PROFILE OF STUDENTS IN THE BACK TO SCHOOL PROGRAMME

Dhanalakshmi is eleven years old. She worked as a housekeeper in Madanapalle, in a family with political connections. She was employed to cook the meals for the family, clean house, and wash clothes in exchange for three meals a day, two pairs of clothing and Rs. 150 per month. She was well fed but the clothes were not always new.

Dhanalakshmy is still disturbed when she remembers that she did not receive proper medical attention from her employers instead was scolded when the heel of her foot hurt badly and she could not work.

Thettu, the largest village in the valley is where Dhanalakshmy lived with her mother and two siblings, in a small house on the village outskirts, in its Dalit quarters. She has barely had a childhood; even as a small girl she remembers that she had to work hard to collect the small bundle of firewood used to cook the household meal. The family is obviously very poor. There was no mention of the father, and the burden of earning a living falls on the mother, who must work very hard, for she is never at home and will not send her elder daughter to school. Dhanalakshmy says her hit her sometimes when the bundle of twigs she brought home was too small.

The young gild joined the Rishi Valley Back to School Programme in September 2002. Having never been to school before, she was totally illiterate when she came. In six months, however, she has finished four levels of the Kit and reads and writes at grade five levels. She enjoys school, the freedom to play and not work. Her ambition is to be a teacher. Where? I asked. Here, she replied nodding her head in a happy gesture.

Dhanalakshmy was the first of four children sitting in a row on a mat on the floor. The other three were boys; they seemed to form a separate group, with a strapping young lad of eleven, Anjalappa in the centre. Two seven-year-old waifs flanked him. The tiny, bright-eyed Kondappa, sat to his right and to his left, with his head on Anjalappa's lap, was the sleepy Manohara. Anjapappa seemed to be father, friend and mentor to the other three.

Kondappa's family is from Punganoor. He is not sure why his parents came to Angallu. The family scrapes by selling bangles, and aluminum utensils in interior villages; they also repair broken umbrellas and locks. Kondappa lives in a little lean to at Angallu - animatedly he drew me a map with his fingers of the location of his house in relation to the main bus stand. He wants to be a doctor when he grows up. 'In the village?' I asked. 'No,' he insisted, 'elsewhere.'

Manohara was almost asleep by the time his turn came to speak. He told his story half awake, with much whispered help from Anjalappa. Manohara lived with his grandfather somewhere in Angallu. He does not really have a home. His parents are itinerant peddlers who have disappeared; nobody knows where they are. His mother is reported to have gone out to buy besan flour and not returned. The father went out in search of her; but neither returned. Manohara's sister wept when she heard the news, the teacher who accompanied the children told me. 'But this child does not understand the implications of what has happened.' Manohara was indentured for a while with a family who paid Rs. 300 per month per annum to graze their sheep.

The little boy's memory is bad; he has not been able to finish class one. Perhaps he is not seven years old, after all.

Anjalappa seems to be sturdiest of the three boys I talked with that day. He spoke very clearly while keeping an eye on the two young boys who were with him. He was enrolled at the Thettu School but following a beating from his teacher he quit and was hired by a family to graze cattle. They promised the family Rs. 4000 per annum, but broke the understanding and gave them only Rs. 1000. They treated him well; the food was good, but the work hard.

Anjalappa wants to be a policeman. 'Why'? I asked. 'Because the police guard against liquor and theft.'