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April 22, 2004
‘Maaf Karo’
You’re ensconced within the air-conditioned luxury of your chauffeur driven car, protected from the deafening sound of the traffic, not to mention the fumes and other air pollutants present in abundance. You may be on your way to work, possibly running late, cursing the chaotic Karachi traffic. A picture of undisciplined, impatient and reckless driving; ask the pedestrians they will tell you how often they’ve nearly been run over, or the passengers chasing buses and clambering on to them as they drive away.
While you are mulling over the day’s schedule, perhaps dreading a meeting, maybe regretting not having worked harder to meet a deadline, there is an incessant knocking/rapping on your window. You close your eyes hoping it will go away but it doesn’t. When you can no longer bear the irritation and exasperation this is causing you, you look up and see a disabled limb, something that is extremely troubling. Surprisingly this individual seems quite comfortable with her/his deformity. Even those wheeling themselves around on trolleys, wear a strange look of contentment.
Those without handicaps appear as though they are just going about their daily routine, and are quite obviously ‘at work’, either having perfected, or in the process of excelling the art of beggary. You usually find yourself in a moral dilemma: is this beggar genuine or is she/he a professional — a con artist?
After a while you can almost tell the difference, or at least you think you can. One thing is for certain, they have memorized the right ‘lines’ and know how to manipulate if not your conscience, then definitely your spiritual and superstitious side. But chances are more often then not you end up feeling gullible and quite foolish.
It is a fallacy that all children beggars are homeless and destitute, or that street children are squatters, or Afghan refugees. Most are, but there are many who have families, living in slums/shanty dwellings in Lyari, Korangi, Landhi and Chanesar Goth etc., and are simply out there earning their share of contribution towards the family’s income. They are not educated nor have they received vocational/practical training of any sort so how else are they to survive in a grand metropolis? Their lot in life is to brave the heat and dust, while they learn to excel at the ‘power of persuasion’.
You must have noticed how these children have been robbed of their innocence. They are not only ‘street smart’ and precocious, they are wise beyond their years. You and I would be too, if left at the mercy of a ruthless life, where it really is the survival of the fittest. They have seen reality, of which you and I have barely caught glimpses. Imagine being exposed as a child to drugs, drinking, gambling, sexual abuse, prostitution, starvation — and no one who gives a toss about you.
While there are so many legal systems running parallel to each other, so many laws, such impressive books, they sit on shelves collecting dust, while the paper turns yellow and the ink fades. These laws are only meant to be promulgated not enforced. What is the point of the scope of these laws being comprehensive, providing for the protection and custody of these children? In fact they go as far as to take punitive measures against the parents and guardians.
As is quite typical of us, there is the same old redundant rhetoric about rehabilitation of ‘beggars’ (it is almost as though we have coined this name for what may as well be a breed in itself). Where, when and how will this miracle happen? Your guess is as good as mine.
However, surely you know by now, that there is a ‘Beggars’ Mafia’ that operates with the connivance and patronage of no less than government functionaries, politicians and generally the ‘big wigs’. The entire operation runs so high and goes so deep, it would be virtually impossible to find leads that could then be exposed, for whatever that’s worth. Actually come to think of it, mafias are the order of the day. There’s a timber mafia in the NWFP run by ‘influentials’; a bird mafia, would you believe, they catch and trap wild sparrows to be set free by those who either feel sorry for them, or hope that as a result their wishes may come true; to say nothing of the tanker mafia. For all you know there’s probably a sabziwalla mafia also.
Of all the observations I’ve been making of these beggars, a term that is as politically incorrect as retarded if you ask me, they are an intriguing lot. I’ve already distinguished between those who are physically disabled and those who are not, and then there are the real and fake sort, but apart from these general categories the most fascinating are the children.
Some of them don’t seem to realize what they’re doing. They frolic around, huddle up into groups, fight over an ice-cream, pinch and poke each other and get up to all the mischief that children do in a playground. When they come up to you and say, “Allah aap ko shadi naseeb karay” (may God grant you a happy marriage), you know at once that they have been coached by an adult who may be out of sight, but who spotted you and sent his little agent packing.
I can think of so many encounters, but this one tends to stand out most in my memory. I’ve named her Pia; she couldn’t have been more than 12. Her eyes had a haunted look about them, and her smile was sad, but charming, despite her matted hair, dirty nails and smelly clothes.
She came up to the window and stood there silently; her presence was not intrusive. As I was reaching into my purse to hand her some money, wondering how much would be enough, she said, “Yeh paisa meri zindagi ko nahin badal sakta” (this money can’t change my life). I haven’t seen her since, I don’t think I would be able to face her; she gave me words not likely to fade away easily, and I, in turn, left her with an empty bowl.
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