North India Statesman
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While living in Canada, I never go to eat in restaurants because the educated boys and girls of my country are not forced or exploited to work as deaf people in restaurants. But one day I had to take a pill. The housewife, hiding from her son, said, “It is the boy's wedding anniversary.” The kids want to go to a restaurant for dinner. If they ask you to go with them, don't say no. Even though I didn't want to, I agreed to go. Son knows my nature that I keep asking boys and girls in parks, plazas and other places about their state and district.
Did you get the job or not?
The soul trembles after listening to the painful story of those children. While leaving the house, the housewife warned me that children say that one should not ask any questions to deaf and dumb children in restaurants. The son also got scared and asked me not to ask any questions. I said yes to him but it was beyond my power to do so.
As soon as we sat down on the chairs at the restaurant, a very tall and beautiful girl placed the restaurant menu on our table and, speaking in broken English, asked us to order and went to get jugs and glasses of water. My mind was baffled after seeing those educated young men and women at the tables around me, who do not even keep a porter at home, but keep roaming here and there with empty utensils. Seeing all this I had no choice but to die.
Before ordering food, the son and daughter-in-law consulted among themselves and ordered soup. Seeing us carrying empty bowls of soup, I want to snatch the empty bowls from that poor girl and say to her, 'Daughter, why are you burdening us?' We kept these utensils but considering my son's happiness as paramount and staying within the limits of the restrictions imposed by him, I remained silent. After some time she came to place the plates of food as per the given order. It was becoming very difficult for him to carry food utensils. I didn't leave. I took the utensils from her and said, “Daughter, leave them and hand them over to me.” I asked him his province and district. He belonged to a Punjabi farmer family from Rajasthan. She is pursuing post graduation degree after B.Com from a college in Canada. I wanted to ask the girl more but for the sake of my son I had to remain silent.
I remained silent but could not swallow the bread. I told my wife that I was not well and asked her to go home and eat bread. The son came home and said, “Papa, our hearts feel sad seeing these boys and girls doing such deaf work, but no work is small or big in this country.” You have to come here and do everything.” I did not respond to my son's statement, but I definitely thought that if I have to do such work myself, then I know whether the work is big or small.
I slept without eating bread. Coincidentally one day I met that girl in a park near my house. I was playing with my grandson and she was crying. We both recognized each other. I was about to ask her something when she told me, “Uncle, I live in your street and I used to see aunty and you coming and going.” I asked her, “Daughter, you seem to be from Punjab, but how did you get related to the farmer family of Rajasthan?” He said, “Uncle, we are from Firozpur district of Punjab, but our elders were from land purchased in Rajasthan. I asked her, “Daughter, you are from such an educated and good family, then why do you work in a restaurant?” She started saying, “Uncle, who has the heart to do all this?” The family had invested twenty-five lakh rupees and sent it here. I came to know how difficult life is after coming here. This will have to be done on a case-by-case basis to arrive at fees.
I told her, “Daughter, I should have found another job other than this.” The girl said, “Uncle, thank you, I got this job, I don't know when they will fire me.” If the restaurant owner sees you talking to someone, he asks you not to come the next day. I was afraid to talk to you. It's the kids next to us who gossip about the restaurant owner to keep the kid next to him.
I asked him about his salary. I knew that they are exploited even in paying salaries. He replied, “Uncle, the government rate is $17 per hour but these restaurants do not pay more than $10. They take advantage of our helplessness. They save our taxes by giving us cash salaries.” Willing to work for eight dollars.
That girl's words seemed to me as if she had put a coin in my ears. All I could say to that daughter was, “Daughter, if you ever have any problem, feel free to come to my house.” Those who draw pictures of development to get votes should come to Canada and see the condition of the children of their country.
