When I was playing archery, I saw a father and son duo dressed in not so affluent manner, carrying the sheet metal remains of a truck which met with an accident a couple of months back. The metals were neatly folded, tied with a rope and was being carried on the back. Even the child was carrying some metals on his tender back.
Their cargo would fetch maximum of 200 bucks or so if it is sold to the scrap dealer. And here I am playing a game with bet much more than that, with the equipment which costs couple of thousands (I dare not mention the exact price, due to guilt). But then the bet is not as heavy as those gamblers in the game of cards, I tried to justify and console myself. It is a human nature to justify oneself every time; we justify our fortune from the less fortunate, we justify our evil doings from the criminals, we justify immoral actions from the more immoral person, positive side of this mentality is that it keeps us happy, but for how long?
I used to wish for divine intervention for all the hardship that I was going through, sometimes wishing to run away from life itself. But until such time I stay, I can’t let only my parents suffer all the hardship.
Remembering all this pains, looking at the child almost clad in a dress like me, when I was at his age; I wanted to give some money, as I was drawing my bow and getting ready to shoot the duo reached far. I desperately wanted to call but did not because it would cause the duo to walk back with their load on the back.
Thinking what the father would think about a little money that I am offering and also thinking that my friends would think that I am being ostentatious. I could not call them from far and give them some money that I seriously thought of giving.
I could almost feel the thinking that is going in the mind of that young child. Helping parents with work would not be considered as child labour. Or would it? If so, then the frail farther would have tough time ahead. My heart goes out to them.
Coming back home sitting on the comfortable sofa, the thought of the child trying to help his parents make a living honestly, like that of selling scrap, failed to leave my mind.
Filled with regrets for not being able to help, by giving a little to the needy to buy just some chocolates or rice or anything that they may desire, I write this, to just vent out my remorse.
Tomorrow if I see them again, well, that would be another story.