In Continuum.

There and Back Again Part IV: Children of the Desert

Throughout the course of our trip to India,or rather the training,we had three main events happening.Two of those involved live firings upon a hill known as FP6,or rather Firing Point 6 in short.It is a curious location in the sense that it is located less than two hundred metres away from the nearest village.This also means that whenever we are in the shade waiting for our turn to head on up there to fire,there will be villagers wandering around our admin area,staring at us like Discovery Channel programmes.

Our first encounter with these villagers was a strange one.Initially they stayed far away from us,until one or two braver souls ventured closer to these weird oriental looking people dressed in green in the middle of the desert.An interesting point to note here,is that a normal camo uniform wont work in a desert setting.They are supposed to conceal us,yes.But just imagine you are the enemy stationed in the middle of the desert,and you see a whole bunch of little bushes in the distance scrambling.That would've been funnier than it is a sign of approaching opposition,seriously.


Children of the Desert.

Anyway,so some of the children came close to our admin area asking for food,drinks and other stuff like empty water bottles and used lightsticks.Initially we were fascinated by these children,how they always seem to be wearing the same thing everyday and no shoes.The shoes part is especially interesting considering the randomness as to how the cows and bulls decide to dump their loads.But anyway,this old dude came up to the platoon one day,seeing the lot of them sucking on cigarettes,begged for one as well.Of course,his request was only fully realised after the lot of us placed our heads together and decoded his weird hand signs.


Desperate man,begging for a puff.

After my encounter with the kids,and a few observations of my own,i have come to a comclusion concerning the daily form of entertainment for these children includes:

1)Bicycle riding
2)Cricket
3)Watching at interesting programmes:Us


Entertainment #2:Cricket.

They play cricket everyday.And not just in this village,but everywhere in India.You hardly see any other form of sport here in India,save for badminton.I saw two kids playing badminton near the entrance to Taj Mahal,and even that is a rarity.But anyway,they would crowd around the admin area with their fathers,or uncles,or brothers,then just stare at what we are doing for hours.It's funny,to think that we werent doing anything very unusual,funny,or even remotely interesting.Most of us,due to the boredom of waiting,were simply sitting around talking,eating,sleeping or the minority of us,playing Sudoku.While the tanks and the M-113s fired away on the hill we simply waited the whole day,with eyes on us like vultures,as if to wait till the moment we die out and tear our flesh out.


A game of Cricket with the locals.

It's interesting,how they are treating us like Discovery Channel programmes,while we are doing the same to them as well.The lot of us proposed to go to their village and stare into their residents for hours as well.Seriously,the staring was getting a little out of hand.

Amos was particularly close to this pair of kids.And there was this occasion when one of them ventured into the admin area and asked Amos for biscuit("Biscuit-eh-tu?").Amos,being a sly and cunning bastard as he is,decided to make fun of this kid.Of course,it was all for the fun out it.Then the kid started grabbing the packet of biscuit out of his hands.Amos wanted to give him just one,but he refused and told Amos he actually wanted the whole packet.


Amos' new friends,with the one in red the Anti-Christ.

Yes,these kids arent as innocent as they look.They are vultures,and hungry ones too,just waiting for the right moment to grab your stuff and make a dash.There was an occasion whereby i was at the back of the tonner,and a bunch of kids crowded around it asking for lightsticks.So i showed them a used lightstick,and the lot of them chased after the tonner as it sped down the road.It was unbelievable how desperate they were,really.

Now,to a more serious note.To personify India,i would say India is somewhat like a lion.Which might explain why it has four lions at the top of their country's crest.The truth is,India's mentality resembles that of a lion.Not for it's strength,or the fact that lions are the king of the animal world,but because of the reliance on one thing in their lives:female.

The evidence of the dominance of female doing all the jobs in India can be seen everywhere.In fact,i hardly saw any women.It's easier to spot males than to females,really.It's like eating a packet of M&Ms,with only two colours in it.Red and Blue,for example.Of course,it is impossible to know if there is more red than blue in the packet without counting it,but while you eat it you just KNOW that there are more reds than blues.That was how i felt in India,as i walked down the streets and encountered the villagers.

