If I can give them a name and age, perhaps I can give them a life, and at least have something more objective to mourn when they disappear.

I sometimes assist a local charity that helps the children who live on the train tracks at the Railway Station. The group goes to the station several times per week, handing out chai and sandwiches, dressing wounds, and so on. A number of kids have even been rescued from their life on the tracks, and have entered school (which the charity also runs).

I visit on Tuesdays (and with emergencies), and my job is to help with the illnesses and traumas to which they are particularly prone.

I am sometimes amazed at the stories I hear, kids shrugging and grinning as they tell of incredible harm inflicted on them by others.

Most of them do not have orthodox names, but go by one of several nicknames. None of them know their birthdates, and few even know how old they are. This makes things interesting for Medical Records, as I try to put on paper their stories and traumas, and keep track of who has received what treatments.

So when I see a child for the first time, I try to put down as many identifying things as I can: every name that gets used for them, any other names that they might remember (mother, father, brothers etc), where they are from and so on. When I write down the exam portion, I note any scars or identifying factors… anything that might help me tell them apart.

Sometimes, when I do this, it seems like I am forcing them to exist. Many of them have lived on the edge of existence for years, and, practically speaking, they do not exist.

When I say, “they do not exist”, I mean that if they die, no one would mourn them, no one would fill out a death certificate, and likely, no one would even know they had died.

So, by making sure they have a name and age and fathers name, maybe I can compel them to exist. And if they don’t show up for a few weeks, we can at least ask around and try to find out what happened to them.

To see if they still exist.