Kesare is a slum in Mysore, one among the many that dot the city. Though the city has grown all around it and prospered, the conditions in this pocket have not changed. Narrow lanes, thatched roof huts, dogs, chicken, cows and children - clad, half clad, all jostling for a space of their own.

At 6 in the evening, Kesare is like a beehive disturbed. The men returning home from work, women planning the evening meal, mothers screaming for their children to get back home, cattle making their way to their resting place. Having grazed all day, they are unmindful of the human anxieties. The smokes from the fires settle down like a mist of a Summer morning, masking the activity to the outside world.

Blissfully ignorant of the din outside, were the twenty odd residents of the slum who had assembled in Nasreen's home, a dwelling place no different from the other hutments in Kesare. The assemblage of the 6 to 14 year olds was a tight fit. But the discomfort had not diminished the sense of purpose. Nasreen's home was a home turned Pratham school, every evening. The dim electric lamp that hung above, cast shadows on the books in front. But the bright faces that had come to learn, more than made up for this.

In comparison to the children who went to the regular school in the mornings, there was sluggishness in their body movement. Not because of any illness, but because their energies were drained by toiling through the day. Every child was a bread earner to their respective family and was there after a hard days work.

Reshma was one among the twenty. Unmindful of the visitors, she was enjoying a joke with her friends. That's "Reshma, sir" announced Nasreen. She is the best pupil in the class and she has not absented herself even a single day. Reshma seemed to enjoy the attention.

Reshma is the eldest child to her parents. Her mother had died when she was only eight and her father Rehman had not married again. The burden of a household fell on the slender shoulders of Reshma. Imran, her youngest brother was only two years when the joys of her childhood were suddenly snatched away from her. Reshma was not just an elder sister, but had become a mother too, to the siblings.

Reshma's day began much before a soul stirred in Kesare. Water being a scarce commodity, had to be collected before the other residents arrived with their pots and pans at the public tap. What an adult could carry in one vessel, Reshma had to make several trips for the same quantity. She had to pack food for her father who worked in a distant factory, feed her brothers before they left for school and contain Imran from crawling away, especially towards the fireplace. The blisters from a previous mishap had not healed completely.

If Reshma's attendance at the school was one hundred percent, it was because school was her only window to the outside world. Meeting her friends, laughing and playing for the brief moments before her family duties summoned her. Those brief moments were her only lifeline to a lost childhood.

She will soon grow up, carting along greater travails, unknown, unsung, ultimately disappearing into oblivion. But in my heart, Reshma will always remain fresh and alive, a symbol of suffering and endurance.

-- By Ashvini Ranjan