Shakeel - 3 Years Later

3 years ago, I had written about ‘Finding Shakeel’. Those were the early days of our work with a severely poor and marginalized community of waste pickers. Shakeel was all of nine or perhaps ten. He wasn’t sure of his age. Neither was his family.

Even then he was a bundle of contradictions. Precocious. A Bully. Vulnerable. Helpful. Given to blinding, uncontrollable flashes of anger. Immediately followed by genuine remorse. Disliked by most. Distrusted by all. ?

Yet, he was a big, almost larger than life presence in our daily visits to the community. Almost every day was filled with a ‘can-you-imagine-what-shakeel-did-today’ story. His antics would push all my buttons, but I liked him. Even looked forward to seeing him; mildly discomfited by his periodic absences. I felt his vulnerability. I sensed the fear that drove his false bravado. I saw the insecurity. Perhaps that is why one day his father told me in all seriousness “aap le jao ise. Aap ke saath woh shayad kuch ho sake ga” (“will you please take him with you. Maybe with you, he can do something with his life”)

The years passed. The stories grew. After nearly two years in our learning centre, he was enrolled into a local government school. He assumed it to be his personal fiefdom. He would come and go at will. His bullying ways continued. Not for him the structure and discipline of a school. But neither did he bargain for a strict school Headmaster who had absolutely no patience for his tantrums. He was sent out. And then late last year, the heavy hand of the state razed his hutment overnight and drove him – and hundreds of others – scurrying to different parts. The scars are there. Both emotional and otherwise.

I met Shakeel again after several months yesterday. He’s grown into a boy-man. His hair a stylish mop. A made-up swagger as he walks up to me with a serious, almost-wary look in his eyes. His heavily stained teeth give away his new-found betel chewing habit, and he made it a point to keep spitting it right around my feet, as though showing off a new skill. As always, pushing his boundaries.

All of thirteen (possibly), he tells me that he drives a small garbage van now. Works from 5am to 8pm. Lifting and shifting drums of garbage. He gets Rs 500 a day. He said he comes back home and cooks rice for his family because his mother can’t lift vessels with her hand. I asked him what he does with the money he earns. He said he gives it to his mother. A couple of his cronies who know that I used to stick up for him, are eager to spill the news that he now smokes and drinks local hooch. Cuss words roll off his tongue with practiced ease. My heart sinks.

I ask him if he is happy. He says with a shrug, ‘paisa, kama leta hoon’ (“I earn some money!”). I ask him if he realises, he could have studied more like his friends and peers. He says “yeah, I could have. But what do I do….main to shaitaan hoon (“I am the devil”); and then he grins his betel-stained red teeth at me! Again, becoming the boy I knew once. And my heart breaks.

The little boy in him had once asked me three years ago if he was my favourite. Somehow today, I can’t but think that I failed him. I didn’t fight hard enough for him. I wasn’t in his corner long enough.?