By Geraldine Bane
At Mumbai Central Station
In the middle of Bombay
Thousands of weary passengers
Trod through there night & day
There are more than one hundred stations
dotted through this city
That are home to countless children
who live in hope of scraps & pity
As the passengers just ignore him
A young boy makes his way
To mingle through the crowd
& earn his pittance for the day
He came here many years ago
He was just six or seven
Believing that Mumbai
Could be his ‘Bollywood’ heaven
Now Siraj is ten years old
This station is his home
His kin made up of other kids
His bed is made of stone
Siraj is one of 11 million children
Who in India are in need of care
Many you’ll find in stations
With that gaunt & haunting stare
Dressed in rags & barefoot
With nothing to his name
To criminals & to predators
These children are ‘fair game’
Sweeping floors & begging
Make up most of Siraj’s day
& sometimes he shines the shoes
of rich Indian men who pay
Once a lady threw herself
In the path of a coming train
Police made Siraj gather her bones
For a measley monitary gain
There are moves to take them off the rails
But the problem is so vast
That India’s railway children
Have become their countries poorest caste