the untouchables

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We drove down to my Mumma's house over the weekend, Husband and I. This was partly to sample her lovely company, but more to stuff our faces with the delightfully yummy food at Curry Night. Curry Night is a fundraiser for the Christian charity through whom I sponsor a little Indian boy. I say little, but he must be about 16 now. In order to enjoy the food I have to be social and talk to people who I knew in various guises as a child and young adult. I also have to watch others bow their heads in prayer {I do not simply leave my agnosticism at the church door} and sacrifice an hour of my time listening to some people ramble on about their latest adventure in India with the children. And - if I'm being honest - that bit is quite interesting. It's about a world which I find difficult to comprehend, where families live in one room and have no running water. A world in which boys and men become poisoned by toxic fumes as they search the sewage for things to sell, to provide food for their babies. It's a world where children are kidnapped for begging purposes and girls as young as twelve and thirteen are married off. These are The Untouchables, the lowest of the low in the Hindu caste system. And yet we are shown photos of clean, albeit bare, homes and well-turned out children. Beautiful smiling faces. Death comes young in these slums, yet they make do with what they have and they don't allow the misfortune of their birth to grind them down. The charity ensures that the children go to school, trains them in a skill and in many cases, pay for them to go to university. They have days out and weekends away at the seaside. It's a refuge away from the streets which otherwise may claim them for something far seedier. For some children it becomes their actual home because they are orphaned or run-aways. Not that it is always Good News. Some children disappear or are removed from the centres, perhaps because she's reached puberty or he has to earn money as his dad died. My boy is one of the fortunate ones; he passed his exams this year with flying colours. If he continues to be so studious he may even get into university. I am very proud of him. The moral of this tale is simple. I ate too much yummy curry and am still bloated thirty-four hours later. Please don't be a fatty boom boom like me.