As thousands upon thousands men, women and children -young and old, some barefoot, some on bicycles, some on hand carts and some lucky ones on trucks, buses and trains return to their homes, a heartless government, a purblind administration, a punishing police force, and a gutless people watch in awe and helplessness. Writer-artist Gurleen Kaur sketches a face capturing the pain of the poor who are migrants in their own country.  WSN invites you to see the face in the painting. Is it a man or is it a woman or a child or an elderly person? It is everyone’s face. See it closely and share the agony.

E M FORSTER IN HIS NOVEL ‘PASSAGE TO INDIA’ describes the month of April as the herald of horrors.  He was only describing the heat. May 2020 India is Mayhem May for the teeming millions marching back home under the scorching sun, asking the question, “Am I not a part of India?” Which India have I have been living in so far?

The mother with the baby in her arms, the rickshaw puller with his son sleeping on the belongings-filled seat, the sister dragging her sibling on a mobile suitcase, the 15-year old Jyoti Kumari cycling 1200 km with her ailing father on the pillion, the son carrying her old mother in arms pricks your conscience, mocks you and asks, “Am I not a human being? Why are my human rights being neglected?

Worries add years to a person’s personality. The painfully expressive eyes show the shades of depression. While Mayhem May continues, are these -the poorest of poor -the children of a lesser God -as some describe them -are they worried about the COVID-19 pandemic?

The wrinkled skin and lines of physical weakness, the dark patches below the eyes bespeak of the dark web of worries of life. I ashamedly recall that the Punjab which once waited for migrant labour at railway stations, virtually waiting to poach them before they are picked up by others. Now, there is no work -either in the fields or in the factories. Overnight, following a series of lockdowns, the curtain of greed has befallen people. Now, we silently watch them leave Punjab, virtually unconcerned.

When on March 25, the ‘Janata Curfew’ of 21 days was announced, migrant workers found themselves helpless with no jobs, no money, no food and no transportation. Some stay put where they were at the mercy of good Samaritans and Guru ka Langar for food, and some at the blind mercy for food and shelter of whatever kind from ill-functioning government helplines.

Those who did not have the patience started their long walk home. On foot. Blistering heat. No footwear. No food. No water. No direction. No assistance. Only hope and the baton-wielding, kicking inhumane police force. The whole scenario in pictures and videos is dehumanising.

I wondered, ‘what’s the use of that technology and advancement that we boast of which died-off so quickly and couldn’t even withstand the disease for a few days at least to help those migrants reach their places safely? Air flights for the rich and famous -some secretive and some announced and nothing for the poor! How can we be so inhuman? It really pains me.

Is the government deaf and blind? It disgusts me that the government, the bureaucracy, the media, the social media warriors -all failed the kids and children crying for food and water.

When I heard Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi saying that India is ahead of many countries in the fight against Covid19, I thought, ‘Wait a minute, Is this not an illusion?

The poor say to TV cameras, “it’s better to die of the disease than dying of hunger.” Another illusion adding another ‘feather in the cap’ of state governments, with some exceptions like West Bengal and Kerala, is the setting up of makeshift camps for migrants, where social-distancing is thrown to the winds, increasing the risk of infection.

Financially-starved state governments allowing the opening of liquor shops and the police and other law enforcement agencies looking the other way in enforcing physical distancing shows the shallowness of rules and regulations.

The cops of Badaun in Uttar Pradesh have shamed us no end. Instead of helping migrants, the police brutally punished them for breaking the rules of the lockdown. As I watched a video where a worker while telling his story said that it was even more difficult because of rain that they faced on the way, I felt so shameful and had tears of embarrassment as those days I was enjoying those rains, in the comfort of my home.

This embarrassment provided me with an insight into the depth of pain behind that face in my sketch.

See the sketch closely. Again. Can you share the pain and do something about it?