But what happens when words are simply ignored? Here are some particularly splendid and, in our context, spectacularly well-ignored words. Take a look for yourself. Admire their strength. Be stirred and impressed by them:

"[Every] child, for the full and harmonious development of his or her personality, should grow up in a family environment, in an atmosphere of happiness, love and understanding...The child should be fully prepared to live an individual life in society in the spirit of peace, dignity, tolerance, freedom, equality and solidarity."

Recognize these? Perhaps you immediately realized that they are from the UN Convention on the Rights of the Child. And when, motivated by the uplifting preamble, you look a little further into the depths of this fine declaration you find the following.

Article 19: States parties shall take all appropriate legislative, administrative, social and educational measures to protect the child from all forms of physical or mental violence, injury or abuse, neglect or negligent treatment, maltreatment or exploitation, including sexual abuse, while in the care of parent(s), legal guardian(s) or any other person who has the care of the child.

Article 28: States parties recognize the right of the child to education.

Article 29: States parties agree that the education of the child shall be directed to: the development of the child's personality, talents and mental and physical abilities to their fullest potential.

Article 31: States parties recognize the right of the child to rest and leisure, to engage in play and recreational activities appropriate to the age of the child, and to participate freely in cultural life and the arts.

Article 32: States parties recognize the right of the child to be protected from economic exploitation and from performing any work that is likely to be hazardous or to interfere with the child's education, or to be harmful to the child's health or physical, mental, spiritual, moral or social development.

Now, having applauded their muscularity and clarity, and having felt a warm glow that Bangladesh was an early signatory to the convention, ask yourself one simple question. When it comes to the children working as domestic servants in so many houses here, where on earth did it all go wrong? The value the convention places on welfare, and on the right of children to fulfil their physical, mental and spiritual potential, to rest and to play are undermined in virtually every house where children are employed. And in the worst cases, the right to basic freedom from exploitation and safety from harm -- rights we would all of course protect fiercely for our own children -- are blithely disregarded.

Many people in Bangladesh are already familiar with the shocking case of Madhabi, aged 10, who was allegedly thrown from a 6th floor window in Dhanmondi, but survived, albeit seriously injured and traumatised, to tell the tale (Daily Star, September 1). Responses to the event from renowned human rights groups such as Drishtipat, and the public at large, were justifiably outraged. Madhabi's story is still unfolding. But before comfortably assuring ourselves that our own treatment of the children who work for us is a far cry from this, let's consider the less sensational stories: the banal, mundane tales that could be playing out, for example, in our own homes.

Recently I visited the house of a good friend and colleague. We sat and talked, ate mishti, tucked into a hearty meal, and enjoyed the kind of occasion I've come to appreciate in Bangladesh: companionable, relaxing, with no need for distraction apart from simple warmth and interaction. As we ate, food was brought and cleared away by a girl -- let's call her Ritu -- who was probably 12 or 13 (when asked, she couldn't say). Each time she approached the table she flashed us a delightful smile. At first she appeared reasonably contented, but even so I couldn't help thinking straight away -- especially as my friend works in the field of education -- that this child should plainly have been in school.

To be fair, the family in this case seemed to treat Ritu with genuine kindness, compared with the behaviour I have noticed and heard about in other houses. When my host spoke to her, she did so in a soft voice, often touching her arm. Perhaps this was in recognition of the fact that it had taken them six months to find Ritu, after a long gap without anyone to help. But here too, beneath the benign surface, things were not what they seemed.

Ritu had already, two months into her new "job," declared her intention to leave. The family seemed bewildered. "We simply don't understand her mentality. We pay her 600 taka (£5) a month, we give her food and we bought her new clothes for Eid, and this is how she repays us. Back in the village of course she'll get nothing." This communication gap is in itself striking: the chasm between the classes here is much greater than it is in the West nowadays.

"Could it be," I wondered aloud, "anything to do with the fact that she's locked in the flat all day?" "We have to lock her up," they protested, "Otherwise she will wander out and meet boys or get into trouble. Already whenever she gets a chance, she goes on to the roof and looks down at the street." Clearly fresh air is something from which this adolescent girl needs the benevolent family's protection. Quite obviously she doesn't know what is best for her, and it's up to her employers to make those decisions on her behalf. In their innocence the family, like many well-to-do families who employ children, remain convinced they are doing Ritu a favour. Ritu, on the other hand, begs to differ: she knows who is benefiting more from this unequal relationship.

Why is it that we insist on employing children in the first place? Even if their impoverished families see a short-term gain in their meagre salary, the long-term advantages of education would outweigh these pittances hugely. Is it just that we as employers want cheap labour? Or have we simply failed to grasp yet what it really means to talk of children's rights?

As we talked into the evening, Ritu sat on the floor in the hallway, making shy eye contact with us, aware that she was being talked about. What struck me above all was that this growing kid was probably bored out of her mind, lonely, without any playmates, and no doubt thoroughly depressed by the prospect of endless months of solitary servitude, and a dawn-to-bedtime life of uninspiring chores, for which a few kind words and the occasional new salwar kameez are scant compensation.

Kids like Ritu are voting with their feet. Even though she may have little alternative source of income, and is unlikely to seek out a school for herself, she has taken one look at the conditions of service even in a relatively enlightened family and decided that it's not for her. And personally, I can only admire this decision. Good for her, deciding that there is more to life than this. And she is of course not the only one.

Lower-middle-class families are facing a new domestic crisis here. More and more girls are leaving for the garment factories (where conditions are hardly enlightened but there is at least a basic sense of autonomy). My friend's family will now be plunged back into a long search for a replacement. However, as long as they offer the same conditions, I suspect their search will be fruitless.

Perhaps this is an opportune moment then to recognize that the convention Bangladesh signed up to was designed to have real teeth, and that it is simply unacceptable to employ children domestically in this way. Other countries, not too far from here, have realised this and already enshrined it in law.

Of course we often need help in the home -- life here is demanding and bringing in domestic help allows middle-class women, for example, far more prospects of their own in the workplace. But why not employ adults? There are plenty of women from poor or rural backgrounds who would be interested in augmenting their salary, although clearly not if that salary leaves them a long way short of the accepted poverty line of one dollar a day. Surely it is time to recognize that this kind of intensive work deserves adequate compensation. It seems that the people who have been silently working for us for so long have already reached that conclusion without our help.

We should also maybe acknowledge that, even when we look instead to grown-ups, the automatic deference to authority, which has long characterised this society, is in decline, as it is elsewhere in the world. Workers in general are becoming increasingly aware of their rights, and just as importantly, their financial demands and their collective power. In the 21st century we need to re-engage with the working poor on terms which allow us to talk adult to adult, and employer to employee, rather than master to servant.

Andrew Morris is a teacher and teacher trainer.