It is not uncommon to see women carrying heavy loads everywhere on their heads on huge baskets,and women leading the pack to hunt for left over catridges,or even projectiles.That is what happens actually,after any live firings.After the live firings,the villagers would risk their lives,and bring their whole family towards the place where the targets are and dig through the rocks and sand to look for left over catridges or projectiles,or any sort of scrap metal they can find.After they find those they will consolidate,then sell them in bulks to earn some money.

They really are,a desperate bunch of people.

Anyway,noticed how i mentioned that the Indians at the villages only have three form of entertainment?Well,i never managed to take any little girls involved in those entertainment,or female on the whole.Everytime you see children playing cricket,or riding bicycles,they are always the boys.And they do the same thing,the whole day without doing work,whatsoever.

I saw this little girl once,while the other boys were staring at us.She was in this worn out pink top,and tattered skirt.She was barefooted when i saw her,just like the rest of the kids,and her hair upon her shoulder,dry and frail.She was following a herd of cows closly behind,and initially i didnt know what she was doing with a basket in her hands.

She followed slowly,and every now and then she would bend down and pick up something from the ground and squeeze it into her basket.I didnt think much about her at first,just the fact that she was picking stones or rocks for the fun of it.That thought was shattered until one of the cows dumped it's load onto the ground,and she picked that up with her bare hands and placed it into her basket did i realise that she was actually doing what a lot of people ive seen doing,collecting cow dungs home for whatever reasons.I heard they use it as fuels for their stoves,while other more absurd explanations involving them bathing in cow dung.But whatever it was,it was a sad sight for me,personally,to see this little girl picking up cow dung while the other kids her age,the opposite sex,having fun and stuff.

As i stared at her,she stared back at me for a split moment.It was a saddening moment for me,as i thought about the life i lead,and the life i have back home in Singapore in contrary to what she was doing at her age.I mean,cow dung might be a daily necessity for them,yes.But she's a kid,and for some reason she seemed to have been robbed of a childhood.The worst thing,is how she seemed to have succumb to her fate,how she has already accepted the fact that her sex is going to be looked down upon all her life,and that she's not going to go anywhere out of Babina,out of the dreadful desert.

She reminded me of the Afghan girl on the cover of a National Geographic magazine,that picture which caused a stir at one point in the 90s.She had almost the same eyes,the strength in it but one with hopelessness.

I felt sorry for her.I really did,as she disappeared in the horizon,still picking up cow dungs here and there until the basket was way over the brink.I didnt have a camera back then,and i cursed myself for it.I really wanted to take a picture of her back then,and swore to bring a camera the next time im back there.I went back a few days later,of course.But i never spotted her again,and the usual dung picking job was left to this old guy and a cart pulled by a donkey.So there she was,lost in her life and mine forever.

My friend later told me about the existence of "Honorable Killing" in India.He told me a scenario,which kinda shocked me and got me worried for that poor little girl.He told me that if you are a father in India,and your daughter is raped by your neighbour.Murder is wrong,in every country of course.But Honorable Killing is actually allowed,in the sense that the police and the government closes one eye about it.Now you would think that since you are the father,and it makes it okay to kill the neighbour who raped your daughter,right?But no,honorable killing does not involve the person who raped your daughter,but your daughter.It is okay to kill your daughter after the rape,because it spoils the reputation of the family.You are a father and your daughter was raped by somebody,it is okay to kill your daughter to preserve the reputation of your family.Of course,if you go on and kill your neighbour then that's murder,and you will be charged.But honorable killing will be looked over,just an everyday thing to the police,something they ignore and forget.

I thought of that little girl back then,how amongst the children of the desert she was there,almost alone in the crowd of boys.How she might suffer the same fate as so many others.It saddened me,and still does as i think about it.How i am here,in front of a computer with the fan gently blowing wind into my face a little distance away from me,and there she is right now,5000 miles away from me and in a different time zone,toiling away as usual under burning hot sun.


An Indian woman at the side of the road,picking cow dung.