No entry….

No entry….

No entry: domestic helps, service providers, drivers, luggage, pets screamed the headline of my Sunday morning newspaper. And though I had promised myself not to harp any more, at least for a while, on the have and have not issues or social strata syndrome, I just could not hold myself. I agree that the world over service elevators exist and for a good reason but what made once again my seething blood boil were some of the reasons given for the segregation of elevators.

We have kept the lifts separate to maintain hygiene. Helps do not keep themselves clean. Either their clothes are dirty or they have body odour which makes it uncomfortable for residents and visitors said one person.

Electricity supply is erratic here. In case of a power cut, one could be stuck in the lift for 10-15 minutes. If a resident or a visitor gets stuck in the lift with a servant or a driver, he/she might feel awkward added another.

I don’t like it if a domestic help uses the same lift as me or my children. I feel we do need separate lifts quipped yet another requesting anonymity!

Millions of questions come to mind but let us just a simple one: are these not the very people to whom you entrust your children, who cook your meals and keep you house clean so that you can live a comfortable life. And are they not human being just like us!

yet another tale of two Indias

My 799th post seems to have been the most popular one I have ever written, if one is to go by the number of comments (a whopping 24 to the normally 1 or 2!)). I agree that the heap of rubbish lying on our tiny terrace did get the better of me for some time at least, till things settled and one got hold of one’s self.

No I did not return the things as many suggested as to me what matters is not to make an enemy, but to try and get people to change the way they look at the other India and treat it with respect if not affection and compassion.

A friend directed me to a video that he thought I would as he said understand! The idea is simple and stark: simply ask a cross section of people what they would do if they were given hundred rupees. I share the video with you and urge you to spare the few minutes required to watch it:

Some of you may not understand the answers in Hindi. They are the ones given by the other side of India, the hidden and forgotten one. They simply range from I will buy food, I will pay my school fees, I will give it to my mum to simply I will hide it.

unless the whole man accompanies it.

unless the whole man accompanies it.

I hate the giving of the hand unless the whole man accompanies it said Ralph Waldo Emerson

Continuing the saga of the art or chore of giving let us talk today about one more avatar of the giving tale: feeding the poor on birthdays, death anniversaries etc. This is extremely prevalent in India and we have had our share of this over the last almost 10 years.

When still greenhorns we readily accepted any such offers and I guess that is how we learn many a lesson. I still remember the day when a lady called wanting to feed children. She gave us a time and over 100 children waited patiently for the food to come. It was meant to be lunch and the agreed time was 1pm. By 3pm there was still no sight of the lady and her food. We tried to keep the kids still by playing games and singing songs but even that had a limit. Finally the lady and her retinue arrived with oily puris and over spiced curries. Needless to say the whole thing was a messy fiasco. After that day we insisted that anyone wanting to feed children had to bring things on time and that we preferred fruit, biscuits and juice packs.

But how can I forget the day when a lady came with biscuits and juice and distributed them to the children. She had a few packs left over as some of the kids were absent that day, so rather than leave the packets behind or give them to the handful of teachers she simply took them back!

Yesterday another mother celebrated her daughter’s birthday by giving a food packet to children and a small gift. She came at the prescribed time and made all the right moves, but somehow the heart was absent.

But there is one young girl named Yashu. her parents decided to celebrate her birthday in a very different manner. She spends her birthday taking the entire special section of pwhy for a day out at Dilli Hath bringing the two Indias together in a wonderful celebration. They play, sing dance together. The pwhy children make gifts for their special friend and there is always a birthday cake and return gifts! Yashu has never forgotten her special date with her very special pals. A befitting tribute to Emerson’s words.

Here are some pictures of yesterday’s birthday party

www.flickr.com

The fragrance alway stays

The fragrance alway stays

The fragrance always stays in the hand that gives the rose. ” wrote the 17 century British poet Hada Bejar
I do not know whether I am livid, desolate or have just become inured to whatever comes my way. I do not think so as each time I come across an incident like the one that happened yesterday my blood boils and then curdles. Over the past years I have often vented my anger when faced with situations that demean the very act of giving.

