Hello and welcome guys today in this article I am going to explain you a question ” Summary Of The Lost Spring ” which is taking From the section ” Lost Spring ” of class twelfth . I trust you read this cautiously.
Question :- Summary Of The Lost Spring class ?
Answer :- ” Summary Of The Lost Spring ” . In this lesson, ” Summary Of the Lost Spring ” the writer gives us a glimpse into the life of two different communities :
(1 ) The poor rag pickles who have migrated from Bangladesh and have settled in Seemapuri, an Area on the Periphery of Delhi ;
(2) The poor bangles maker who have been living for generation in the town of Firozabad.
Summary Of The Lost Spring :- ( 1 ) The ragpickles of Seemapuri :-
The writers sees a boy named Saheb every morning in his neighbourhood. The boy looks for some coins or other things in the garbage heaps. Saheb left his home in Dhaka long ago. His home was in the midest of Green fields. But there were many storms. The homes and fields of these people were swept away. So they left their land in search of food and came to the big city of Delhi
Seeing, saheb probing the garbage dumps, the writer ask him, ” why do you do this ? ” .
” I have nothing else to do ,” says saheb and look away. ” Go to school ,” says the writer in a kindly manner.
” There is no school in my neighborhood . When they built one , I will go. ”
” If I start a school , will you come ? ” says the writer , half- joking .
” Yes ,” Sahib says , smiling broadly .
A few days later , Saheb sees the writer and comes running to her . “Is your school ready ? ” He Asks.
” It takes longer to build a school ,” says the writer. She feels small at having made a promise that was not meant .
After months of knowing him , the writer ask him his name . ” saheb-e- Alam ,” says the boy . He does not know what it means — Lord of universe . Unaware of what his name means , he roams the street with his friends . They are all barefoot boys who appear like the morning birds and disappear at noon . Over the months the writer comes to recognise each of them .
In other to know more about these ragpickles , the writer visit Seemapuri which is a place on the Periphery of Delhi . Those who live here migrated from Bangladesh in 1971 . Saheb’s family is among them . Seemapuri was then a wilderness . But now it is the home of 10,000 ragpickles . They live in structures of muds , with roofs of tin and tarpaulin. They have no seaways , drainage or running water . They have lived here for more than 30 years without an identity . But they have ration card to get their names on voter’s lists . Ration card enable them to buy grain also . Food is more important than an identity . The writer sees a group of women in tattered saries . She ask them when they left their beautiful land of Green Fields and rivers. The woman says ,” if we can feed our families and go to bed without and aching stomach , we would rather live here then in the fields that gives us no grain .
Whenever they find food which their tents and start living in them . Children grow up in them , becoming partners in Survival . And survival in Seemapuri means ragpicking . Garbage to them is Gold . It is their daily bread . It gives them a roof over their heads , even if it is a leaking roof . But for a child , it is even more .
” I sometimes find a Rupee , even a 10 rupee note ,” Saheb says his eyes lighting up . When a child find a silver coin in a heap of garbage , he doesn’t stop probing , for there is hope of finding more . For children , garbage has a meaning different from what it means to their parents . For them , it is a wonderland ; for their elders , it is a means of Survival .
One winter morning , the writers sees Saheb standing by the gate of a club . He was watching two young men dressed in white , playing tennis . ” I like the game ,” he says . ” I go inside when no one is around . The gatekeeper lets me the swing .”
Saheb too is wearing tennis shoes . Someone gave those to him . They are the discarded shoes of some rich boy . There is a hole in one of them , but that does not bother Saheb . For one who has walked barefoot , even shoes with a hole is a dream come true . But the game is watching is out of his reach .
One morning , the writers sees Saheb going to a milk booth . He has in hand a Steel canister . ” I now work in a tea stall . I am paid 800 rupees and given all my meals ,” he says . The writers sees that saheb has lost the carefree look of his face . The Steel canister seems heavier than the plastic bag he used to carry over his shoulder . The Bag was his . The canister belongs to the man who owns the tea Shop . Saheb Is No Longer his Own master !
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Summary Of The Lost Spring :- ( 2) The bangle makers of Firozabad :-
The writer meets a boy name Mukesh in Firozabad . Mukesh belongs to a family of Bnagles maker but he wants to be his own master . He Says that he will be a motor mechanic . His Dream look like a Mirage in the dusty street of Firozabad . The town famous for it’s bangles . Every other family here is engaged in making bangles . It is the centre of India’s glass – blowing industry . Families living here have spent generation working around furnaces , welding glass and making bangles . Mukesh’s family is among them .
About 20,000 children work in the glass furnaces . Their parents don’t know that it is illegal for children to work in high temperatures , in Dingy cells without air and light . Children work in these hot furnaces all day long , often losing the brightness of their eyes .
Mukesh gladly offer to take the writer to his home , which he proudly says is being rebuilt. They go through thick stinking lanes that are full of garbage .They go past homes that have crumbling walls , woobly doors , and no windows. They are crowded with families of humans and animals . Mukesh stop at the door of one such house , and pushes it open . It is a half – built shack . In one part of it , there is a firewood stove . A frail Young women is Cooking the evening meal of the whole family . She is the wife of Mukesh’s elder brother .
When Mukesh’s father enters , she brings her veil closer to her face. He is a poor bangle maker. Despite long year of hard work , the old man failed to give his house a proper shape . He has failed to send his two sons to school . All he has been able to do is teach them the art of making bangles . He himself has become blind from the dust in the polishing of bangles .
” It is his Karam , his destiny ,” says mukesh’s grandmother . Born in the caste of bangle makers , they have seen nothing but bangles all their life — in the house , in the yard , in every other house , every other Yard , every street in Firozabad . In dark hutments , Boys and girls sit with their father and mother . In the Flames of oil lamp , they weld pieces of coloured glass into the cicles of bangles . Their eyes are adjusted to the dark than to the light outside . Thus, they lose their eyesight even before they become adults .
In another hutment , the writers sees a young girl name Savita . she is in pink dress . And elderly women sits alongside her . They are soldering peice of glass . Savita’s hand moves mechanically like the tongs of machine . At present , she hardly knows that the bangles she is making are symbol of an Indian woman’s suhaag . The old woman beside her became a suhaagin many years ago and still has bangles for wrist . But there is no light in her eyes . Her voice is drained of all Joy . She says that she has not enjoyed even one full meal all her life . Her husband is an old man with a flowing beard . He says, ” I know nothing expect bangles .” But he feel some consolation in saying that has made a house for his family to live in it . He has at least a roof over his head .
The writer says with a sense of pain that the cry of poverty rings in every home in Firozabad . Little has changed with time . Years of toil have killed all their incentive and the ability to dream .
The writer asked them why they don’t organise themselves into a cooperative . To this , they says that the police crushes all such effort . They are beaten and put in jail on the charge of doing illegal acts . They are caught in the the vicious circle of sahukars , middleman , police man , Bureaucrates and politicians . The poor bangle makers have come to accept their fate as something natural . To do anything else would means to dare .
The writer is happy that Mukesh has dared to break away from the vicious circle . He had decided to be a Motor Mechanic . He says that he will go to a garage and learn the job . Through the garage is a long way from his home , he says that he will walk all the distance to fulfill his dream .
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