Bang Bang Galore!
A Filmmaker’s BLOGELLA
Written by Steve Rosenberg
Blog 27 (leaving Shivakasi…Laksmi speaks)
The morning starts with a two- hour lecture delivered by John on the merits of staying focused on the mission. “Why aren’t you children taking this expedition seriously?” John bristles. Each child is forced to provide eyewitness accounts about what they have learned in their travels. “I see many of you joking around. Why do you think we brought you on this trip?” John points to Balu, our illiterate driver who cannot read road signs; and in Bangalore, he is always forced to stop and ask people for directions. “Do you want to you want to end up like him? You must liberate yourselves first, before you may liberate other children. I cannot bare these highly charged debriefing sessions, because I am not fond of repetition. I extricate myself with an excuse of having to tend to important emails.
When I returned forty minutes later, the meeting is winding down and Gowri and Faisal are both asked to recite the alphabet. I can see, there is progress and although they continue to stumble, John and Mio offer them both affectionate hugs of encouragement. We are about to leave my dreaded cockroach-infested room and not a minute to soon. I am trying not to focus on money, but I do notice that Mio is collecting twenty dollars for the room
From me, even though the rate posted at the front desk is three dollars. I can see that the school is in need of money and I would prefer to make a proper donation rather than being forced to pay inflated prices on rooms.
Today, Mio had a nasty exchange with Faisal when she berates him for touching his digital camera with his sticky hands; hands that are still covered with mango juice residue. She takes away his camera for a while and Faisal is suddenly withdrawn. While the others are chanting songs atop the bus, Faisel sat in angry silence in lower cab. “Hey Faisel, you want some water?” I tried to engage him in conversation, but he refused to look at me. Mio and John tried to diffuse his anger by poking his underarm, but Faisal refused to budge, deflecting their affection with more angry notes of silence. Imagine how a young boy feels, being photographed while he is struggling to hold back his tears? Mio admitted that it was the first time she saw him cry and I felt my intrusive camera had contributed to that result.
We visited a small town, famous for producing leather and since there are no large factories in sight, we split into small groups and hunted for cottage industries that employ children. Faisal disappeared for a while, but when he turned up, he smelled like cigarettes. He was still slightly somber, so I decided to leave him alone to brood.
In the twilight hours, I chatted with Lakshmi a reserved eighteen -year old, budding sculptor who after one month of three- word chit, chat, she suddenly surprises me with command of the English language. Lakshmi’s early memories of domestic servitude, remind me of the stories I heard from Gowri. On one occasion, Lakshmi’s employer, whom she refers to as Auntie accused her of stealing valuable form her home. “Did you ever steal from her?” I asked. “Not really, Auntie was very bad lady.” Lakshmi held out her long slender forearms and showed me her faded scars and welts. “Auntie taught me how to steal, because she stole everything from me.” A lump swelled up in my throat, as I listened to her story. When Lakshmi was only seven she ran away from her employer, only to be picked up at the railway station by another abusive and wicked Auntie.
After several more runaways, a nun rescued Lakshmi and placed her in a Catholic school. Lakshmi didn’t last long in the Catholic school and at the age of thirteen, she entered the workforce as a sewer in a factory. When I asked how she eventually found her way to The Born Free Art School, her eyes lit up. “John Deveraj!” She paused after mentioning his name for dramatic effect. John and his group performed at her school and invited working students to join the Born Free Arts School. Lakshmi was awestruck: “Yes, I wrote down John’s phone number, because I knew he was a great man.” “Do you still believe he is a great man?” “Oh yes,” she smile. “He changed my life.”
