teacher, Lucy-Didi who knows our work well. A message came to her house with news that Irshad was dying in his home. Didi invited me to join her in visiting this young boy and we found him lying naked on the cold dirt floor of his family�s dwelling with his head resting on his father�s lap. The burns were beyond anything I had ever seen, the pain in his face was excruciating; and yet when I held his hand there was a warmth in his eyes that welcomed me. Within minutes we had put together a makeshift stretcher and together with his father, I carried this dying child through the slum to a private hospital where I knew the doctor. Will I ever forget the experience of carrying this boy through the narrow lanes, winding our way around the goats and the cows, circumventing the street hawkers and the children�s games, nearly colliding with the huge pieces of meat hanging from hooks outside the butcher shops, and with the old men sitting on their doorsteps sipping tea?


It took hours for the nurses to clean and dress his burns and terrible infections. While this went on, Lucy-Didi and I each held onto one of Irshad�s hands and Lucy-Didi sang songs to him. Each day we went to visit Irshad, and day by day we saw more of our young hero�s strength and spirit returning. After three months of intensive treatment and recovery, Irshad was strong enough to leave the hospital. His scars were deep, both physically and emotionally, but his strength and resilience were inspirations to me. Just days before I left Calcutta, I was called to Irshad�s house and told that Irshad had a gift for me. I arrived at his house and Irshad was naked as usual (his burns were still wet enough that any cloth would stick to them). He had borrowed a tape player and put on his favorite Hindi film-song and began dancing. He danced for 10 minutes non-stop�this naked child, with scars which would never allow him to forget that fateful day on his bicycle, was dancing triumphantly on the cold floor of his slum dwelling. Passionately he danced and he made me feel as if the dance was just for me. Sweat dripped from his forehead and from his chest, the pressure of his weight even opened some of his burns and blood seeped out and landed on the floor. Before me was the most beautiful sight I had ever seen.


During my most recent trip to Calcutta, I was able to spend a lot of time with Irshad. He is doing well, making trouble, and has a bunch of girlfriends.

Salma Khatun

Salma Khatun is a 9-year-old girl who lives on Park Street in Kolkata. She spends her days limping around the street begging for money. Salma heard about the Ashalayam Mobile Health Clinic and came to our center based at Park Street. She was examined by Dr. Kumar Naskar who diagnosed her with Polio. Salma had gone to doctors before, and was turned away because she didn�t have the money to pay for the treatment necessary for her rehabilitation. Salma is now at the Institute of Orthopedic Handicapped where she is receiving braces for her legs and is taking part in an intensive rehabilitation program which will allow her to live more comfortably with her disease. We have hopes that once Salma is finished with her rehabilitation, she will chose to take part in the vocational training available at Ashalayam.

Rabi Rook

Rabi Rook is a 16-year-old boy who lives in the Kolkata Picnic Garden. He spends his days begging for money on the busy streets of Esplanade. During the last several months he has acquired terrible boils and cysts which cover his lower body. Dr. Kumar Naskar has referred Rabi to a surgeon at Udit Nursing Home in Howrah, and Ms. Chatterjee accompanied him for his surgery. The surgeon drained the infected cysts and hospitalized him until he could return to his home in the garden. He has now gone to the Ashalayam vocational training center where he has been trained in carpentry.