By Savitri Narayanan
“Welcome sir, I’m Jacob Kurien, the site supervisor,” he said with a warm smile. “I’ll be honoured to show you around sir!”
They took a leisurely walk around. Workers were engaged in their own tasks, some walked around briskly, the work was still gathering momentum.
“We have flats of all sizes available sir, with one, two or three bedrooms,” said Jacob as they walked along, “with all the modern facilities.”
Sooraj was observing and making mental notes, and didn’t get into the conversation.
“Are you new to Goa, sir?” the supervisor pursued. “Where do you stay?”
It was just a fortnight ago that Sooraj Dhawan had been transferred from Mumbai. Sooraj was no stranger to Goa, this was home! Both his dadaji and chachaji had been sailors in the merchant navy. They had their bungalows in north Goa, where the family stayed when the men sailed. In the course of time, dadaji and chachaji passed away, the youngsters relocated, and a time came when the cousins lost track of each other. Sooraj hoped he would somehow find ways to reconnect with his cousins and relatives.
“No, I’m not new to Goa,” Sooraj smiled. “I’m a Goankar!”
Jacob was familiar with most of the areas, localities and building complexes both in north and south Goa. He had been with Mehta Constructions for more than a decade now. The office building complex at Bambolim was his first major project and this gated community in Mapusa was his second. Work was going on in full swing. Drilling, cementing, electrical installations and plumbing works – the place was bubbling with action. Manual labour, both men and women moved around with headloads of material like sand, granite chunks, bricks and other things.
“Busy place, busy times,” Sooraj had a smile of approval as he spoke to Jacob. He liked the fast pace and the smooth flow of work.
“Tell me what’s happening there?”
Slightly away from the construction, towards the northern corner was a tent in which a few children were seated.
“What are the children doing at this construction site?”
Without waiting for an answer, Sooraj walked towards the tent. Jacob respectfully followed.
“Child labour, under whatever name, is a crime,” said Sooraj, “I’m sure you know that!”
In the tent, Sooraj was in for a surprise! There were children of all ages from a toddler to teenagers, sitting around – some on the bench, some in the chair and some on the carpet on the floor. All had books with them! Some were reading, some were writing, some others were discussing with each other.
“Good morning, sir!”
Sooraj was pleased at the way they put aside their work, stood up with folded palms and greeted him with respect. It came so spontaneously, naturally to those children.
“A very good morning to you too children, what are you studying now?”
Some looked at each other, some raised their hands, some mumbled, a few shouted but everyone had an answer. Soon they got back to their studies.
It was then that Sooraj noticed the cheerful young man with a ponytail, seated on the chair in the corner.
“Their teacher, sir, a volunteer,” said Jacob with a friendly nod to the young man.
‘A teacher? At a construction site?’ the thought lingered. Even as Sooraj inspected the prospective flats for sale, every now and then his glance went back to the tent with its studious youngsters bent over their books. Soon the site visit was complete, and they were in the supervisor’s office to look at the price details. With the air-conditioning humming away, the room was cool and the tea that arrived was steaming hot.
“Sir, looks like you’re thinking of those children,” Jacob said.
Sooraj nodded thoughtfully.
Migrant labourers were not a novelty. They’re seen not only in Goa but all over India. The source of migration could be Bengal, Bihar, Jharkhand, Uttar Pradesh and other states. The young members, like sons, daughters with their spouses and children, migrated leaving behind the parents and other elders, if any, to manage on their own. This wasn’t difficult thanks to the strong bonding and mutual support system of the village community.
The migrant labourers put in their heart and soul to assimilate with the new place. Very soon they picked up the local language and integrated well with the communities. The money was good too, enough to give a comfortable, secure life to the family back home.
So, what was the problem?
“The children,” said Jacob as he sipped his tea, “What to do with them?”
There was pain in his eyes and voice as he said, “Imagine half a dozen children of different ages with nothing to do! Of course, they could go to the government school where education is free. But to reach there is no road! Children had to cross the hill and walk about two kilometres in the fields. There was the risk of stray dogs and also the fear of the children getting lost! What if they didn’t come back home after school? Where to look for them? So, the parents preferred for the children to stay home.
“That’s when Herbert came from UK. He was Godsent! He was a student from some university in Birmingham pursuing his Ph.D. One year’s social service assignment was part of his doctorate. He opted to work with these children. It’s amazing how he keeps them motivated and engrossed in their own assignments. Unlike a conventional classroom, a lot of self-learning happens here,” said Jacob.
“Do they get a certificate?”
“Of course, yes! They’re all registered as external students in the school and university. They follow the same syllabus, appear for the same final examinations with the rest of the students.”
“Sounds good! Blessed are these children,” Sooraj was equally happy. “But what’ll happen when this boy’s project is over, and he goes back to Birmingham?”
“That university seems to have taken a liking to this project so plans to continue; they would send students here on a stipend,” said Jacob. “Another good thing is the way this boy has trained a few of local college and senior school students who’ll do voluntary work here. The village panchayat has stepped in to give them a stipend.”
Glad to hear of the good work you’re doing! I’ll come again when the flats are nearing completion to choose mine,” said Sooraj.
“I have taken an instant liking to this place, the builder’s attitude to these children! Do pass on my respects to him,” said Sooraj as he took his leave and opened the door.
(Savitri Narayanan is a retired educationist at present in Goa. A mother and grandmother, loves readig, writing and travelling.)
