The Withering Flowers

The title of this post is inspired by the song Sei Fuler Dol by Mohiner Ghoraguli, a pioneer music band from Kolkata. The link to the song can be found at the end of the post.

This is the story of how I got interested in volunteering. Back in my college days, I had a friend who was very dedicated towards social causes. Both his parents were into some kind of non-profit work, and hence his early initiation. None of this really meant much to me and I used to scorn at him as a samajsebi. He always smiled gently in reply. Once our classes got over soon and I was not in a mood to return home early. He was going to an anti-aids campaign in a red light area, and he invited me. Now, I have had a over-protected childhood and in my family children are kept secured from the unpleasant facets of life. So naturally I developed strong curiosity about the 'adult' things in life and the idea of visiting a red light area seemed very alluring.

But once we were there, the scene looked nothing like the vivid picture I painted in my imagination. The surrounding was smelly and unhygienic. All the people including the prostitutes had a sullen and deplorable disposition. I was disappointed. The volunteers were talking to the women and trying to make them aware of hygiene and venereal diseases, and something of the sort. I couldn't have cared less. I was getting irritated at the foul language and occasional obscene laughters in hoarse female voice. Then one of the volunteers just asked me to help him distribute condoms. I was petrified, I had never even seen one before! But I was grown up and in college, so I feigned courage and stood beside him to help him out. To my surprise, I could feel slowly my inhibitions melting away, and a strange sense of being in control flowing in me. That was about the first day, but that sense of control, some weird feeling of satisfaction kept me joining my friend every time he would ask me to. And I became a regular, and even an enthusiast.

There was another wing of the organisation, which works towards bringing willing women out of the nexus. Now those who know this business well, would know, this is playing hardball, and definitely much more serious than aids awareness. We had heard a lot about a specific girl called Pushpa who was considered a very prospective candidate for extraction. So in one of our camps, one of our elderly members, Sumitradi showed me, "Look, that is Pushpa!" I looked at her. She was hardly 16, big intelligent eyes, bright smile, neat dressing, definitely different from her inmates. Sumitradi called her out, but she, a little hesitant, smiled shyly. So this time Sumitradi went out of the stall and pulled her by her hand, and she squealed out loudly. Both of us got startled and looked at her hand. Her forearm was slashed by some sharp instrument, and the wound went at least 4 inches long. It was half raw, completely unattended. Had that wound been in any of our bodies, it would required at least 10 stitches. Sumitradi went completely neurotic and half-screamed, half-asked how it happened. The reply came back in another shy smile. This time could I see a hint of pain in her smile, or my vision was smudged with flooding tears?

I naturally have a sharp aversion towards violence, and this was my first close encounter with it. More I was in pain than in shock, when I heard the quiet, sweet voice say, "Didi, thik hoye jabe". (Sister, it will be OK.). I realised, how easily the girl, who should have been in a school, who deserved a loving home, who in her age should have been nurturing colorful dreams of future, has come to terms with her grave misfortune. I wanted to shout aloud, "Orey tor jaiga eta noy, prithibi ta boro shundor, tokey dekhte hobey, jante hobe", (My sister, this is not your place, life is beautiful and you should see it) but I couldn't. I knew I could do nothing to take her, and millions of others like her out of the state of subhuman misery we, the society are subjecting them to.

I am in tears when I write this, but I have to. Look at these faces. Do they look any less innocent than a neatly plaited girl walking to school in white and blue uniform? Do they look any less deserving than us, who have been pampered by our family all our life? Have you ever compared an evening of your life in that age and an evening in their life, where every minute their tender womanhood gets brutally ploughed and raked by the obscene desires of men, while their soul sheds tears of blood?

From that instant, I had committed myself lifelong towards the service of the distressed children, sex workers, people with alternative abilities and other fringe population of the society. I dream of a state where all of us will be integrated into the same social structure, with each one of us living with pride and confidence, being aware of our importance and rights in this world.

My solemn pledge is, as long as I am alive, I will fight every force which tries to subjugate humanity, through use of force and violence and I will drop dead trying to make this world more livable for our children and all future generations to come.

The link to the song is here. This song is very close to my heart, it is an outstanding lyrical rendition of the silent tears of millions of unfortunate girls.

[Acknowledgements:
1. The photograph above is taken from http://across.co.nz. They, in my opinion are doing great work. Please support them and pay a visit to the page http://across.co.nz/CalcuttaSexSlaves.html that hosts the original image.
2. The song is by Mohiner Ghoraguli. I have ripped this song from the original CD I have bought and shared it with a spirit of honesty. If you like the song, please buy their original works and support them. ]