Saleem-“The Remote Cover Seller”

Having nothing much serious to do on the holiday, makes me think. Recollect memories from the past-good, bad and ugly….and feel the feeling. Some silent smiles and some tears of remembrance of old days. Some incidence never leave you and frequently keep daunting.

Over the time, I developed a bad habit of sharing painful moments. Another bad habit which I posses (this one being transferred with gene), is pondering and disturbing myself for heart touching moments. I know writing here won’t help the cause, but certainly I feel relaxed after sharing with you all. (I don’t know how many would, read this-think upon- reflect.)

Here goes yet another scene, which awakes me in the midnight and compels to pen it down. Pen it down, for people to think, not only think-feel it, not only feel it-act upon it.

I am missing name of the only protagonist- sign of ageing, you see.
Will that reduce the impact? I fear.

Okey- let us name the kid, the protagonist to make it easier. We will call him Saleem. The name has nothing to do with Salman Rushdie’s Saleem Sinai of Midnight’s Children.

The incidence occurred on the same date on which my previous blog, “What makes mad, glad and sad” occurred (If you have read it). The bad day- nothing went right. I’ll skip the name of city in this one, for we have tendency to associate geography and demography with behavioral issues. Often these associations end up with false attributions which further degrade moral values and bring us closer to being an animal.

Forget it- considering we are busy individuals, with less time to read, why others are disturbed in sleep at mid of night, I’ll try to keep it short.

Coming straight to the point- Saleem is a kid of not more than 12 years of age. He sells plastic remote covers. Remote that controls television. Remote cover that protects remote- from the naughty kids in every home and angry adults, who throw every household things in anger. Never thought our anger would earn bread for someone. I do not know the background, why he used to do the pity job in the school hours. This means he is not going to school like many others of his age group, whom we call child labour.

While we were enjoying famous chaat at a famous spot, a voice just as pleasant as that of a humming bird wanted our attention. The voice of god- the voice reminds me of a famous hindi song which sings, “Bacche mann k sacche”- Kids are pure at heart. You have to be a devil to ignore the voice.

The voice belongs to Saleem. Saleem- “The Remote Cover Seller”.

Many of us, the frequent visitors of this famous spot were familiar with Saleem and Saleem also knew them all. Saleem was too naïve to understand that no one would buy “Remote cover” on daily basis. Whenever he see my friends in the market, he will try to make a deal. Abhishek was huge admirer of this kid.

Abhishek used to talk with Saleem politely-sign of civilized man, and say, “Beta kal hi to liya tha”.

Saleem would pester, “ Bhaiya ek aur le lo…please le lo bhaiya…le lo na bhaiya please….please bhaiya”.

We have often seen small kids selling things which are useless to us. But some of us who carry slightly softer heart would purchase these useless things, just to make the kid happy. Abhishek belongs to the same caste of people- with softer heart.

In the midst of all this, Abhishek told me that he had already purchased two from him. I asked why two?

“ le lo na bhaiya please…teen din se ek bhi nahi bika”

He told me- "Brother, once I purchased it and this kid approached me next time also selling me the same remote cover. Second time when he approached me, I offered him ten rupees. But he refused to take the money unless remote cover is purchased".

I was surprised that even in this poor state of life; Saleem has moral values intact. Is’nt this amazing? The respect for this kid multiplied in my heart. There is something for us to learn from this kid.

“Bhaiya pppplease bhaiya”- he kept humming in the background.

Abhishek challenged us to test the self respect of Saleem. Last time kid sold Abhishek his first remote cover was two months back. We offered Saleem, ten rupees again but not purchasing remote cover.

But this time, he hesitantly accepted. Abhishek was shocked. How can Saleem change in just two months? The hero Saleem- became ordinary to me with the acceptance of ten rupee note.

In between tasty chaat and useless talks, we missed one line from the humming bird.

“Bhaiya teen din se ek bhi nahi bika”


OMG-He was unable to sell even a single piece in last three, which broke him down. Who is responsible for this?

Do we have an answer, certainly NO.

Self respect shattered, kid brought up with the moral values passed on to him from parents- for he has no teacher. But the ugly life has taught him how to survive in the world. Forget about values when there is no food in the stomach.

We can offer him food, I said.

Saleem has somebody back home who is waiting for his return with the money.
Ask yourself, What would you do, when someone back home is waiting for you?
Often I see status on facebook regarding, “Delhi vendors and beggars, on traffic signals”, people hate them.

But the question remains unanswered, Who is responsible for this?

Saleem is unfortunate to have born in a poor family. We have not done anything remarkable to get birth in a well to do family. It is by chance.

