“Okay! Comment on the YOUNG INDIA take by the minister”

“What is there to talk about? After all that we hear every day, how can this generation be trusted.”

 “Yes, you are right. We surely have most of young people in our country, but not the whole generation is

sane.”

“And that creates a huge difference.”

That day I heard a group of people discussing young generation as I walked back home. The last night had exhausted me really bad. But my mind was alert to everything which was happening around me. I had inherited this from my experiences. My past had positively prepared my mind and body to work in every condition.

The time I unlocked my flat I instantly walked into the kitchen, gulped the whole bottle of water in a go and I lay on bed. As I was trying to sleep, the words I had just heard struck me. How can this generation be trusted? How can anyone be trusted? Trust? What is trust?

I woke up to a call. “Asha, I am going to meet the Commissioner. I will call you after that; we have to discuss that village issue.” I hung up and walked lazily to the washroom. It wasn’t my daily routine. Actually I didn’t really have a routine, I never had one. Every day for me was a new day, every morning was a new place and every night was a pain. I kept my mind busy because even a pinch of my past was enough to weaken me to the cores.

I walked downstairs to buy milk packet. had a super market opposite our colony. I use to visit the store so often. The owner was in his late twenties. He was not there all the time. Whenever we had met in the past was a refreshing time as we used to exchange our work experience. And it was rare for me to meet people outside my work.

That day when I visited the store I didn’t find him. But I met a new girl.

“Hi, do you guys have olives?”

“Hain?”, her response told me she didn’t know English.

“Beta, yaha olives hai? Jaitoon?”

“Ma’am she is new here. She doesn’t know anything”, a regular worker told me.

“Oh, no problem. Do you have olives? I am not able to spot.” I asked again.

“Yes ma’am, this way, I will bring it to you.” he was polite as usual.

I was in the billing counter when saw the girl again in the corner. She was gazing the road continuously with a blank but expecting face. 

“Who is she?” I asked the girl in the counter.

“She is Abhay sir’s cousin, Meera. She lives in village; is here for on vacation.

“That’s great. You look nervous, is it your first time away from home?”

She did not reply.

I saw Ramesh at the other end. I paid to the auto driver and crossed road. We greeted and without delay, we headed to cafe for exchanging our research.

“I got this final list of girls.” He said.

“Only girls?”

“Yeah just girls, we have a list of twenty one girls; sixteen of them have been trafficked as domestic helps in different cities. They are yet to be located. There are five girls that police claims have been sold as a sex worker”, he explained.

I was stunned. I couldn’t say a word. It wasn’t that we had confronted such issue for the first time. All these years that had passed working for children who accidentally or forcefully fall into trafficking, these stories were so common for us. People called us activist but what if this trafficking had not existed. Then we could live a normal life, and then maybe I too had slept peacefully at night.

Ramesh nudged me away from my thoughts. When I gained my senses again, we were set to apart to different destinations. Just then, I got a call from the police. Next ten minutes I saw Ramesh’s anxiety growing as my reactions worsened. I couldn’t keep it for long, “six of the girls have been recognized, and they have been trafficked to our city Ramesh. Police have successfully traced the dealers and they are on their way to raid.” I continued in single breathe, “They have called us to take the data, and then we can start chasing the places that have been traced.”

“Yeah, yeah! Sure! Let’s go.” 

Everyone in the station was in rush. Few of them were calling other work stations to circulate the details, fax machines were getting used for the same; few teams had already been sent to raid and then there was head inspector who was waiting for us.

We were given the details of the six girls. We were studying the details when the inspector got a call. As soon as he hung we were informed to trace a new target. The information had details of a human trafficker.

“These people have been accused and inquired in past about human trafficking. We did not get enough evidence to file a case then but their actions and work is questionable.” And he started going into the details for each one of them.

He listed one by one and we recorded the key points as we had to visit each of them to search. Every time there was a case of human trafficking in the city, we used to help police by all the ways possible. It was our job and it basically wasn’t a help but we felt it to be our responsibility.

“Abhay Pratap Singh. He is a twenty eight years old businessman who belongs to a nearby village. He owns total of 8 shops in the city including 2 rice go-downs and 6 general stores. He had been accused for supplying girls from her village to the dealers and had also been arrested twice for keeping drugs in his go-downs...” he was yet to complete when I interrupted.

“I know this man” I yelled.

“what?” was the reaction from all the men out there.

“Yes. He runs a supermarket opposite my building, I have met him several times but I never felt anything wrong about his profile.”

“He might be innocent. We have no strong evidence.”

“no! no no no!” I panicked this time.

All were asking me what, why, how and so many other questions as I started checking profiles of the six girls again, and again.

