Trains come and go regularly in a continuous rhythm, while a group of people sit in a long row on both sides of the railway line, diligently engaged in the task of preparing fish for sale.
Buyers from the nearby Kawran market procure various fish species, such as Rui, Pabda, Katla, Magur, and Shing, and bring them to the group for processing.
Amid the seasoned hands skillfully filleting fish, one can spot a few pairs of smaller hands at work, some belonging to ten-year-olds, and others to nine-year-olds.
Some of these young hands belong to students attending schools or madrasas, yet they remain exceptionally busy, rarely able to engage in conversation.
Among the countless scattered stories within the crowd situated along the railway line near Kawran Bazar in Dhaka, we find Riya Moni. She dons shorts and a t-shirt, diligently removing fish scales with a small grader. Fish scales cover her body and head as she toils away. A curious bystander asks: "Have you got any fish to cut?"
Although the larger fish are too much for her small hands to manage, Riya excels at the delicate task of scaling fish.
The 10-year-old shares her story, explaining that she has been engaged in fish cutting for quite some time. Her mother, too, works with fish, albeit at a different location.
Riya says: "I've been doing this for a long time. I can expertly remove the scales from fishes like Pabda and Koi. I arrive here every morning and return home in the evening at the call of Maghrib azan. I used to get numerous cuts on my hands in the past, but now they are few and far between."
Dangerous work environment
Amidst the crowd, there is also a woman named Nargis. Her two children, Yamin and Khuku Moni, sit by the railway line, perspiring under the scorching sun.
Nevertheless, they persist with their work without pause. Suddenly, their mother Nargis issues a warning: "Move, move, dears, the train is coming."
In response to their mother's caution, Khuku and Yamin momentarily stand up. Once the train passes, the siblings return to their task of fish cutting.
Nargis told Dhaka Tribune: "I get a little scared when the train approaches. We have to be extremely cautious with the children. But what can we do? We can't afford to stop working. If we halt our work, there's no one to support the family."
When asked if she gets frightened when the train nears, Khuku Moni bravely responds: "I don't get scared when I see the train."
Malnourishment
Khuku Moni is ten years old, and Yamin is nine. Their mother Nargis says: "My son appears older, but in truth, the girl is the older one. She's terribly undernourished."
With a frail voice, Khuku Moni adds: "I can remove fish scales, but I haven't yet learned how to fillet them. I will learn it soon."
Despite scaling and filleting numerous fish, these children are not fortunate enough to enjoy their catch.
When asked how often they get to eat fish in a month, Nargis replies: "I can't even remember the last time we had fish, and you're asking how many times a month? If we're lucky, perhaps once a month. It's a daily struggle to support the family. Their father is unable to work, so it's up to me to provide for them. If we weren't in poverty, I wouldn't need to bring my children to work."
In the hands of ten-year-old Nazmul Hasan, there is a sizable Rui fish. His small hands are tirelessly removing the scales, and both fish scales and his face glisten under the intense sun. When called by his name, he responds with a smile: "Yes?"
He has recently started attending a madrasa, but handling fish seems to come naturally to him.
No sense of income
Questions may arise about the daily earnings of children who work so tirelessly from morning till evening. These children, who have left behind the playfulness and joy of childhood to enter the workforce, typically earn between 100 and 150 taka per day.
Many of them also sell fish scales, but it requires a substantial kind of fish to make a profit. Riya Moni explains: "Fish scales sell for 80 taka per kilogram, and the payment for scaling is separate."
Most of these children who accompany their parents to cut fish may not fully grasp the idea of their wages or income. Many are unaware of their daily earnings. Khuku Moni and Nazmul could not provide an answer regarding their income.
While many affluent visitors to the market may not be well-versed in the names of various fish species, these underprivileged children have become knowledgeable through their struggle with poverty. Scarcity has taught them the value of hard work. Lacking a playground or carefree enjoyment, their childhood is enriched by their resilience in the battle of life.