Child abuse is a frequently used phrase. But being in a country where illiteracy, poverty and hunger are in themselves a current evil, child abuse and its actual connotation don’t much see the light of the day.
Child abuse in simple words is mistreatment of children. The issue is anything but simple. Ill-treatment need not necessarily be confined to physical abuse. It goes far deeper than just bruises and broken bones. Mental torture and agony is another form of abuse. Most children who have been through abuse often go unnoticed because their scars are on the inside and cannot be noticed.
Children are heralded in all religions, across the globe, as being on par with God for they are so innocent and pure in the way they are. It is unfortunate that the world mercilessly destroys this innocence in a shocking number of children and young adults, at extremely tender ages.
In particular, sexual abuse is widespread. The Indian society has not yet evolved to an extent where they openly accept victims of rape or abuse, often asking them either to ‘put up with it’ or shunning them, disturbing the already disturbed. These cases often end in suicide.
I don’t want to state the statistics of how many children are abused in India in a minute, a day, or a year. As a matter of fact, it is very easily accessible, thanks to the internet and its database. But for me, the issue is much more prominent and personal than just clinically analysing it in numbers or stating it as part of a random survey.
These are real, living children. I was once as little as so many of them are now. I remember the security, the love and the peace. And I realise that they never had any of these.
A reliable source tells this story of a brilliant 16-year-old New Delhi girl who repeatedly complained that her mathematics teacher was “touching and fondling her private parts”. The upshot was a long way from what anybody bargained for. When the girl’s parents complained, the principal called them “regressive” and blamed them for damaging the school’s reputation. The girl now stays at home to help cook and clean, her school bag lying in a locked cupboard, her scholastic career over.
Personally, I have witnessed the abuse of a friend. Her father inhumanly abused her mother and then turned to her to unload his frustrations. When I met her, she would smile, and smile very often. But the smiles were always tinged with an underlying sadness. Her father’s infidelities and terrible behaviour had changed her from being carefree to someone who doubted her own capacity and her own worth. She would often talk to my friends and me and we could just tell her to answer back and not tolerate his abuse. We even approached a psychologist who could help her. Today, she is in the United States, working very hard in a course that she always wanted, and extremely happy with the way her life is. And I am glad I was a small part of her phenomenal story.
Many children don’t have such opportunities. They think it is a part of their lives and continue to accept it. They aren’t aware that if only they held out their hand, so many people would willingly and happily help them.
Being privileged as I am, I realise that I don’t have a very strong statement to make when I say ‘I understand what they must be going through.’ But I really do. It is just a matter of being human.
These children deserve much more than what they get. Much more than an abusive father, than purple bruises on their hapless bodies that seem to increase every time they gather enough strength to look into a mirror. Much more than the insipid acceptance of the society, or even worse, it’s stark rejection. Much more than just being fed and being sent to school and then being constantly condemned for not being perfect enough.
All children, I emphasise, need to be loved unconditionally. All children need to be cherished and held when they hurt, or consoled when they feel that they have no hope. They need to know that there is someone out there who really cares for them.
Don’t they?
