St. Martin's Island, Bangladesh

When we step forward from the jetty in the Saint Martin Island, we were looking for a luggage carrier. We had a heavy suitcase with us. To my surprise I discovered that 5/6 kids were trying to grab our suitcase. All of them wanted to carry our suitcase from the jetty to a rickshaw van. One of them was so little that my dad decided to pick him. That small kid was hardly 5 years old, very thin and weak. When I asked dad why he had chosen such a tiny kid, he replied: “All other kids are fighting among themselves for carrying the luggage, eventually they will obtain their customer one by one. But this kid is not strong enough to compete with others. I don’t want to encourage this kid for begging by giving him money for nothing.”

I was watching other kids. The small kids pulled the huge heavy baggage over their head. The weights were at least 4 or 5 times more than their weight. I was wondering how our tiny luggage carrier will bear it, he might crack his backbone. Then I saw my dad transferring the suitcase from the staircase of our ship to the jetty and pulled it halfway. Dad told the little kid to walk beside our suitcase. After crossing two thirds of the small bridge connected with the jetty, dad let the little kid hold the long handle of the suitcase so that the kid can grab the suitcase easily. Other people didn’t let their luggage be dragged; the wheels or the string of the suitcase might break!

At the end of the bridge dad picked up the suitcase and placed it safely inside the rickshaw van. The deal was for 20 Taka as far as I can remember. The deprived kid captured my dad’s mind in such a way that he gave 50 Taka to him. The little kid was so happy that he couldn’t stop smiling. Then the kid was asking when we would leave from St. Martin so he could carry our luggage next time.

Most of the people in the ship were bargaining with those kids. It may sound odd but this is a common practice here. Why would someone give his extra blood-sweat money to others out of pity? If they express any sympathy towards them, then what about the other millions of misfortune kids-beggar-hardcore poor people here? So better leave them for the government or to their fate.

Everybody has his own justification. Again, some may think in another way.

“I may not change million people’s life but why not put a little smile on a little face for a moment.”

Kamalapur Railway Station

After pushing my way away from the hustling and bustling crowd I entered the grand gate of the Kamalapur railway station. The terminal was almost abandoned. I placed my travel bags on one of the fixed benches and settled myself right beside it. Why was it empty? Oh well, I was too sluggish to take out my calculator sized mobile phone from my tight jeans pocket. I looked around and searched for the “Big Ben” of Kamalapur. But sigh! I forgot this was Bangladesh! And the Big Ben can only be in London. Anyways, I forced it out and realized that I was one and a half hours early. What do I do then? Oh yeah! Observe the daily life of the street children dwelling in the station. Here are some of my clinical observations which I would love to share with everyone.

Most of the kids there are trained to be experts in begging. Their motto is “Maximum donation with minimum effort”. So their main source of income is to run from one passenger to another for alms. Their efficiency, I tell you, is just unbelievable! Alright, a four year old kid was the first one to approach me. Half burnt with no hair on one side, his innocent voice of asking was just too irresistible. I refused instantly to check what he does next. He waited for five seconds and suddenly ran away to the next incoming passenger the moment his eyes caught him.

After some time, a train from a terminal behind was being parked. The children were enjoying the slow free of cost (wonderland) train ride, two of them were trying to stop the momentous train pulling it backwards. I wish they knew physics!

Street children are never bored! I guarantee you total nonstop entertainment. One condition though: Only if you concentrate solely on their activities. At times I get so focused on them that even when a hawker offers me a Kit Kat or Lay’s I feel exasperated. If you miss one second of their action, you miss the movie!

The future wannabe Ethiopian style Bangladeshi sprinters run, jog, or even compete on either ends of the 200 meter long terminal to win the “Ultimate Dry Cake” that was littered seconds ago by someone!

The best part: A pair of innovators were having a competition of peeing on the empty rail track. It seemed that whoever pees in a straight line wins!

A two year old architect was drawing “something” on the floor of the terminal with a pebble of red brick. His brother, a bit older, was running towards him with two papers in his hands. Probably using them as wings and dreaming of flying one day, but he seemed to enjoy the air resistance for the time being!

Alright, the most amazing part: If one day the electric board of the station gets out of order (it can happen anytime), the street kids will be the only one helping us with the train schedule (the government officers sleep most of the time). But still the kids have good brains of memorizing!

Now on a more serious note: The teenagers were different. Their activities were more matured, but some really dangerous. They were in basically two groups I encountered. One of them was the working class. I mean, working hard picking up leftover and plastics. They usually become the Coolies (luggage carriers) in the future; the other group was basically the rejected class, relaxing on one side of the station with puffs of weed and what not, all day and night.

Well, finally the whistle blew and there came the best train of Bangladesh. I closed my notebook and stepped into the train. Even though the street kids weren’t allowed to enter, they enjoyed making funny faces on the reflecting glasses of the train. I thought: “That was one breath-taking experience and the one and a half hours were worth it!”

Dhaka at night

Tahsin Mahmud, 2 December 2009

I jumped out from the bus and walked back home. I could not even think of taking a rickshaw on the way as I was running out of cash. I probably had a ten taka note and some two taka notes in my pocket. I desperately needed to go back home as fast as I could as it was already dusk in Dhaka city. Well, it is absolutely unsafe walking down streets when night approaches. And if caught by any robbers or street gang, I could be even tortured and embarrassed for just having two taka notes… I fast-walked towards a dark alley, when suddenly someone poked me from the back. Initially I was staggered and my first thought was to run away from the world! But I was brave enough to look back to see a small girl staring at me.

The girl was around eight years old. She was almost half naked, barefooted, wearing torn and dirty trousers and nothing else! I could not imagine how she was surviving at that time when the temperature dropped to almost 18 degrees… She was holding a crushed bottled which was ripped off from the top. Her dark face was filled with pimples and scars. The street lamp reflected her red and dry hair. “When was the last time she took a shower?”, I thought. She had very innocent eyes that never blinked till I stopped staring at her. “Ahh! It’s the same old street girl who would probably be asking for money.” I turned away and walked. She kept on poking and grabbing my hands.

“Sir, please give me some money! I didn’t have any food since morning. My mother and brother are hungry, too! Please, Sir,” she said, with a sweet and convincing voice. I was used to these sorts of encounters and knew what would happen in the end. I ignored her a few times but she would not let me go! I almost walked a mile and she followed all this time! I thought once, she probably was freezing! Being generous once again to them, I took out my ten taka note and gave it to her. Even before bending down to give it, she jumped up and snatched it away from me. She smiled! And took a few steps backwards. She stuck her tongue out at me and started laughing. She took out a bunch of ten taka notes from nowhere! “Oh my God, she had more money than me!” I was a bit angry in the beginning but was smiling at the way she made her plan! She saluted me with her limped hands and ran back. I thought: “She could be a good negotiator in the future!”

This is the spirit and the level of intelligence of street children here in Dhaka! They are simple human beings like us but they are guided to the wrong path since their birth! All of them are talented in their own ways but they never get the opportunity to show it to the world of dreams and ambitions.