Many of us will forget this after reading, we are used to it. And also we sadly do not have "Like button" which shows a "sign of thumbs up", here on blogs unlike FB. We press the "like button" and our moral responsiblity ends there.

Please share your views...who knows when our thoughts become our action..

Next time when you meet some Saleem, Atleast do not hate him.

He who rejects change is the architect of decay

Never thought leaving first job would be as joyful as getting it. 20 months of donkey work, 4 bosses including one female and 3 posting took me to understand that this is not my cup of tea. Tracing back to my IRMA days, I find myself as an aimless fellow lost in the world of highly competent people. I participated in the campus placement without any plans in mind and 2009 being recession year, there were not many options as well to think upon.

Finally I got through an interview, with a job in hand and decent salary to keep my head high in eyes of near and dear ones who expect heights from me. These 20 months I have been thinking the turns life took without even giving me the hint of where it is taking me.

Certainly things didn’t go my way. Mom always used to say, “God is a better planner than all of us”. Taking her words of wisdom, I always accepted every change. Often I was reminded by close friends that I am compromising with my likings, and that I am not trying hard to achieve my likings. (..These friends always make you feel extra special and achiever).

God has been kind in these 26 years.

2003 was the major turn.
A place which I hated the most in first few days of my stay there, for it was the place I was forced in. I wanted my chance to prove my capabilty of passing medical entrance. But parents denied. Ironically, here I meet with most lively people probably the best in the world. An unpredictable but innocent room partner, gang of cool dudes, caring sister, crispy Aaloo paratha and old profs. A place where people just 365 days older or sometimes at par with you in age will treat you as his/her own son/daughter, a place where you will be treated as parents by your juniors, a place where you will not be allowed to spend your money when seniors are with you. The only way you greet people is, “Sir/Ma’am”. Either you are referred to or you have to refer. The place is undoubtedly Pantnagar. For the first time in life I felt my presence and importance of existence in this world.

They say parents are next to God……………………….Eq 1
Mom says, “God is better planner than all of us”….Eq 2
Eq1+Eq2, Parents are God and they are better planner for us.

I am happy today that I was denied my chance to become a doctor.
“Change always comes bearing gifts”- ~Price Pritchett


Next year I found my interest and starting dreaming myself as researcher. I started rigorous preparation for research scholarship in horticulture and this continued for 30 months. Profs were sure, friends were sure and I was sure of success. But again there was a “turn” completely unseen, unnoticed and dream shattering. Dad wanted his son to be MBA and earn quick money. I respected his feelings. For a smile on his face, I can pay anything.

Confused…….Bemused…Baffled.

Friends say it needs smart and good preparation for decent MBA College for which you need atleast six months if your brain is of premium quality. My being average brain would take 2 years if not more to prepare. The only time left for me was 30 days of semester break during which I could have prepared for MBA. Data Interpretation, Logical reasoning, English comprehension was altogether different from Seed rate, varieties, species, scientific names and chromosome number of crops. Two books of Rs 630/-, borrowed material of Career Launcher (CL) from room partner, guidance of friends and silent tears in toilet was all with which I aimed at cracking MBA exams.

Those 30 days, I have to study horticulture also, for it was my liking and 3.5 years of preparation which would go waste if I do not revise. I decided to study 18 hours a day, 15 hours for MBA preparation and 3 hours for horticulture. This was too much of asking from an ass like me. But I did it without fail.

Result of SNAP was out, which I did not gave. Many of us got good ranks and were sure of getting seats. I was doubtful of my success in MBA exams, hence went back to my horticulture thing. Ritesh (aka Harry Potter, Raute) was anxious enough for next result to come was of his dream institute, IRMA. I hardly had any clue of what this college is all about. One good after noon, he came hopping searching for me, barking like a dog. And the good news of my selection in IRMA was out. I enjoyed 2 years of learning and fun at IRMA.

I am happy today that I was denied my chance to become a research scholar.

Three glasses full of milk

Already 12 days late, Arshi finally entered this world without giving much trouble to her mother and tears of satisfaction to her father’s eyes. The only challenge at the time of her birth was, “The name” by which she would be called. It was not that excited parents and grandparents did not do their homework on what would be the name of the new comer. They did and they did it with lots of commitment. The list of male names was endless and the list of female names ended before it started.

What does this indicate?


In earlier years of my life when I used to piss in my pants, I was often told few heart touching stories by a lady called Muniba who happened to be my mother. I was privileged to be her third child (after a girl and a boy) and the last kid. Late entry in the world helped me winning first battle in life, earning more love and affection than my counterparts. This gave me a chance to share her painful life events. I am not sure if the stories were true or fabricated. If fabricated, was it deliberately done to woo me by the women in order to win the “Best Mother award”, by her son? What if the stories were true?

