Carpet Ride
I followed a stone stairwell downward against the humid smell of sewage. Spiraling downward, it became darker but with a lone skylight opening somewhere above in the teeming streets of blue air, oxcarts, tuk-tuks, donkey carts, tongas, Suzuki and Mercedes.
The 'Old City' of Lahore is, some say, 30% more densely populated than the most populated part of Calcutta. It was there I spent my first day of several years on the subcontinent. It seemed more surreal since I hadn't slept during the 40 hour flight from Chicago. I was conned into a tour, my least favorite way to observe anything.
After several flights we entered a dim roundish chamber of about 50 feet in diameter. As my eyes became accustomed to the dimness, the looms appeared with small human figures hunched at each one, all in various poses of kneeling, some crosslegged, others a reclining before their looms, flying fingers tying tiny knots, the only apparent motion.
The faces looking up at us were all smiling shyly.... kids. Boys. I noticed their limbs, fingers and toes, many distorted from working in the same position hours, months and years on end. Elbows and ankles protruded with calcified or arthritic masses. I began looking for the exit. It was suffocating. Not the air but the images. I couldn't turn off my internal camera. It kept clicking though I tried to stop it. I flashed back to my own childhood in a poorer area of rural America.
The politically correct Americans all climbed on the 'child labor' bandwagon indeed asking the owner about child labor. He dryly responded that if the boys were above in the mean streets, they'd only be dead in a matter of time.
"Here", he said, "they can at least survive and make a living.".
I think it's quantum physics.: If something is really true, it can only paradoxically divide against itself.
The Americans and Canadians began buying carpets on the spot. I finally found the stairwell and fled to the mean streets above.
The 'Old City' of Lahore is, some say, 30% more densely populated than the most populated part of Calcutta. It was there I spent my first day of several years on the subcontinent. It seemed more surreal since I hadn't slept during the 40 hour flight from Chicago. I was conned into a tour, my least favorite way to observe anything.
After several flights we entered a dim roundish chamber of about 50 feet in diameter. As my eyes became accustomed to the dimness, the looms appeared with small human figures hunched at each one, all in various poses of kneeling, some crosslegged, others a reclining before their looms, flying fingers tying tiny knots, the only apparent motion.
The faces looking up at us were all smiling shyly.... kids. Boys. I noticed their limbs, fingers and toes, many distorted from working in the same position hours, months and years on end. Elbows and ankles protruded with calcified or arthritic masses. I began looking for the exit. It was suffocating. Not the air but the images. I couldn't turn off my internal camera. It kept clicking though I tried to stop it. I flashed back to my own childhood in a poorer area of rural America.
The politically correct Americans all climbed on the 'child labor' bandwagon indeed asking the owner about child labor. He dryly responded that if the boys were above in the mean streets, they'd only be dead in a matter of time.
"Here", he said, "they can at least survive and make a living.".
I think it's quantum physics.: If something is really true, it can only paradoxically divide against itself.
The Americans and Canadians began buying carpets on the spot. I finally found the stairwell and fled to the mean streets above.
posted by Blue at 2:13 PM
2 Comments:
Here in India, we see child labour all around us. Your article made me realize how immune we've become to such disturbing sights.We just don't "see" things we see around us. The last time we got disturbed was when we were kids, and we saw children our age begging, selling incense sticks for a living,while someone was cuddling me and buying me a chocolate to earn a little kiss on their cheek. All questions we asked then were answered in such a manner so as to see that we don't ask again.
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