What would you not do for those you love?
Many a folk stray away to foreign lands – sacrificing past, present and future to provide for their Dependants.
Migrant workers are dime a dozen in the Mid East. Hired hands to build someone else’s desert into a developed country, some are well compensated while others are not. In this wilderness, more than often it is the latter case. Lowly paid workers in search of El Dorado, venture far away from what they call home.
And it does not take much to know their story; strike a conversation and you will get a moving life story. Have you ever spoken to a less fortunate migrant worker? Or are you too unconcerned to care? Or have you come across so much misery that it just does not matter anymore?
Strike a conversation with a ‘working class hero’ and the insight on political, social and cultural aspects, among other topics, is priceless. And if curiosity happens to be a weakness, you will be in for a healthy dose of information from the people – the hoi polloi.
It is said that if one is not grateful for all that they possess, think of those less fortunate. And true it is.
On one occasion, having found no other means of transport to haul me home, my stranded self had to avail the services of an ‘illegal’ taxi. Disguised as normal commuters, these wandering souls have a day job, or at least a job that their ‘sponsor’ is responsible for. And then there is there taxiing for which they answer to no one – as long as they are not caught by the police.
I have found in recent times that it is quite uncommon for being asked of your whereabouts: ‘where are you from?’. Birds of a feather flock together? Maybe. Or Maybe it is an ‘expat-thing’, or even just a ‘brown-thing’. Maybe it is a universal ice breaker. Nevertheless, works like a charm.
‘Bangladesh’, said the older gentleman. His eyes flickering about with just a little bit of nervousness. ‘And what about yourself?’, he asked.
‘Kashmir’, said I, with the ‘sitting-on-the-fence’ reply. Some would ask which side of Kashmir, and I would cheerfully ask ‘Does it matter?’.
The conversation quickly turned to my inquisitions about the life of general public in the Desh. And after a profoundly detailed reply encircling things that mattered, it was evident that regardless of where you are from the face of the Earth, fuel prices are always a concern.
Energy prices, the state of infrastructure, the ruling elite, the foreign forces that meddle with local politics, cost of living, educational woes, the horrible employer; the usual topics.
It was as if a window of time and space had opened and I could see; I could see Bangladesh.
For the common human being, it is all about the basics of life, even though that can be a highly subjective term: basics of life.
The extent to which a parent will go to provide the necessities of life their dependants knows no bounds. Regardless of whether that much sorted El Dorado was discovered or otherwise, the very best of whatever is affordable shall be made available.
A parent’s love is a parent’s love!