'Randi!'

In the fourth month of my class with ragpicker children, named Sahriday 'Balwadi' or children's centre to distinguish it from an actual school, we are still grappling with the term 'Randi!', meaning 'Whore!', the favourite term of abuse among two, three, five and six year olds.

They listened to me with wide-eyed attention the very first time I told them it was a bad word and must not be used in class. along with other, worse ones. However, every few minutes, there would be small fights like minor cracker explosions among the kids, with 'Randi!' being bandied about like crazy. It appeared that this particular term was very dear, that it tripped off their tongues almost without their knowing, since it was so natural for them to utter.

My assistant Laxmi and I did manage to make some breakthrough in the weeks of June and July. The older kids began to look shame-faced if they were caught using the word in class. We began meting out punishment. Any child who said 'Randi!' in class was promptly sent home and had to miss play time, or whatever we were doing that day. A whole culture began developing of informers - "He said 'Randi!'", and "She said 'Randi!'" became common complaints that we had to sift through with care. How could we send everyone home? "Did you just say it?" we would ask, towering above the erring child, who looked at us defiantly, while a host of voices around us confirmed, "He did!" "She did!" or, occasionally, "No, she didn't! It was Rushna!"

'Randi!' became more familiar to me and Laxmi than it had ever been in all our adult lives. Sometimes, we would turn from a mild scold to a child and hear him/her mutter, 'Randi!'. "Haven't these children learnt any other way to describe a woman?" Laxmi would sometimes ask, with equal disgust and despair.

And now we are in September, and our class has a blackboard, and is approaching the shores of civilisation. In a discussion about the children's occupation of rag-picking, we talk to them about the different zones for groups of rag-pickers within the town, and learn from them the importance of territory. "Ok, suppose you find some people from Shehenwa (across town) in your area, picking among the trash, what do you do?" I ask them.

"We fight!" says one. "We say 'Randi!'" says another.

The class erupts in full-throated laughter.

That is how far we have come. Turned the near-constant abuse and frustration they have inherited from their parents' speech into a source of humour. Small blessings, but they feel good to us.