“No it is not her” I relaxed. “Is it possible that we have more of the trafficked girls in the city?” I queried again.

“Yes. We have no clue about nine girls yet.” said the police.

Police searched Abhay for next few days. All his properties were seized. We kept on working and got nine girls instead six. Three were sent as domestic helps to high-society villas. Two of them, we saved from getting married. And the other four were to be sent abroad, were saved and sent to their respective homes.

But I got relief only when Meera was found. I didn’t even know her real name; neither did I get the chance to see her again. Abhay was imprisoned. Meera disclosed more names which helped us reach 8 more girls who were sent to different cities. I would have regretted all my life for not recognizing the culprit and the victim even after confronting them... if we couldn’t have found her.

The thing that pinched me the most was that Meera had been sold by her parents. We were alike. This whole issue pushed me back to the memories of my own childhood. Fifteen years had been passed. But there was no change in the lives. I was once sold by my mother in the exchange of money. I worked as a household servant for years, and then I was pushed to be a sex worker. I thank God who helped me escape all that, and gifted me a new purpose of life. But after all these years, even today,  I hear the same stories time and again.

That night I couldn’t sleep as the questions kept tumbling my mind. How many years would it take to end this trafficking? What else should we do to get through it? Who were the origins of this crime? We had done everything to save humans till date, but we could never stop them to be trafficked. I had no answers but every question was generating a new question.

I woke up next morning lazily. I checked my cell phone, had no meeting lined up. I opened my news app. ANOTHER HUMAN TRAFFICKING RACKET HAS BEEN UNVEILED WITH THE HELP OF YOUNG ACTIVISTS, it read. My neighbors would be happy with this generation, I thought... just then I read another headline, THOUSANDS OF GIRLS MOLESTED BY THE MOB DURING A CONCERT IN A METROPOLITAN CITY.

Happy new yeaarrr!!! LET’S NACHO. This is the best moment. The whole year I have waited for this one time, this one hour. The sound of woofers, flicker of lights, roaring people, overloaded fun, and the whole atmosphere is hyped. But I love to live this hyped life. The moment when all family, friends, strangers; in fact the whole world rejoice together to bid goodbye to the year and welcome a new one.

Standing beside my friend & DJ Alex I am feeling so proud to experience the success of my first ever independent event and trust me, it’s insane. The crowd is making me feel high and trust me again; I haven’t gulped a single drop of alcohol yet. This moment is no less than intoxication and I am totally drowned into it.

I am closing my eyes now, to feel the passing air, its chilled! Yeah! I am feeling a nudge in my shoulder, someone is calling me... but I don’t want to break this moment... GO AWAY!!! IT’S MY TIME. “YES, IT IS TIME WAKE UP NOW.” The voice yelled.

10 a.m. Shit man! I am late. I had to call the caterers. The decorators, they must have reached the lounge and what about Ala? Shit! Shit! Shit!

“You must be dreaming about the party, I am trying to wake you up from the last two hours....”

“C’mon Maa, you should have thrown me out of bed, I am too late! I had to see the decoration and... And there is a lot... Wait! I had to pick up Maira and her troupe from the airport on 11 and... It is 10:15.

“Maira?”

“Our DJ for tonight, Maa. Please take out my black pants and... yeah my sweatshirt is here. I will leave in 5 minutes, Maa please be fast.”

“Beta, eat before you leave, you will be busy the whole day.”

“I have no time Maa, please get my things ready!”

I yelled as I shut the bathroom door.

The moment I stepped out of the airport was a pure surprise. There was a guy holding my name board which read

                                                 Welcome to our land Maira.

                                          Your ride is waiting for you this side.

And there it was. A pretty girl smiled at me and I recognised her- Needa, our event manger. My first meet with her was really good. Being so young, yet so confident for her work is commendable. It was my first time in this city. From last 3 years, my mornings, my nights, my festivals, all have been in different cities, with new faces and a lot of music.

I remember being an in house DJ for a small club in our city. From that small job to this popularity I have come a long way. All I do now is... I travel; play, sleep, play and I travel.

I love my life because I love my work. This is what I always wanted to be. There were so many objections as I belong to a family of engineers. They allowed playing as a DJ sometimes for interest but choosing it as a career was never their take. I remember a New Year when I first got to play for a party of my friend other than a club. The moment clock struck 12, with the crowd going crazy, somewhere in my mind I had made it clear- this is what I have to do all my life... the way I heard people yelling my name I knew this was all I wanted to hear... DJ Maira!

Yes, it feels bad that I don’t get to celebrate these days with my family. I feel alone many a times when we video call and I see my family together. But I am satisfied with the fact that when I am home I am all theirs, and my Mom proudly tell my relatives when she watches me on TV.