I hate 10th April’1980 for this was the day grand ma started hating my mom. I hate the cause behind this; I hate Tasmim (my elder sister) for being born before Vazid ( my elder brother). I hate you God for your cruelty. Muniba was unable to fulfill demand of her mother-in- law to produce a male child. Not to tell what all atrocities she faced until she produced a male child. I love you Vazid for rescuing my mother. I love you God for being generous this time. Hatred converted into love. Muniba regained the pride and honor.

She used to thank God five times a day, for her husband earns enough to feed all her three kids. I was asked to pray five times a day to thank god for giving our family three glasses full of milk every day in the morning, one for me, one for Vazid and the extra glass for my enemy(Tasmim). Resources were enough, hence the enemy was able to survive evil eye of grand ma.

What if we had two or one glass of milk?

I often wonder just 30 years back, this was the scene. How many families would have been lucky enough to have three glasses full of milk?

Few years later Muniba occupied hospital bed. I had to face real problems of life now for she was unable to take care of me. I was not smart enough to hold spoon and wash my bottom every morning. The enemy used to hold my hand and push me into the toilet and also made sure that my bottom is cleaned perfectly. She used to insert one spoon of food into my mouth and another into hers. And this continued till the lady got up from hospital bed. I used to wonder why grand ma hates Muniba for producing my enemy. The Enemy is not bad, she replaced mom for few days, thank you god for giving me second mom. Enemy became friend.

29 years later once again there was a moment when our family needed expansion and the responsibility lies on Vazid and his wife. Muniba has to become grand maa now. I was apprehensive if she will repeat what was done to her on producing my second mom. Resources are more than enough, which gave me confidence of history not repeating itself.

I and mom used to discuss everyday if she wanted a male or a female child. She always used to say, “Gender does not matter, what matters is child should be healthy”. Well said, mom. The reply was never acceptable to me because of my suspicious nature. I related her words with the fact that resources are more than enough and nothing can be done once the child is out, so you are not left with an option.

I am happy that she is loving the kid without discrimination and her behavior with her daughter-in-law has not changed even after delivering a baby girl.

But mom, why was the list of boy’s name much longer than girl’s name?

I see that, mom is happy with girl child but would have been happier if it was a boy.

Will a day come when both the lists will carry equal number of names?
If yes, how many more years do we need?

Towards Incurable ways..

Saharanpur is the district known for its wood carving industry. The district is blessed with the craftsmen who are believed to have magical palm and fingers. The handcrafted workmanship and the incredible designs project this district on the map of the world. Behind this antique presentation of art lies day and night donkey work of minors in the age group of 10-18 years. When one walks in the meter wide streets which cuts at ninety degree and where every turn leads to a workshop, one can see a number of small kids carving beautiful structures out of a wooden blog. And these kids are child labour as the Indian law puts it.

Child labour is defined as an economic activity for children less than 12 years, any work for those aged 12-14 of sufficient hours per week to undermine their health or education, and all "hazardous work" which could threaten the health of children under 18.2 Around 6 am in the early morning one can see number of bicycles moving towards city from the villages and these cyclists are small children who come to their work place and return to their homes after ten hours of rigorous work.

Today this artistic class of rural India is struggling hard to survive in the profit oriented business class. The district has low literacy rate and high density of population. Kids stop going to schools because of low family income and large family size. Therefore to feed the mouth of extra large family, soft hands have to pick up tools. These kids from villages move to the city of Saharanpur in search of jobs. They do not find difficulty in finding job of trainee in handicraft industry. For the first year they receive 5 Rs/day INR and from second year onwards the wages are increased to Rs 25/day INR. Normally they spend an amount of 24 Rs/day INR on travel and food expenses. So the net outflow is 19 Rs/day INR. And in spite of this investment they are not trained to a professional extent. During this period of time the kids are either asked to clean the floor or just stand beside the senior artist. They are expected to learn only by seeing and not by doing.

Therefore we can see that after two years of rigorous hard work, these kids are, actually, at loss. And at the end of training period they find that they are unable to do anything because they were actually trained for sweeping the floor. The number of kids moving to the city from village Patni alone reaches 80. In all there are 1607villages in the district contributing to a total of 10,000 to 12,000 kids working in the city.

This was just an example from a small city, the number for the country as a whole would go beyond imagination.

Child labour is the biggest abuse to mankind. The instrumental use of small kids who don’t even have a world view is beyond expectation from this civilized society.

The instrumental use of small kids who don’t even have a world view is beyond expectation from this civilized society.

