We, the middle-class, are prone to righteous anger, propped by our education and a superficial knowledge of some laws every time we spot a violation of these. I have cringed and seen others cringe at accepting the services of a below14-year -old at the mechanic's or at a dhaba or anywhere else for that matter. Often, we blame the "uneducated" proprietors of these small businesses for employing children in violation of our country's child labour laws. But when it hits home, we conveniently look the other way or put up a skit of being uncomfortable.

A reminder of how classist our outlook is towards child labour hit me full blast this Diwali eve in Berhampur. I had stepped out for groceries (My magazine has rented an apartment in a modestly big housing society populated mostly by upper-middle class families). Returning laden with quick bites, I saw two boys, no older than 10 (or stunted by undernourishment) cleaning the stairs. I would have hurried upstairs but then I saw the bucket they were struggling with. It reached their chests. I stopped and asked them to stay put for a few minutes. I kept the groceries on a stair and moved to lift the bucket.

The watchman, who had been, well, watching all this while took this to be his cue to come and offer help to the boys. I thanked him and rushed upstairs. Even as I unlocked the door, I noticed that the entire corridor-balcony of my floor had been mopped clean. My holiday mood sank instantly -- the two boys must have had really struggled with this.

I put the groceries on the kitchen shelf and hurried outside. The boys were still mopping the stairs. They saw me approach and stopped to let me pass. I asked them their names. They looked at me and for some reason, were amused by my curiosity. The shorter one smiled cheekily and looked at his friend. Both kept silent and mopped furiously, smiling and looking at the stairs even as I asked them where they stayed. No answers, just smiles.

The watchman, who had come earlier that day for bakshish, came and nudged them to answer. Finally, the taller of the two said, "Sanu". The shorter one picked up his mop and ran to another stairway. I asked the watchman if the residents' did not object to such young boys being employed to clean such a big apartment complex. He shrugged and said that most did not notice the boys or pretended not to notice. Turned out, the boys lived at a construction site adjoining the building. The residents' association had commissioned the building maintenance guys to find someone to clean the building for Diwali.

With the festival approaching, it was hard to find anyone to do the work. That's how the boys came to be hired, the guard explained. The guard seemed to know what they were being paid but did not tell me when I asked. "At least, they will have some money to spend during the festival," he said. There was no contempt in the way he said it. But I felt suddenly uncomfortable, as if caught at something. While the children of my well-to-do neighbours were excitedly comparing cracker-buys, the two pint-sized, unwashed mop-wielders I wanted to talk to were working. If they got lucky they could buy something for themselves, crackers or maybe sweets. If their parents had sent them here, there earnings would have to go to the elders. Had it not been for the hunger of the entire family, the two could have been doing something fun, not cleaning stairs. There was no justifying the apartment families' indifference to the child labour occurring right below their noses. They had othered it as conveniently as I had in assuming that the onus was on the caretaker and maintenance guys. But the truth was the boys could do with the money. The bitter truth was that no one was going to give it to them just like that, neither the maintenance guys nor the middle-class residents of the apartment complex.