 Sushma’s world is full of bright colours. Brightly coloured pieces of cloth are tied up in a bundle in a corner of the small jhuggi that Sushma calls her home. Most of us would not know what to call it. It is four poles driven into the ground and partly covered by a large sheet of blue plastic and partly thatched. Two sides are loose bricks built into the semblance of walls, but balanced precariously. I wonder how they stay up. Sushma’s parents are from RAJASTHAN. Gitorni. A small village of about 200 families living on the edge of the desert. It is a world of beige, brown, black and grey. But it has its beauty , specially when the evening sun makes up for the lack of colour by splashing the evening sky with brilliant orange, pink and purple. Coming from such a background it was natural for Sushma’s parents to take up the kind of work that most suited them. They make cloth animals from pieces of multi coloured material. Horses, elephants and camels sell at exorbitant rates in the local markets in Delhi. What do they get for their work ? Two rupees per toy). The pieces of material are given to them by the contractors and Sushma’s parents and others migrants like them, cut, stich, and stuff the toys for the contractors profit. Sushma does her bit too. At ten years she is shy but not too shy to give a big smile as she peers from behind her mother’s skirt,. She opens each bundle of material and patiently picks out all the reds. Red is the only colour she recognises. Sushma is mentally handicapped. She cannot sort out the red pieces into sizes, so they all go into one pile. Everything else , whatever the colour goes into another pile. When there are no more reds , she sits by herself outside the jhuggi, seemingly content. Sushma’s mother smiles indulgently at her daughter . If only Sushma could speak perhaps she would find out what goes on behind those large innocent eyes.. If Sushma could learn even one more colour, perhaps she could join two pieces together. But could she ever learn to use a needle? Will she ever grow mentally ? Already , her young body is lithe and poised for womanhood. Her olive brown face, black hair and eyes and her trusting smile, would have had many young men glancing her way---if she were normal. Now, she is indulged, accepted and even spolled, but always she is the little “pagli” the mad one.
But Sushma herself? What about her ? When I visit Sushma’s jhuggi , her mother insists I sit on the charpoy and drink freshly brewed tea. The large brass tumbler is full to the brim. Ismells faintly of the ashes used to scour it. I feel guilty. Am I drinking up their weeks supply of tea? Sushma is busy in the corner, pulling out pieces of red from a bundle on the earthen floor Red. Always red. "Respected lady" says Sushma;s mother, "will she ever learn yellow ? Will she speak ? Shall I get her married ? She is ten already. Why is she like this? Is it my fault ?" In this big city where supposedly
everything is available, Sushma’s mother has nowhere to go. No one to
ask for help. No one has told her about the Child Guidance Clinics which
are free or that Sushma might benefit from seeing a Speech Therapist
. No one has offered to guide her to the "big doctors" who
might help. So, SAMADHAN which translates in Hindi to A SOLUTION TO PROBLEMS. |
One
of the reasons for coming to the big city was to help Sushma. In the
city , they hoped she would be like the other girls. But once
in the city , they were swamped with problems that they had not expected
. They needed food, shelter, jobs. The toy making is a boon. Sushma’s
mother makes four to six toys. This means ten to twelve rupees per day.
Sushma’s father collects the materials and takes back the finished toys
to the contractor. In between he works as a labourer when and wherever
he can. 