What makes me Mad, glad and Sad

Today (i.e. 17-feb’10) I opted to take a sick leave, not because I was unwell but wanted some time to sit and give it a thought. A deep thought on what happened with me as an individual and to India in total on 13-Feb’10. Many readers of this piece would need a clue to guess what actually happened on this date, because we are more concerned of, if Indian cricket team will level the series or not, whether Dharmesh will be back in DID (Dance India Dance, that’s how they call it). Let me come back to the topic.

Yes, so we were guessing what happened on 13-feb’10 in Pune. I hope now most of us will make a right guess. If not, then let me help you. It was yet another coward attack. This time it was German Bakery, Pune.

“Yes what makes me Mad, Glad and Sad?” This was the question posed by the trainer to the team of young mangers in a Leadership training programme, where I happened to be from 11^thFeb’10 to 13^thFeb ’10. I was absolutely clueless what that has to do with “Leadership”. But still, since ammi wanted right from my childhood that I should not argue with older and wiser people than me. I opted to keep mum….. Just for you ammi. We did the exercise and came up with funny but interesting answers on, “what makes me Mad, Glad and Sad?” Well not to discuss what bunch answered because that would sound uninteresting and deviate me.

Believe me it is an interesting exercise. Do it and look for what makes you “Mad, Glad and Sad”. If you get it right, start working on it. Seriously you will see yourself a more happy and satisfied individual.

After these three days of training at a resort nearly 32 Km away from Bhopal, we moved to Bhopal from where we had trains to our respective base locations. Few of us had train on next day (i.e. 14^th Feb ’10). To have fun we went at the flat of our colleagues from Bhopal. They had 3BHK flat with two TV’s. As soon as the owner switched the TV on, there goes breaking news.

“9 killed in terror attack at German Bakery, Pune”

All of us were shocked to hear the ugly news. We hanged around the two TV’s. But then the news became repetitive and with that our state of shock was over. It was time for fun. Guys were more interested in DID and some reality show at STAR TV which were telecasted at the same time (I am sorry for I do not remember the name of show). But that’s how life goes in INDIA; we people are used to it. Some time its natural calamity and sometimes its terror attack. The size of us does not permit to stop in any condition. We need to get going what so ever may happen. So DID was a good show which I saw for the first time for I do not have TV in my room. Somewhere in the heart there was a feeling of discomfort, and I am sure others who were in the same flat would also not be happy inspite of Dharmesh their favorite contender coming backin the show after getting eliminated.

I had the similar feeling few days back when it was Mumbai and when it was flower market, Delhi.

Yess………I got it, this is real ****ing thing which makes me MAD.

“Tu to sirf akhbaar dekh kar dar gaya,

Uska soch, jiska toofan mein ghar gaya”

Next day was 14^th Feb ’10. Many of us started new day with new spirit, reason being Valentine day. Hence we forgot what happened yesterday. Since we had our trains in the evening, my colleagues went for outing in Bhopal and I was also insisted to come along. I opted to stay in hotel room. I am still to discover that whether I was still in the state of shock or it was India v/s South Africa cricket match which prevented me to go for outing.

Next day cops on their toes. Every big and small city along with metros was on high alert. Cops were seen everywhere in crowded areas. Now it was the time to check out hotel rooms. I was only person on the counter along with hotel receptionist when two cops came in. This was security check of the hotel guests. Cops saw the list of guests in the hotel while I was busy paying my bill. I was satisfied with the security checks and that even small cities are on high alert. I felt a little bit secure and was happy that atleast now cops are doing for what they are paid. I had the similar feeling when whole country stood up together at the time of 9/11.

Probably this is the thing which makes me glad. “We stand together not always but alteast when required.”

They were two police man and they had to enquire all the hotels in Bhopal. I wondered how they do it; Bhopal is not such a small city. Time did not permit them to look at the list of guests and do other checks seriously. One of them was smart enough and asked receptionist two questions one followed by other.

“Are there any foreigners in the hotel?

“Is there any miyan bhai?”

I was frozen to listen that they are looking for a “miyan bhai”, in north every muslim is called miyan bhai. The receptionist looked at me but he was well aware of the fact that I had a train and I had come to Bhopal for a training organized by my employer organization. Cops were asked to wait by the receptionist and I was able to move out without facing real crap questions. I did not share this incident with anybody there and pretended as nothing happened. But I was completely lost. Throughout the journey I was unable to sleep and restlessness continues even today.

The reason of my discomfort is that terrorism and religion are correlated by many of us.

And that is what makes me sad.

“Meri ammi ne mujhse kaha tha kuch logon ki galti ki saza saari insaaniyat ko chukani padegi”.