Watching India

India is a country of contrasts. The excellent International Herald Tribune has two articles today on India. The co-existence of these two articles in the same edition reminds the specialist, and the non-specialist alike of the extent of the contrast.

In the recently-revamped "Business" section, the IHT recently published a number of articles related to the big push India is making this year at the World Economic Forum (WEF) in Davos. The latest one is entitled "India mounts a charming offensive" and focuses on the "India Everywhere" campaign orchestrated by the India Brand Equity Foundation (IBEF), a subset of the federation of Indian Industries.

At a cost of $5million, this year's edition of the WEF sees a 150-person strong Indian delegation, including 3 top cabinet ministers and 41 CEOs -including those of Reliance, Infosys, etc. The key message is that India is open for business, despite the relative closeness of the indian economy. Only the day before the start of this year's WEF it was announced that FDI in single-brand retail would be allowed -although multiple-brand retailers such as Wall-Mart and Tesco will have to wait.

Questions arise as to whether the strength in the Indian economy can be sustained given poor infrastructures, social tensions and huge and damaging bureaucracy. More on these later.

In the same edition, another article published in the "Opinions" section of the paper reveals the other face of India. This is what strikes first-time visitors to Delhi or Mumbai. How to deal with it can be heart-breaking. The article is by Prathima Manohar, an architect and contributing writer to the Times of India.

Entitled "A Child of India's Streets", it is reproduced below.

I first saw the boy on the grimy floor of a vestibule in the local train, lounging among soiled wrappers and bills.

I moved past him, like most others, and sat down in a coveted window seat.
He started to thump his head against the dividing screen. I ignored the nuisance for a bit, but soon I had had enough. I marched up to him to demand that he cease the mindless noise.

At first, he was not quite sure how to react. Most people in the frantically paced city of Mumbai don't even acknowledge his existence. I asked him what he was doing alone so late.

"I come here everyday to ask people for money," he said.

"Where are your parents?" I asked.

"They're dead."

The boy's name was Wasim. He told me he was 6, but he didn't seem certain. As the train gathered speed, we bonded, though rather awkwardly. He spoke tenderly about his older brother and sister, whose ages he described by raising his hands high up in the air. He said he attended school in the suburbs and came to the city in the evening to find money for food. After a bout of animated discussion, there was a moment of silence. Then he started to spiritedly recite numbers from 1 to 10 to display the proficiency he had acquired in school.

"I will become very successful one day," he declared.

Before long, other passengers joined in the conversation. Wasim was now the center of attention, fielding questions from all directions. Without noticing it, we had managed to break the element of social exclusion that our aloof society imposes on kids like him. As we reached his station, he jumped out, excitedly waving to us.
I wasn't really saddened by the contact. Like most other people of the city, I have developed a sense of emotional distance from the intense poverty and destitution that I witness daily.

According to the UN High Commissioner for Human Rights, India has the highest number of street children in the world. There are no exact numbers, but conservative estimates suggest that about 18 million children live and labor in the streets of India's urban centers. Mumbai, Delhi and Calcutta each have an estimated street-children population of over 100,000.

The problem is apparent. Poverty-stricken children are all around, selling newspapers, books, food and flowers or begging for money and food. Many labor in shops or small hotels; many work as shoe shiners or car cleaners. Some take up rag picking, sifting through garbage, collecting and selling waste paper, plastic or scrap metal. A few become embroiled in organized crime or fall into the world of pickpocketing, stealing, drug trafficking and prostitution. They can be found in alleys, bus stops, railway stations, under bridges, in public places, mosques or temples. Lucky ones find shelter in shanty towns. They buy food from hawkers, beg for snacks or accept free meals from charitable organizations. They drink water from municipal taps or small roadside restaurants. Taking a bath is not a high priority. In Mumbai, it is often a quick dip in the sea. Physical, mental, sexual exploitation and drug abuse are an everyday reality. Street children are vulnerable to malnutrition, hunger and dreadful diseases, including AIDS. A large proportion of the street children are boys, but girls are the more vulnerable. Many young girls end up at the mercy of pimps.

Many factors have contributed to the problem. They include migration caused by extreme rural poverty; children who run away from abuse; broken families or orphaned children; children rendered homeless due to natural calamities and toddlers who are abandoned because of poverty or unwelcome pregnancies. The children are naturally attracted to big cities. Mumbai is known as "the city of dreams," where Bollywood movies have created a myth around street children - the "Sadak Chaap," literally the "stamp of the streets" - who rise from rags to riches.

The reality is usually viciously different, but every dream - or conversation - carries a welcome bit of hope.


Revised 26/01/06

# posted by Nicolas Forsans @ 8:53 pm