I was there for an orphanage, although they don’t like being called that. About two years ago, I went to the film premiere for “Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them” with my friend Brian. J.K Rowling was the speaker on behalf of her organization Lumos. We learned about the dangers of orphanages and the trauma they can give to children. This was apart of my initial reason for saying no. I made an oath that day to never support an orphanage, but to instead support local organizations that can help keep families together.
But here I was, standing at the gates of an orphanage. A vow I had broken as quickly as I had made it. I was there to photograph what I imagined to be starving and frail children with deep emotional scars from trauma. I had read their biographies a few months prior at the fundraiser. I had to stop because my stomach couldn’t take it anymore. One girl’s parents tried to drown her. Another boy was taken to the woods and left there to die. The people of the neighborhood know where to bring abandoned and abused children, a name you can say to any auto rickshaw driver and he will understand.
“Take me to Happy Home”
The children surrounded our rickshaw the same as the street kids. “Sister”, they called me here. A term of endearment I had learned to adore. Sue was called “auntie”, a sign of respect for their elder. The carried me by hand. A tray of Chai tea and a platter of fruit was waiting for us. I panicked. I read all the warnings before my trip. Never accept food. Never eat outside your hotel. Never drink water. But here, these sweet faces were so excited to greet me and show me their hospitality. I waited for them to turn their back for long enough for me to throw my tea over my shoulder. But of course, there hospitality just brought me another when they saw my empty cup.
The kids spoke English, they wore clean clothes of the most vibrant colors. The girls hair was perfectly braided and everyone had perfect little smiles. It was hard to photograph them candidly, they would catch me with my camera and instinctually strike a typical Indian pose; one hand or one finger on their cheek (even the two year old). They wanted to play, thats all. None stop. Play, laugh, dance. It was almost like freeze tag. They would be running up the slide, swinging on a swing, playing with a stick in the dirt. The second I pointed my camera, STOP, pose, carry on.
There were about 20 girls and 2 boys, ranging from the ages of 2 to 16. The yard that was once filled with laughing children was empty now. I wondered where all the kids had gone. A little hand grabbed me by mine and took me to the prayer room. I went to step in and she stopped me. “Sister” she pointed to my feet. There were no shoes in the prayer room, but there was a TV.
More than 20 kids of all ages were watching and laughing at a Hindi movie. There was no fighting over the remote, no arguing what channel to put on. They just watched in harmony attentively and I watched them. It seemed so easy for children of so many ages to work, live, and play together so peacefully, its still hard for me to understand.
“Do you know any American movies?” FROZEN! That was it. They knew all the words to all of the songs. “Do you listen to any American music?” They shook their heads no. After a few minutes of questioning, they knew only two people. Justin “BYEber” and Donald Trump.
As soon as the topic of Trump came up, I wished it hadn’t. “He doesn’t like us.” It wasn’t a question. But then another asked “but why doesn’t he like Indians.” I had gone from a recital of Frozen to a conversation on racism with children in two minutes. How do you tell innocent children who have so much goodness that there are adults who are scared of them. Adults like me, only the day before, who fear a child.
I didn’t have an answer, but lucky for me with children the easiest way to get out of a conversation is simply to say “who wants to dance?”
“Kala Chashma” They knew every step, even the boys. They’re scars were invisible to the eye.
They were happy kids in this Happy Home.