Let me end the suspense. Here is what happened: last week I got a phone call from a well to do up market lady who lives in one of the poshest colony of our city. She asked me to send someone as she had things to donate for the children. In spite of having been bitten many times, specially when the so called donor is from a particular strata of society, we promptly sent one of our three wheelers to the lady’s home. He came back some time later with over a dozen plastic bags of all sizes stuffed with things. The bags were deposited on our terrace waiting to be emptied.

Jenine and Nina two volunteers from Canada and the US and some of our staff were given the task of sorting things so that they could be handed over. It did not take long to realise that what had been sent to us as donation was a heap of rubbish: dirty and torn clothes, broken toys – half a Barbie doll, half a chess board etc – dusty and stained lampshades, broken shoes and even stained and tattered undergarments. It was a nightmare to sort things out. At the end of it all there was not one article that could be put to use. Even the kabariwalla (recycle man) called later refused to pick anything up!

Needless to say that the volunteers were shocked beyond words and our staff members angry and even humiliated. The question on every one’s lips was: How dare she….

Charity as one sees it today is often nothing short of galling. I often wonder what the real motivation is: a topic to discuss at the next kitty party in the hope of getting a pat in the back, a desire to be written about on page 3, a way to ease ones’ conscience, or simply a way of getting rid of the rubbish no one else wants. I wonder how the lady in question set about collecting the items she sent us. Did she just ask all in her family to set aside what they wanted to get rid off, or simply did a long overdue spring cleaning. I do not know, but what really riles me is that she could for even a second think that what she was sending could be used by anyone!

I guess I will never learn. A few years back a bunch of ladies belonging to a respectable and even elite international club decided to donate us toys. These came beautifully wrapped and were handed over with great drama. After the ladies left we opened the packets and were shocked to see that all the toys and games were not only used but broken and incomplete. When I brought this to the notice of the convener she simply said: what difference does it make, it is only for a poor child! Needles to say that I returned all of them.

Are there any lessons to be learnt? I do not know. What I do know is that not a single of the slum people I work with would have the audacity to give any broken or dirty article to another human being. So what makes this and other ladies do such a thing. And there we once again reach the realm of the two Indias. Is it that they truly believe that the so called poor will accept anything with gratitude, that they have no right to feel humiliated or angered. Have values like compassion and generosity completely disappeared from the lives of the rich and affluent. Do they not realise that in acting in such away it is they that look poor and pitiable as in Bejar’s words the fragrance stays in the hand that gives.

To the manner born

To the manner born

But to my mind, though I am native here
And to the manner born, it is a custom
More honour’d in the breach than the observance.
Shakespeare (Hamlet)

I wonder what it takes to be to the manner born. I have often been stunned by the unexpected gestures of pwhy kids that make me wonder about who is truly to the manner or manor born.

I look forward to the weekly report I get from Prabin, the housemaster of our foster care programme as each week a special treat is in store for me. This weeks report was short and crisp but had not one but two surprises for me.

Manu it seemed now wished everyone good night before he went to sleep. Nothing to write home about would be the normal reaction, but how can one forget where Manu comes from and what a miracle these two simple words were.

But there was more.

Last Friday the foster care children went for a visit to Lotus temple. At the gate of the temple a Canadian volunteer was greeting every visitor with a Namaste and handing out information flyers to all. No one answered her greeting or murmured a thank you to her. Our children answered her Namaste and thanked her for the flyer without be prompted to do so. The lady was impressed and took time to interact with them. Some people stopped and asked Prabin which school the children studied in.

Now remember these kids – Babli, Vicky, Nikhil and Aditya – come from the most deprived homes possible. When they came to us they were aggressive, used language and were a real handful. Today they make us proud.

I wonder what it takes to be to the manner or manor born!