Written by Deepali
I had the opportunity to read a story called Iqbal – A brave boy from Pakistan by Jeanette Winter and I was touched by the little boy who had no regular life as a toddler as he was sold into bonded labor by his parents for a mere Rs. 600.
I was itching to read this story in two divisions of grade 6 in a school where I go regularly as part of the Libraries in Schools program.
I prepared myself for some hard hitting truths to come out from this story based on these children’s experiences probably. The children I was going to read the story for belong to migrant families and are always on the move.
To prepare the atmosphere for discussion, I showed the first class a few images about child labor and asked for their opinions and they felt bad that the children were working but were happy that the children were doing ‘mehnat’ and earning good money. It was a surprising and altogether a different perspective. They also mentioned that they had seen children working in fields, on bus stands and railway stations selling snacks and things and earning money without ever going to school. It seemed to them like ultimate freedom. But as I explained about child labor and then read the story about this brave boy Iqbal, I could see the change in their demeanor. They were saddened to hear that Iqbal is no more and it was not a mere story but an account of a real boy. They wanted to know his age when he was shot and they wanted to know what he wanted to become when he would have grown up. They were very curious if he loved school and wanted to study more. I was more than happy with this curiosity because it meant they were thinking about the boy, his life, his story and maybe knew someone who was working when he/she should have been studying and would try to change somebody’s life in a small meaningful way. The second class that I read this story had a totally contradictory reaction. They knew nothing about child labor here too and after observing the images were happy that the children seemed to have money to do whatever they wanted to do. They were sad that Iqbal was killed but it was a cursory sympathy that one would give to a character in a story or a film. This shocked me but in retrospective I wondered if they have learned to not show that they care about anything or anyone due to circumstances in their lives. None in this class asked me about Iqbal or his life or his aspirations or his assassination. I even got the impression from some that he should have run away and saved himself. It was an eye-opening experience for me though. I realized that one never can read a child’s mind and expect a fixed regular reaction from all.
