As usual, this is my post. But this is not my story as usual.
I was struggling with my post. Then I took a look at my blog-roll. I saw most of my blogger friends, barring probably Agnes, have fallen silent. May be this is the season of slience. Then quite a few things came to my mind. Some dark, some cheerful. Some did excite me, some left me cold. I knew I was struggling.
This morning, I reached office when my colleague handed out a photograph to me. "Today is World Day for Prevention of Child Abuse and it's a related picture," he said. I should be honest, I did not know such a day did exist. These days, there are so many that one loses count.
Soon after, I logged into my Facebook account and saw a link from NY Times my friend Lala - he is pursuing his doctoral degree in Purdue University - had sent me. It had something to do with children in Congo. I read and did not just stop till it ended. At the end, it saddened me no end.
I don't intend to make any statement although I know I am sounding like a hypocrite here. For, such stories are not exclusive to Congo. Stories like this one abound in Asia and Africa where governments have failed; where civil war is the norm; where mineral resources have been plundered by outsiders, ably assisted by forces from developed nations. It's not as if we have not come across such tales of human tragedy before. Not as if it has not happened anywhere near I live. By saying all this, I am probably ridding myself of the feeling of guilt of not doing my bit.
Do read the following link. I just wanted to share what I call His Story.
15 and Broke in a Cut-Throat Congo Mining Town
This post is dedicated to the two blogger friends whose compassion in their last posts is still lingering around in my mind. To Mehreen (for that post on child labour) and Trevor (for that moving photograph on Children's Day).
