Over the years, people have come to realise that I'm a sucker for stories. So much so that I can't seem to ask a driver, maid or vendor how they are anymore, without them expectantly waiting for me to scribble notes. So the other day, when my regular vegetable vendor's son Raju stopped by with his horse cart, asked for water for his horse and sat down on the steps, I knew I was in for yet another story.
Raju is a Class XI student of science, studies through open school and lives with his mother in their village near Agra. Whenever his father has to go to the village to tend to their field, Raju comes to Delhi to take care of their horse and the vegetable vending business. "My father needed to spend a fortnight in the village to irrigate the fields, so here I am," he said. "But this time, I've also got another agenda. I want to buy a laptop for myself."
"I live in Agra, even though Delhi has better opportunities. But our land is there and my father can't afford to keep me here unless I work. Since I'm studying through open school, I feel I am not getting enough exposure," he said. Just then, a few more customers came, and Raju cleverly sweet-talked them into buying some relatively expensive peas. The minute they left, he resumed his monologue.
"With a laptop, I can be more like the boys in Delhi. They know so much more..." Raju said. How would a laptop help him, I asked. "Even though I live in a village near Agra, I could stay connected to people in Delhi and Mumbai with a laptop," he said. "Maybe then, I won't seem like a village yokel when I come to Delhi!" I told him his selling skills could put his father's skills to shame, but being better than his father didn't seem as important to him as did fitting in with his urban peers. Did he plan to use it to study, I asked. "First, I'd have to learn better English, as I'm currently studying in Hindi medium," he said. But he'd heard there was software available to help people like him learn to speak in English. "I want to use them, as not speaking English is a huge disadvantage in today's world," he said. Also, Raju wanted to check out online shopping. "My friends say one can get cheap shoes and jeans online," he said. "Maybe if I learn enough, I can sell vegetable online."
I was impressed by his hunger to make something of his life, even though he'd been deprived of things that urban kids his age often took for granted. "Please help me find a cheap laptop," he begged. I asked around, and the next day, when he came around, I mentioned that someone I knew was willing to sell his for Rs 10,000. "That's too expensive," he said ruefully. "I can only afford half that amount..." Every morning he'd ring the bell and hopefully ask if I'd found a cheaper laptop. Every morning, I'd have to disappoint him.
Two days ago, Raju came to say goodbye. "My father's back, so I'm going home. I'll return only around March, harvest time. Please see if you can find me a laptop by then," he said. As I watched his horse cart disappear round the corner, I wondered why the National Institute of Open Schooling does not include easy access to computers as part of its senior secondary programme. The internet today offers more learning opportunities than most schools anyway. Until it does, Raju and countless others like him, will continue to yearn for laptops as passports to a better life.
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