"Children are the hands by which we take hold of heaven." . Childhood is a stage free of adulteration and mannerisms . But there are certain children who though regarded as children end up being termed as orphans . Few of these 'orphans' end up begging on the streets while few of them are adopted by Juvenile homes. My visit to such a Juvenile home changed my outlook towards the society .
I was welcomed with innocent eyes , eyes which had been waiting for me . I couldn't recognize any of them but i had a feeling of nostalgia . I could see them beaming with happiness , fighting for their turn to talk to me . They were happy to entertain us , grace the event with their bubbly talk and moves . Though they seemed happy , there was a sense of sorrowfulness and grief in them . When asked , they told me about their story and how they ended up at the juvenile home. They brunt the wounds of their past and were not happy with their present .
Few stories were unbearable . A child came to me , urging for a handshake ; i did so willingly only to be informed that he was dumb . "His mother cut his tongue " , they said . I couldn't believe my ears . How can a mother be so brutal and tyrant . What amazed me was their endurance and their will to continue and meet their parents one day . Not everybody had the will , there were few who had no knowledge of their surroundings and had given up on life . No matter how much i strive to make them laugh , their lips wouldn't part . They complained about the food and hygiene . Many north Indians complained that they were discriminated by the officials and beaten badly when not concurred to their demands .
I was dumbstruck . I was met with helpless eyes but couldn't do anything . The juvenile home was run by the Government and any step taken to help these children would be tagged as anti-government . Their innocent faces still haunt me . I have done everything to find their families but in vain .
I was welcomed with innocent eyes , eyes which had been waiting for me . I couldn't recognize any of them but i had a feeling of nostalgia . I could see them beaming with happiness , fighting for their turn to talk to me . They were happy to entertain us , grace the event with their bubbly talk and moves . Though they seemed happy , there was a sense of sorrowfulness and grief in them . When asked , they told me about their story and how they ended up at the juvenile home. They brunt the wounds of their past and were not happy with their present . Few stories were unbearable . A child came to me , urging for a handshake ; i did so willingly only to be informed that he was dumb . "His mother cut his tongue " , they said . I couldn't believe my ears . How can a mother be so brutal and tyrant . What amazed me was their endurance and their will to continue and meet their parents one day . Not everybody had the will , there were few who had no knowledge of their surroundings and had given up on life . No matter how much i strive to make them laugh , their lips wouldn't part . They complained about the food and hygiene . Many north Indians complained that they were discriminated by the officials and beaten badly when not concurred to their demands .
I was dumbstruck . I was met with helpless eyes but couldn't do anything . The juvenile home was run by the Government and any step taken to help these children would be tagged as anti-government . Their innocent faces still haunt me . I have done everything to find their families but in vain .
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