WHEN HOME IS THE MOUTH OF A SHARK

 

“No one leaves home

unless home is the mouth of a shark.”

Warsan Shire

 

When I was small, almost every young man and a girl from my native place, Mangalore, migrated to big Indian cities or to one of the Gulf countries. A handful of young ones migrated to the West, either to pursue studies and eventually to settle down there, or they went there in pursuance of work. Whatever the reason for one’s migration, one thing is clear: no one leaves home unless the situation he now finds himself/herself in is ‘bad’...

I remember, while I was still a kid. Just outside our local, primary school, there used be tents raised by poor migrants from the interior places of  our own state (Karnataka). Imagine this: If we were looking for better pastures in some other cities, these poor migrants were finding better pastures here in our own village.

And, this has been the migrants’ story all over the world. Cities like Mumbai, Bangalore, Delhi, Calcutta, Hyderabad are flooded with immigrants. In fact, all these cities have been literally built by immigrants. Let’s look around us, here in Mumbai... and imagine life without the network of immigrants from UP, Bihar and everywhere!

Ditto is how the massive cities of America, Canada, Australia, England, France and all other countries have been built. Yes, immigrants are the lifelines of these cities...

But, then, every time there is a political outcry over immigrants – particularly, the illegal ones – yes, we tend to take a political stand, which is, often, a cold-blooded one. “No papers, you will be deported, tied in chains.” Of course, if you are a die-hard Trump fan, you think that’s the right way to deal with anyone who has come to your country illegally. Heart has no role to play in your decision to send the paperless immigrants in chains...

I remember the gentle words of this lady Bishop trying to appeal Trump’s hardened heart at the very outset of his second term as American President:

 

Would Trump’s heart change?

Come on...

We have scores of Trumps – and millions of supporters of their hard stand... So, forget about the change of heart.

This morning, I happen to watch this seven-year-old story of a young migrant into France... How, one spontaneous act he had carried out in a French city changed his ‘illegal’ status into a decorated citizen, coupled with bagging a secure, government job.

One’s colour, caste and country – everything seems irrelevant when you view him/her from humane lenses...

Last night, my wife was to board a bus to Mahabaleshwar. One of the ladies groups, to which she belonged, had planned this weekend trip and they were all excited. My son and I had gone to see her off to the nearest stop where she was to board the bus. It was almost midnight when the bus arrived and we saw her off. Just around this place, there was a popular outlet of Naturals ice-cream. Even at midnight, it was overcrowded and my son had to wait in the queue to grab two cups of ice-cream. Anyway, we found a parapet outside the ice-cream parlour to sit and have it. But, as I was relishing the seasonal flavour, my eyes fell on this migrant family – the mother and three of her daughters... One looked like a teenager, another something like five or six, and the last one looked like just a little over a year or two. The baby was incessantly crying, while the mother had spread some tissue packets for sale... The older two girls, constantly moved around pleading people, who came out of the parlour, to by a tissue pack or two... It was priced at twenty-five rupees each. Most of the people seemed not interested... They were shooing them off. I saw a few dropping a coin or two near the lady, while a few actually buying... And, by now, I had finished my ice-cream, but unable to enjoy it. Finally, while leaving that place, I picked two packets, handed over a hundred-rupee note and said, “Rehne do.”

Well, on my way home, I wondered: From which part of our country they must’ve migrated, and why? Where they must’ve raised their hut? Who must be preparing their meal, and when... and what kind of sleep they must be expecting once they go back?

I know, by asking these questions in  my mind, their situation wouldn’t change. In fact, it would disturb my own sleep... and, it did.

But, then, this was one of those nights, I could feel the helplessness within me, when I was unable to look the other way...

 

GERALD D’CUNHA

 

Pic’s: 1. pixabay.com  2. Self

Videoes: 1. PBS NewsHour  2. Al Jazeera English