My slow morning picked up gear as I dropped Maira at the hotel. In the next 3 hours I met the caterers, we started with the decorations, checked the arrangements again and again and I got nervous as many times I breathed. Everything was smooth till now, yet I was panicking a lot. After all it was my first ever event.

I totally jumped into event management after 12^th; I worked for four years during and after my course. Those four years brought a lot of things to me; concerts, parties, corporate events and what not. But what always kept me going was to start it of my own. I had worked day in day out for this one evening, saved a lot of money and stayed away from my family at times. But it was all fruitful when I saw my family making merry over my start and proudly inviting their friends for my first event.

There was a lot of pressure, there were so many who suggested me not to start this soon, that too in my own city as it’s not a metro. But then there was something called believe in self that was all.

It was five in the evening. The event had to start at 8 o’clock. I was confident. Everything was set, there were only a few hours left for my dream event. I suddenly felt sad. The reason was unknown but I felt sad and negative. What if things would fall out of place? That one question led to another bundle of questions... What If I would not be able to sell all the passes,  what if people would not like the food, what if the atmosphere would not be decent, what if this ... what if that.... what if I just... suck been an independent planner?

There I was standing at the middle of the party lounge, 3 hours away from my event and I found myself stuck in these thoughts. I took a deep breath, held myself. And the next moment! I just turned around and what I saw was true magic.

What else could you do when your friend was a total loss? I couldn’t sleep the whole night in the fear and excitement of Need’ event. I woke up early only to hear no answer to my calls. As always she was late and she broke her promise to take me with her to pick Maira. Now, I had to wait till the evening to meet her.  Meanwhile, I did all the boring yet relaxing things like watching TV at home, checking social media accounts time and again, going to spa and parlour, trying my dress and sleeping.

I had come to my hometown on vacations and this time I had cancelled all other plans for Needa’s event. We are childhood friends. Ever since I know how to spell ‘friend’, I have her. She is vibrant, crazy and yes, always late; yet my best friend.

I was never enthusiastic about extra-curricular like her but she never topped exam like me either.

I was always passionate about computers, software and animations. That took me to moving out of the city to the near big city for engineering and then for job. I love my work as I design games for all generations. Staying away from family was never my choice but then I had to choose between the two: family and career. Yes, choosing this career gave me lesser gatherings with family but I am happy whenever I meet them and I am satisfied when I see them happy about me. Family is always primary with all the other choices that I want to make for me.

I was sitting with my Mom in the parlour when I got Needa’s SMS:

Yet again, it brought my favourite moment. I was there at the stage facing the lovely faces that were cheering my name and were dancing happily on the mixes I played. And the time countdown for 12 began even I lost my wits. This countdown always filled me with possibilities to explore more; more of life, more of music and more of nature through it. I lowered the sound as we began

                         10      9       8       7       6         5         4         3         2         1

HAPPPYYY NEWWW YEARRR!!! And a new year started with happiness.

Youth. That day, when my senses woke up into a new morning, I saw a gloomy picture of myself in the mirror. My eyes had swelled from crying the whole night. I had a real bad sleep, flipping here and there, thinking and rethinking the same thought; thinking of the possibilities that could occur if I too did something valuable for my town like he did.

I kept the unwelcomed thoughts aside and quickly dressed up, as I heard continuous hymns of people. I stepped out of my home and encountered a crowd, a real crowd. The road was full of people walking with mourns and tears, with the same anger that I was feeling right then. I joined them and headed towards the square to salute his efforts, to raise a voice against his killing and mainly to take a step that had kept my mind shrinking from the time he was gone.

Security officer. All these years, serving in the town as a government servant, I had faced a lot of protests, strikes and what not. But no difficulty can ever be comparable to the one of that morning; because fighting an armed enemy is way easier than controlling an armless mob. From the previous night, we were prepared that the next morning would be challenging for us.

As soon as I woke up, I prayed to God for strength to fight the situation that was to come next. I wore my uniform and stepped out for my workplace early. We were all ready with our arm guns, rifles and armour to control all the anger of the town. A day before, looking at the mob, a thought hit me badly. A directionless youth of this country, a militant who was killed in encounter, was receiving mourns of two lakh people, was rewarded with gun salute and was becoming history in the name of bravery for a huge number of people; things I was never going to get even after serving the town... all these years.

Militant. From the last three years, the time I pledged to fight for our people and our rights; I had an inspiration from an unconventional courage and a brilliant mind. Being our leader in such a young age, he had commanded and delivered actions that can never be thought without him. He had generated a flame in our hearts and minds that was burning high inside us from that day when we were biding him to God and would be burning for the rest of our lives to serve our purpose of living.

