L is only seven. Or so it seems. But she seems far older. She is different from the other kids in her class. Different because she cannot say something. She cannot say who her parents are. She never knew them. They died before she could know them. Mother died minutes after giving her life. Father died a few months later. Both could have lived. Both could have settled in a less remote village.

Both were miles away from the nearest hospital when they got sick. Both never made it. Both never had a chance. Little L will understand that some day when she grows up. She will grow up and understand much more than the others in her class. I just know it. I can see it in her eyes. I can understand it in her smiles. And she is only seven.

Seven years is a long time for anyone to be on their own. L will perhaps be on her own for much longer than that. But not if two kind old ladies can help it. She lives with her grandmother, who is herself struggling to make ends meet. She attends a school nearby run by a kind lady who provides her books and uniforms as well as the regular hug. She is a small child in a small class in a small school with a big heart.

Modesty prevents me from naming her guardian angels. All I can tell you is that they would prefer to carry on with their work as quietly as they began it. They will help and support L as long as they are able to. I admire them. I really do. It takes a lot to bring up a child in a world where nobody really cares anymore. A world where nobody really matters anyway. Least of all a child; last of all, nobody's child.

Nobody can understand a child as well as those fortunate to have one. One they can have and hold and call their own. One they have changed endless diapers for, and one who has changed and grown before their eyes. One who has changed them every time it looked into their eyes.

One for whom they dream countless dreams. One for whom they spend countless dreamless, sleepless nights. One they will watch over and never really let go. One who will always be a part of them. No matter how near or far or big or small they seem.

It would seem that adults are more understanding and less difficult than children. It is quite apparent they were not born yesterday. It would appear that they had outgrown their puerile games and make-believe worlds. It would seem that they had stopped playing with fire and other inflammable objects. They are such bad pretenders. All of them. Almost each and every one.

One of the biggest pretensions of our times is that of character and integrity. We pretend to be and stand for something as long as it suits us. And then we walk away and stand somewhere else cooler. Another game we commonly play is one of one-upmanship and bringing down ship. It does not matter if everyone aboard sinks to the bottom.

Everybody wants to play god, king, and super hero. Nobody wants to play fair or safe. Everyone wants a bigger, better toy. No one knows how to switch it off. Everybody wants a piece of the pie. Nobody quite knows the recipe. Everyone wants more and more, and no one settles happily for anything less. No one really cares if we throw a tantrum or not. Everyone throws one anyway; everyway; most of the time.

Most of the time, we just sit on the fence and watch the world pass us by. Other times, we peep through a Keynesian hole and wonder why we haven't made a bigger opening through to the other greener side. At all times, when the chips are down, we all chip in - only to carry a chip each on one's shoulders. We are a land of overgrown babies forever crying over spilt milk. And step mothers in far away places could never really understand or care what the fuss was all about.

To care is to share. To share is to grow. To grow is to understand. To understand is to find a way. Even if it involves the swallowing of vain pride and other prejudices that come with it. Even if it means saying just one kind word to those not of our kind. Even if it means lowering our walls and barriers to create some living, breathing room for lower classes and denominations.

Even if it means coming out of the cold and coming of age. And age is something that always catches up with us. No matter how hard we play hide and seek with it. No matter how many roles and characters and games we play.

All work and no play makes jack a dull boy. All unfair play and no work has made Manipur a dismal state. A state neither here nor there. A state stuck in the middle of nowhere. A state with plenty to talk about, and nobody to think twice about. Least of all its children; last of all, its future. It is just as well Children's day is on a Sunday.

Everyone can at least say that school is closed for a genuine reason. No one can lead children to burn faded books or hold up jaded banners. Everyone can take a break and leave those kids alone. Even kidnappers and molesters and other murdering creatures. Or so I would like to believe. Its Sunday anyway. Go take the kids out anyway. Just make sure it's the right way.