``Child labour...'' But I wasn't listening to her any more. I had rolled back eight years. A 17-year-old, just back from college. "Kavitaaaa... Get me a glass of water." "And put that bag on the table," added my cousin pointing to her schoolbag lying next to her on the sofa, as the girl how old was she then? At the most 14 appeared with a glass of water. "Why couldn't you get another glass? Could have saved you another trip to the kitchen, dumbo," snapped my cousin. My cousin was 13.

I wasliving with an aunt those days. Kavita was the household help. Help? Heck, she literally ran the household, with bits of "help" from everybody else, including my librarian aunt. Ge-tting up early in the morning, storing water, making umpteen cups of morning tea, preparing different breakfast menus for different members of the family, doing the dishes, cleaning the huge three-bedroom house, washing all clothes of the five-member family (including me).

By the time she was finished with these chores, my cousin and I would be back. And then would begin for her another burst of work. ``Kavita, go to the market and get some lead for my drawing pencil.'' My cousin. ``And pick up two notebooks for me from the same store.'' Me. ``And since you are going that side, get some golgappas packed for us as well.'' My cousin. ``And then we will have some hot coffee.'' Me. And when she was finished ``slaving'' for us teenagers, she would have to prepare for that tedious tea session for my back-from-office aunt and uncle andan endless string of guests.Then, of co-urse, there was dinner to be cooked and served, dishes to be done, beds to be made.

Snap. I was back. ``How many times have we actually listened to our conscience and thought about the wrongs we might be doing?'' My colleague was still rattling on. How may times indeed? ``It is very easy to blame others.''

Heck! That's precisely what I was doing. Thinking it was all my aunt's fault. After all, I didn't employ Kavita, did I? Yeah. But surely she didn't employ Pinki. Pinki is the chirpy chatterbird who does the washing and cleaning for me. How old is she? Sixteen? Seven-teen? I don't know. How would I know? She was good at her work and honest, and that is what mattered. But the fact is, I never really bothered. I never ``cared'' enough to bo-ther. But why would I? Everybody does it. What's so wrong with it?

``What makes it worse is our attitude. That holier-than-thou attitude of a journalist. And we sit here in this big office and talk big, write big...'' Mycolleague's voice rang in my ears.

Engaging in child labour is a crime. We were taught that in civics books in school. The textbooks also mentioned that primary education should be a fundamental right of every child. But of course these underprivileged kids who never go to school would never know that. I watched the around-11-year-old boy come up with another round of tea and go from table to table.

The woman, our senior, who had failed to put the kid in school, was shaking her head, mumbling, "If it was in my hands, I would have made sure all children went to school."

This kid had a right to go to school. So did Kavita, so did Pinki. Just like my 16-year-old brother back in Delhi, preparing for his boards and umpteen engineering entrances, each costing more than double these kids' monthly pay.