The Contrasting Lives of Senzo Meyiwa and Oscar Pistorius

Two men, two athletes and such contrasting lives. One took a bullet defending his girlfriend from armed intruders who attacked her house and the other pumped bullets in his girlfriend’s body to sniff life out of a young soul.

Senzo Meyiwa  the South African football captain and star died a couple of days back when his girlfriend’s house was attacked by armed intruders. He reportedly was shot while trying to save his girlfriend. Senzo was in true sense a star, backbone of the South African football and very dear to his team mates and his countrymen. He died like a hero.

On the other hand, Oscar Pistorius the champion blade runner was convicted, also a couple of days back, for murdering his girlfriend. Oscar claiming the incident to be an accident could not escape prosecution. In one of the most publicly reported trial, anger for Oscar only grew as disturbing truth and facts about him started coming to light. He was reportedly described as a one with serious behavioural issue and his relationship with his girlfriend Reeva Steenkamp, whom he shot dead, was also reportedly coming to an end. Reeva had reportedly packed her bags to leave Oscar on the fateful night when she was shot dead.

What turns a person into a selfless hero and on the other hand what turns a hero into a villain? Is it genetics, environment or situation or a combination of all three? Does environment play a major role or does the situation dominate in bringing out good and evil out of people? 

PhilipZimbardo said that a bad situation turns good people into bad people but it also could produce a hero amongst them. Why Oscar and Senzo despite their individual sporting heroics come out as two different persons? Why Senzo did not save his life considering that he had a whole sporting career ahead of him? And did Oscar kill his girlfriend to prevent the world from knowing the real ugly truths about him?

These questions would keep lingering and would keep social psychologists busy. However Senzo to me remains the real hero and man who stood his ground selflessly and took the bullet on his chest while protecting his family.

Brave Senzo, RIP.

The Abandoned Baby...

What would you call the parents of a child who became not only a Olympian at an young age but went to become one of the greatest gymnast that the world has seen - a member of the US dream team. I mean the parents would have to do a lot with the success of the child, isn't it? Indeed they had. But hold on to your judgments for sometime...

The child in consideration is none other than DominiqueMoceanu, the youngest of USA's magnificent seven. Dominique's father was focused right from the beginning in raising her to become a sporting star.

All this changed overnight many years later. After a sterling and successful career, when Dominique was about to become mom herself, a mysterious letter revealed an ugly family secret. When she was just 6 years old, Dominique's mother gave birth to another girl Jennifer , whom Dominique would never see or play with. For Jennifer was born without legs and Dominique's parents decided to give her up for adoption. Dominique's father was too hard focused on his target to raise his first child as a sporting star to keep a child born with disability.

Jennifer went on to be adopted by a very loving family who raised her with pride and dignity. Interestingly, Jennifer even without legs, went on to become a power tumbler, volleyball player and performer. Thanks to a clerical error during adoption that helped the two sisters have a emotional reunion many years back.

Contrastingly, for Dominique, though raised by her biological parents, had to emancipate herself from them. Allegedly Dominique's father siphoned - off millions of dollars of her Olympic prize money and even physically assaulted her.

Becoming a parent is a tremendous feeling and nothing short of blessing of the almighty. But parenthood is in accepting a child irrespective of gender, abilities and any other ‘criteria and raising them with love and care, without for a single moment thinking that we are doing any favour to our children. The greatest favour a parent does is to himself or herself – it is the labour of love.

But becoming biological parent does not always mean that they have parenthood; and parenthood need not be a function of giving birth to children, else the world would not have seen a Mother Teresa. Dominique’s father’s karma caught-up with him sooner or later – he eventually lost both his daughters one to his butcher merchant mentality and the other to his greed.

Very recently, an Australian couple, who had twin surrogatebabies in India, decided to leave back one of them based on gender. Despite repeated requests by the agency that helped them through surrogacy, they left back one of them and took only one of the babies with them. They reportedly already had a baby back in Australia and did not want to repeat that gender. Hence they just took back one of the twin surrogate babies.

How could they do something like this? Its beyond my comprehension - have we lost our heart? What would happen to the other twin baby left back in India? Will she grow-up like an orphan? What would be the emotional turmoil that that baby would go through … who will nurture her??? 

Not so long ago another Australian couple left behind theirsurrogate child in Thailand after they found that the child has been born with Down’s syndrome. The couple who also had surrogate twins decided to take the healthy child with them leaving the one born with syndrome behind them.

Is child nothing more than a commodity? Were these couples doing baby-shopping?

I am sure that karma will catch-up with these parents as well but my heart goes out to those babies who have no clue that their parents have abandoned them for life, for their own selfish drives.

In another controversial move few companies have started to give cash incentives to women workers for freezing their eggs. If you are wondering what freezing of eggs is – in very simple terms it is suspending motherhood without worrying for the ticking biological clock. Motherhood and corporate career have never gone hand-in-hand owing to the weird policies, at times or unidirectional ambition or due to chauvinistic male partners, at other times. So some companies want their successful women employees to suspend their motherhood or in simple terms pay them to freeze their eggs during the fertile years and suspend motherhood for another day.

Having a child, bringing-up the child and seeing him or her grow, take every little step forward is the most beautiful feeling in life. People who abandon their babies have lost the most valuable treasure on this planet. 

May every abandoned child find a family like Jennifer found, find parents like she found, who may not have given birth to her but nurtured her with the glowing love of parenthood. May such children blessed with hearts that love, hands that care and the ones who hold them to their bosom when they need a hug of reassurance. Humanity and parenthood is after all not completely dead on this world.

