the face of millions

a child against a window, tied to the bars, unable to move. I don't know what is about this picture that conjures such strong emotions in me. More than anything else it must be the look in his eyes. What does that look say? I have stared and stared for some time now and yet I am unable to fathom the depth and variety of emotions that brim those young, innocent eyes. Surely those eyes look at the photographer and plead to be let free, or is it something much deeper than that. Does he realize his predicament and the circumstances that lead him to his prison.
Speculation is all I have, and honestly enough speculation is all I want. I do not want to know the truth, may it be mundane or not. Does the mother tire of the young kid running about and disturbing her daily work, and then tie him up to rid herself of the nuisance for a little relief. Is this the impoverished version of day care.
Why is the child not in school, is he of age.
He clutches his bonds and stares. It is as much the sadness in his eyes that ask these questions as the look on his face I imagine if he were running unbound in the fields, doing his mischief without a care, disturbing his mother, unaware of the burden that presses his family to the ground, and grinds them to a slow and painful end.
A part of me wishes it is not so, and just mere punishment for some childish act he has committed. Surely one could perceive a hint of guilt in those young eyes. That I know I did wrong but the punishment just does not fit the crime look.
Maybe it is true, and I am taking the whole scenario too seriously. It is just minor punishment dealt by authority for some minor misdeed. If it were so then I suppose there is not much matter of concern here except for a child's momentary sorrow and discomfort.
I cannot however let go of this feeling, this feeling that gnaws at my insides and seeks more from the image. An image that in a lot of ways stands as a symbol for the nation, and the people, the youth, individual lives not unlike mine. The list is endless to be honest. The list of people, places and things that are tied to their spots, at the mercy of time and tide.
No where is this more poignant than in a country where a lack of opportunity stifles growth, and the stagnancy of the general environment causes scum at the top, disease, rot, and a myriad of monstrosities that lie hidden under the surface. And amidst it all our child stands tied to a spot, watching, unable to act, but able to watch, as frustration, anger, regret, hate slowly seep the energy out of his soul.
this then is the face of a child, a child who without his own knowledge has allowed the photographer to capture an analog without equal in this time. a picture that when zoomed in shows an entire country, its people, the chains that hold these people, and indeed the pain of being bound.
The definition of freedom is a much debated issue, and clear cut answers are rarely available. The quest for freedom though is ever present with human beings searching for their own singular versions. The love of freedom too in the majority of us is something which we could agree to. But freedom itself can be very limiting. Freeing this child would allow him to run around and do whatever he is being kept from, and that is freedom for him. Freedom for the youth may mean riots in the streets, or art on the streets. Freedom of speech may mean dissent of oppression, or dissent of humanity and civic sense. Freedom of action may mean benevolent acts beyond imagination or crime.
There always seems to be a down side, always two sides to the coin. The sadness of the face belies the trouble its freedom would cause. And in this process of confining and binding there always is innocence that is supressed, truth that is swept beneath the carpet along with the lies.
Human beings on themselves, families on its members, and society on its families always impose these rules, these chains. As we grow up we lose our abilities to show emotions on our faces like this young child. The calluses grow harder and harder, and one day we just cannot really feel what is inside us, either that or we have learnt that it is not worth doing so.
We learn to live with these chains, that allow us enough leeway, enough loose rope so it does not drain us completely, or drive us to breaking point, yet keep us bound. If we could only take lesson from this face, and relearn to feel, maybe we could inspire us to break these bonds.
What became of this child I wonder. I earnestly hope whatever that kept him tied to the window was some minor detail, some minor error, something small, well suited for his stature. I hope that when he is unbound, he although may lash out at his mother, will eventually sleep in those arms, content and at peace. But more than anything else, I hope that when he grows, and the chians that bind him grow stronger, difficult to break because they cannot be seen, difficult to get sad or mad at, because they are not tangibly present, I hope that when it is so, he has the courage to break away, and the strength to deny the solace that those bonds provide.
it is said that a picture is worth a thousand words, and this might be worth even more.
Maybe not these, but others that you may think of, words that come of your own personal bonds.