That morning was a sleepless, yet awakening one for most of the younger ones of our town. While we tribute our leader for his sacrifice, I saw people and more people all over my sight praying for our hero. I was sad that he left us that soon. It wasn’t his time to go. I promised him there at his coffin not to rescue his murders. At the same time, I was relieved to find people showing anger for the same. He had served his purpose then and there.

Civilain. Surviving in this town had always been tough. But that day captured all of us to a frame where many of us didn’t belong. I was born and brought up here with curfews, protests, attacks, strikes, shutdowns and killings. Everything till that day had maintained a distance from me. But that day, when I saw people coming out on roads, when I saw a fellow civilian setting a vehicle on fire, I knew that it was going to trap all of us.

My exams were rescheduled; I couldn’t move out of my house due to the protest. At the same time, I couldn’t sit at home and watch the show. It was my town, my neighbourhood and my freedom that was on stake, from the time I was born till date. I had to at least participate with the ones who were fighting.

Media. For the last few days, I felt the way dead people must be feeling; like how it would feel to release your body and be invisible. I was there, I knew everything, I had the rights to say, I could speak up, but there was no one to listen. That day, when he had been killed, I reached the spot with my team to cover the whole incident. I couldn’t see the killing, but I witnessed everything afterwards. From more than two lakh people mourning for a late twenty two years old militant, to the never ending protest between the armless civilian and the armed security.

By the time he was killed, mobile internet, telephone services, newspapers, media was pulled off air. More than twenty five days of our work was hampered. The curfew implemented in the entire district, got removed and was imposed again. The civilians protested against the killing by stone pelting, strikes and setting buildings & vehicles on fire. The police and armed forces defended by the pellet guns, teargases and rifles. The government bodies asked civilians to keep calm. With the death poll rising from two to eighty five and thousands of civilians getting injured every day, I stood there, in a total blackout.

Youth. The path of sacrifice had never been easy and I guessed that to be the reason of all my second thoughts. But days went by and the gloomed picture got stinks of hatred. Public safety act- they called it. Public, we, our town, had been victims of the inhumanity. One from the public was that aged man in my neighbourhood who lost his eyes due to buckshot. One from the public was that five year old girl who got wounded from pellet shot. And one from the public was him, who lost his life fighting for this public.

Public safety act- they called it. Then who was safe in that entire chaos? And what we even meant for them? Nothing. Not the public but the district that they were protecting or authorising, not the public but the beauty of our state was their interest, and with this, all my second thoughts were gone. I pledged to serve- the way he did. At last, I did clear the picture.

Security officer. But then I thought. It wasn’t my job to sit and think about public reactions, about the media allegations or the political accusations. My job was to kill any type of nuisance in the town. I was pretty much doing that on my part or at least was trying to do to the fullest without caring about my whole life, my family and my home.

I waved the emotions and remembered the pledge of my service. I pulled my gun on, took my armour and started controlling the mob. The nation needed an action. The town needed a reaction. So, all I did was to keep going. My work had to go on.

Militant. All I had to do was to keep his work going and punish the enemies. My courage boosted when our youth valued his sacrifice and joined us in huge number. We, together, had fought against the armed forces and we still were fighting. They would be defeated and would move out of our state to the place they belong, to their country.

Our God was blessing us with exposing other brains towards our thoughts. Our commander had now created a revolution- sacrificing his life in the path of freedom. And our people were protesting with us against the outsiders for our rights. There was no one to stop us now. We all united to serve our purpose. I could now sense freedom coming in the air of the town.

Civilain. I finally decided what to do and joined the mob. But! There, I stuck. I stood there paused. What I could see around me was war. I stood out to speak but no one was actually saying or listening. We were shouting. And when one of us set a police station on fire, the officers in uniforms were right after us. I ran. I ran fast for my life. All these years that had passed in militarization- I knew one thing that, the officers- they would never listen.

I ran long till I reached the bank of the river. I stopped, turned back to see the uniforms. I swallowed my own breathe and jumped into the river. I stayed there for long waiting for the security forces to clear by. After a while, I dared to swim upwards to the bank. I found no one. There was no one in uniform. I sighed in relief, and as I was walking towards the town, I noticed my reflection in river. But wait! It was not moving with me. It was floating. Yes! My body, it seemed dead.

Media. When I looked for conclusion, my pen dropped no ink. It’s hard to find who was wrong and where. Breaking the law and being a rebel to your country was wrong but inhumanity could never be an answer for that. There would always be a source that set fire; it would be as tiny as a matchstick or as big as bomb blast.

Why we needed to punish the civilian to safeguard them and why civilians had to fight security to end an ongoing war? Who gave us the right to act inhuman to regulate the law and order and why? Who decided our purpose of living? And who was the first, who thought violence would be a way to put things right?