Kids of Capitalism

It was something worth watching.  In a cosy corner of the big library hall, dozens of kids were surrounding an old lady whose voice was mesmerizing and hypnotising every reader in the library.  They were listening a story of Masha and the Bear. The story seemed not so attractive as Nanny’s voice had made it more powerful and special for them. The kids were really enjoying it.

British television has dozens of dedicated channels for kids, yet story telling has remained intact and bed time story is one of the best routines of the kids of the developed world, even if homes have become broken, relations strained and society torn apart.

   

More than one lakh books are being published annually in Britain, out of which forty percent publications are exclusive for children of every age group and topics covered on every subject child needs to know.

The smallest kids were feeling sleepy, though rubbing their eyes to stay awake.

Most of the kids were in the age group of six to ten years, almost all British, and few were the fourth generations of Asian and African immigrants.

Luckily, the tradition of storytelling has escaped the digital onslaught in the West. Due to time constraints, many parents have now kept recorded versions of bed time stories that work on smart phones. So, no need to come home early, sit with the kids and give them the comfort of storytelling. Like by touching your phone in office, the food in the microwave at home can become hot the moment you step into the house.

I remember the days of my childhood when my father would relate the story of some “Brambramchowk” living in the forests of Kohi-Suleiman. It used to be harsh winter with small oil lamp in the corner shelf when me and my sisters would huddle up in an oversized duvet and wait for our father to close all the doors and windows before telling us the frightful end of the “Brambramchowk” while fighting with the brave men of the Kashmir.  Our pulls and pressures had stretched the Duvet from one corner of the room to other, yet giving us warmth and comfort during chilly nights.

The practice of storytelling disappeared in my land the day the mushroom growth of graveyards appeared around us. We had no time to notice its disappearance. We became busy in counting the bodies and the coffins every day we received from security officials after search operations, crackdowns and encounters. Our kids have become used to living in constant fear of gun and intimidation, always prepared to leave house in darkness, in winter or summer at the mere sight of a uniformed man.

The thought of pellet or bullet has been eating their confidence and their sense of self. Our kids have lost interest in the world of fiction and fantasy because they have been born in the middle of the dreadful encounters. They live in a world of violence where every face tells you the frightful story or where every tongue knows the name of Frankenstein. Our eighteen-month-old Hiba can only listen to hospital shrieks and shrills, she can’t afford to listen to a story of any fantasy land where kids live in comfort zones.

This has become my permanent nightmare to get entangled into the thoughts of my bruised land once I encounter different sections of society in other countries.

Let me take you back to the library in London where I was sitting with the kids whose stories even shook me more in the core of my heart and made no sense of the Capitalist world that was breaking the basic unit of their life-HOME. We, in Kashmir were living in a conflict and were losing sense of safety and dignity. What has gone wrong in the conflict free societies that can’t either give safe environment to their kids. It made me restless.

Story session with kids was over. They started running around, playing with toys and looking at big picture books that were kept scattered on the floor near children’s corner so that they get attracted to browse through them.

Meanwhile, I made an acquaintance with Sub-Saharan Nanny and didn’t stop in praising her talent of storytelling. She was pained to tell me the background of every kid in her group. “I am trying to give them the love and comfort they can’t get at home”. Her eyes became moist.

Only one kid, Zoya, was lucky to have both parents with a proper home and upbringing. She was well behaved and a confident girl whose parents had Irish background.

Six-year-old girl, Bobby has her parents recently separated due to her father’s affair. The court had ordered a weekly plan for her, weekdays with mother and weekends with father. Easter holidays with father and summer holidays with mother until she becomes adult. “She dreads the weekends stay with her father and comes to school with miserable face on Mondays”. Nanny whispered in my ear.

Another blue-eyed girl, Stacey is born out of wedlock and her mother never revealed to anybody about the father of Stacy. She asks her mother more often about her father but gets no clue. She had lately spoken to her teacher in school to help her to get in touch with the Jeremy Kyle show on ITV which helps in finding the missing links in faulty families.

Peter, the smart boy lives with his father. Before he was born, mother had already entered into another relationship. She had intimated to Peter’s father that she cannot continue her relation after Peter was born. Both parents agreed to get divorced with Peter to stay with father. Mother sends cards and gifts more often but Peter dumps them into garbage bin without looking at them.

The black dressed little doll, mohiti was absconded by her parents in Nigeria. Rita from Oxfam found her near the hotel she was staying in while on her honeymoon. She decided to adopt her and brought her to London. She found her new home, new parents and new country. Yet, she only makes friends with Nigerians which has lately concerned Rita.

The other four kids were living in foster families and knew nothing about their biological parents. “I play mother to them”. Said Nanny with a grin.

This was a little reflection of the capitalist society which had moved far ahead with the digital technology and looking forward to dwell on the Mars. The human relations seem to have not reached to Mars but gone deep down into the mud that was moulding the life of these little flowers into problematic human relations about which nobody knew how they would carve out their future in broken homes. Yes, they were envied by kids of undeveloped world for their development, technology and wealth….

The writer is ex-editor of BBC and Penguin author.

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