Arif Salman Kahn

This is twelve year old Arif Kahn. Arif has a story. I don’t know much of his story, and despite much prompting I’m struggle to discover it, but I’ll tell you what I do know. Arif can’t read or write, and he has never been to school. I asked him if he would like to go and I got neither a yes or no, he just said it had nothing to do with money, the usual reason; but his father died and he has to work. The shop is owned by his relatives and he works there from eight in the morning until nine at night. It’s not hard work, as like a lot of work in India; it involves sitting around waiting and trying to attract customers, in reality he’s lucky he’s not carrying loads or selling things. He is paid one thousand rupees a month, about fourteen pounds, and this is sent back to his mother. I tried to discover where that was but he didn’t seem keen on answering the question and I didn’t want to push him. His English is excellent and I never feel a need to grade my language like I do with many people. He doesn’t just work in an internet shop though, he runs the place and I’m constantly being told off for doing something wrong, despite his constant surveillance. 

But Arif’s life isn’t out of the ordinary in India. His is the story of millions of young boys, and even more so young girls. The one common factor being wealth, or lack of it, and although the finer details of the reasons may change, the poor of this new ‘Modern India’ don’t seem to be seeing much of the benefits the politicians and elites seem so keen to tell everyone about. The idea is that the wealth will trickle down and will eventually benefit everyone. The reality is that child labour, although in India it’s just called labour, is nothing out of the ordinary. Just ask Arif, who doesn’t complain about it, expect or ask for anything, but with a smile on his face he simply gets on with it. He isn’t suffering enough so his face won’t appear on the celebrity career building Comic Relief or on sponsorship forms or any of that other bullshit people do in the west to give themselves some self-satisfied feel good, and to convince themselves that they’re ‘doing their bit’. His story is just about the reality of life in India and across the developing world too. There’s no point giving him pity or getting sentimental as it will achieve nothing, and that’s not my aim. I just wanted you to be aware of this one cool little boy and his life, and to just ask you to give him a moments thought before getting on with your own life.  

A Magical Land

There once was a magical land full of adventure and insanity, where people wanted to know your name and which country you came from. In this land animals freely roamed the streets, some holy and some less so. The people here were inherently good; young and old would offer assistance to strangers in need of help, and happy smiling children would always be ready to play; fun and games were never far off. This was the type of land where you could get anything as anything was possible. There were stalls selling an array of sweet foods, fried foods and spicy foods; the finest silks, the purest wools and the shiniest of gold’s. This was a diverse land, an enormous kingdom made up of many different territories and states, all living side by side in harmony, each with their own unique cultures, traditions and landscapes. There were many different gods in this land too, and like the different lands the followers of these gods had in time learnt to live side by side. Many have tried to travel this land and while some have succeeded, leaving with the most unique of gifts and stories of the wildest of adventures; others have consciously succumbed to its addictive charms like the sirens on the rock. 

For you see; had it’s darker side, and no matter how much pretence there is on the surface, where for some it was all shanti and Shiva, for others it was a land full of conmen incessantly wanting to know if you needed any assistance, but only at a price. Here the finest of silks, purest of wools and shiniest of gold’s were not always as they appeared and the sweet foods, fried foods and spicy foods could often lead you to spend more time over the toilet than exploring the place you had come to see. This was a land of holy men who didn’t always practice what they preached and less holy men who practiced anything but what they preached; their beliefs and sermons serving only their own agenda and their purse. In this land despite there being much potential for wealth and equality, there was much suffering for there was a breed of people who took more than their fair share, leaving the scraps of whatever was left over for the rest to fight over like dogs. And while this land could offer you the most beautiful of landscapes, from rolling valleys and mountain ranges, to white sandy beaches and blue waters, it could also offer you dirt, human faeces and squalor. This land had everything, but nothing at the same time; it was humanity stripped bare.

There once was a wanderer who entered this kingdom, this magical land. He thought very highly of himself and his achievements; a great traveller he believed himself to be. At first; all was easy and as he discovered the valleys and the fruit growing on the trees he believed he had entered paradise. This land was his own Garden of Eden and he could not understand all the stories he had heard of the hardships of such a beautiful place. One day though, he took it for granted and having become too confident he picked the fruit from the trees. Now that fruit was bad and it made him very ill, it pushed him to the very edge of his own existence. From that moment on his Eden died and in time he saw not only the place for what it was but also himself too. He survived but he came out of it a shell; like the land he too had been stripped bare, little of his former self-confidence and ease of life remaining. In time though he fought out of the darkness and while little remained of his Eden; what he now saw was the same as before but with clarity. This land had revealed itself to him, and in the process had shown him who and what he really was, good and bad. He knew then what he was capable of and what it was he really wanted. This land had taken everything, but then given everything in return.

And while this magical kingdom would only ever be the stuff of myths and legends for most, for those who chose to walk it’s sacred soil it was known as the land of India. For this land still exists and is thriving as a result of all it’s benefits and despite all it’s problems. In this place; good and bad is merged into one and you will see whichever one you choose to look for. If you embrace it; it will embrace you. You will become one with this land and all it’s good bits and all it’s bad bits will be merged with all yours too, just slightly more powerfully than can be comfortable for some. You love this place or you don’t, and if you fight it and challenge it; it will destroy you. For India is an unforgiving place; where it is tough to survive and even tougher to let go once you have. Once you become part of India, and it becomes part of you; it enters you just as much as you enter it. In reality India is indescribable and for that reason you have to see it to believe it. While stories are merely words put in a particular order; experiences are real and unforgettable, for better or worse. India is no normal land; it will always be something different for whoever enters, but one thing you can be sure of is that it is a special place, a truly magical land.