The Minister and me

The Minister and Me

On his way to a bigger function, the minister had come to inaugurate our village Balawadi. Pooja was performed no speeches were to be there since we had agreed on a quick affair. The minister distributed sweets to the ‘tiny tots’, more of caricatures, with protruded belly and matchstick legs. They cupped their hands and ran to a corner to revel in the sweet they got.

     The minister got ready to go but unfortunately torrential rains started and he had to wait in our katcha walled Balawadi. He was uncomfortable in the rickety chair. There was not much to do, so I started gingerly. “Sir, this is the International year of the child isn’t it, Sir?” I asked the minister. “Yes, but why do you ask such an obvious question?” I moved a bit in the chair, looking straight in the bulbous face I posed, “What does it do to the third world Sir?” “Third World! What third world, press walas coin words. What I know is about India, which is Hamara Bharath.” I interrupted, Manoj Kumar’s Bharath, Sir.  The minister was infuriated. Nostrils dilated. I sensed his mood and braced up.” Sir, do we need an international year to improve our children’s lot?” “Yes, yes the minister said with an air of supreme authority, because, it is a global phenomenon.”

            “But then, Sir,” I said, “American children are well fed and well clothed they don’t need an international year.” The minister crossed his hands over his belly and said,” “NO, it is not the feeding or clothing. It is the awareness about children; see would you talk about children otherwise?” Minister added with a smile. I swallowed a lump, but kept on “Sir, are we not aware of our children otherwise and what about protein gap of our children?” I looked at those starved faces sucking the sweet. The minister was a bit puzzled. He said, “What is this gap you are talking about? I have heard about generation gap. To tell you frankly, of course confidentially, all our children need is a spank on their buttocks, they are demanding too much these days” (The minister was oblivious of the surroundings).

             I swallowed a bigger lump this time. I still held my fire. “Sir”, I said, “that aside what are we really doing for our poor children?” With a look of indignation the minister said, “Why? all our cities are conducting ‘On the Spot Painting Competition’. We have a whole ‘Traffic Week’ for children. Don’t you see the posters? All carry pictures of children”. I thought I was really ignorant. Wisdom was slowly seeping in to me. This time I looked at the children with a smile. They tried to smile back. I probed on. “Sir, our poor children….” Before I could finish my sentence, the minister shot back “Poor? what poor children? Don’t you know poor men will always have poor children?” The minister said with finality and belched.

            I was overwhelmed. True wisdom dawned on me. Like the Budha under the Bodhivriksha I was exalted. In exaltation I shouted fist up “Poor men will always have poor children!” All those eyes stared at me jaws open. It thundered suddenly and the rain stopped.

K.V.Radhakrishnan