If an Idea Can Change Your Life, a Nobel Idea Can Change Lives of Millions!!!

Mediocre people talk about people, others talk about incidents and great people talk about ideas!!!

Kailash Satyarthi had a Nobel Idea many years back that changed not only his life but the lives of millions of children in India forced to work as child labours. His relentless and silent pursuit towards freeing children of bondage of work and giving them back their beautiful childhood has been finally recognized, by none other than the highest awarding body in the world. A Noble for Peace is not only a recognition to Kailash Satyarthi's mission but a shot-in-the-arm of all those working towards eradicating child labour in India and in the entire sub-continent.

Despite Kailash Satyarthi's Noble Prize winning effort, much remains to be done. Key to uprooting the evil of child labour lies in knowing and eliminating causes that force a child into becoming a labour. Media reports emerging after announcement of Noble to Kailash that India's national capital is also the hub of child trafficking and child labour. Large number of kids trafficked from poorer centres of the country work as labours in the capital in inhumane and often dangerous conditions. Pity and shame on us.

A civilization's image is determined by how it treats its women and children. And we have fared abysmally low in that grade. Till women continue to be unsfae and children remain vulnerable in our country, we may suspend this pride that we often have on thousands of years old civilization that we have inherited, 

More strength and life to Kailash Satyarthi and people like him who lead the fight against exploitation of children.

To such angels like Kailash and to those millions of children who suffer in our nation, I dedicate these two poems of mine. I wrote both of them in my growing up years, more than two decades back and reflect my feelings and frustration at watching children suffer the devil of trafficking and  the curse of child labour -

A Child called Labour

This is not a song of bliss and solace,

nor a praise of a maiden’s beauty and grace.

Neither is it an epitome of courage and valour,

but a story of a child called labour.

The protagonist is none of great grandeur,

nor a one shining in impeccable splendour,

He is the one coloured with grease and paint,

smelling sweat that makes 'delicate' faint.

The earth laps him up like a mother,

the sky provides him his only shelter.

The ‘vagabond’, the ‘renounced’, the ‘solitary’,

he is the ‘forsaken’, made to work and to carry.

He sweats and bleeds from day to dusk,

perhaps for that ever  eluding  musk.

But that musk eludes him forever,

for he is destined to cry & to suffer.

The poor soul rolls the heavy cart,

the little hands  toil hard in the mart.

The factories swallow him with the siren.

the furnace melts childhood along with iron.

A cruel dream dawns on him every morning,

the whip of  reality and reasoning.

When cozily wrapped are the privileged bod,

working are these children of a lesser god.

The nature makes a mockery of his state,

the ‘cruel rain’ washes off his fate.

He is burnt by the ungracious summer,

and frozen by the freezing winter.

After  the day’s work, where to, is he led,

but to the pavement, to his only bed;

Where in the dirty linen patched with worries,

he drowns his pains and miseries.

Then comes the call of the reason,

Which makes him work in every season,

One that so often has made him to blubber,

the ‘fire’ in the stomach called hunger.

A piece of bread or left out of the master,

is all in the name of food, that he can muster.

Soulfully he looks at the delicacy,

an  earning of joy and ecstasy.

But  oh! someone plays a brazen game,

Our heads sink with unfathomable shame,

When the’ hound of humanity’ manages to cope,

and snatches away his food and his hope.

Dazed by his fate he looks at the sky,

he doesn't know whether to laugh or to cry,

Is this his tryst with destiny,

full of horror, pain and agony?

He closes his eyes to resent his fears,

but does sleep come in eyes full of tears!

His tears are lost in the darkness of the night,

for no one is touched by his sorrow & his plight.

***

Little Kishen

In a small corner

away from the teaming crowd,

sat Kishen, the little boy,

covered in a shroud.

Tears rolled down his cheeks

as he cried in pain,

disgraced by the cruelty of his master,

he had been whipped again.

While cleaning the bowl of milk,

his childhood had made a wish,

to taste the left-out drops of elixir

that other privileged relish.

But cruel was his fate,

like the world and his master,

who kicked and abused him

for this ‘unpardonable blunder’.

His mistake was to dream,

to make simple wishes of life,

for he was poor and downtrodden,

destined to struggle in strife.

Nine delicate years in this world,

an age for sweets and toy,

Kishen had so longed

even for a moment of joy.

Destined to work tirelessly

from the day he lost his father,

he toiled to make both ends meet,

to fend himself and his sick mother.

The day even since

with his small hands,

he searched for the mirage

in the myriad of sand.

By now hunger, thirst and pain

had pushed the young soul

into an unconscious sleep;

Or was it curtain to his role?

Rain splashed on his body,

rudely awaking him to reality,

as he struggled to stand

he was mocked by humanity.

Drenched all over,

he trudged shivering in cold.

Suddenly he fell across

when he could no more hold.

The storm had passed,

as had the night,

there lay near the roadside

an object motionless in white.

Motionless, lifeless,

he was like a stone.

Kishen had died

his mother left behind to moan.

Onlookers and passer-byes

stopped for a while out of curiosity;

Mercifully they threw some coins;

Even a coffin was in scarcity.

Kishen’s mother couldn’t cry any more,

for even the tears had dried,

as she stared at the coins

for which her son had died.

She lifted her dead son,

lovingly in her arms,

and walked towards the cemetery

leaving behind the alms.

She cried and smiled

and screamed in pain -

“How many more Kishens have to die

of poverty and disdain?”

***