give me five!

give me five!


Miracles happen to those who believe them says a quote, but some are a little difficult to imagine let alone believe in. And yet on that long hot drive back from the grim rehab centre to my home about a year back, there was a picture that flashed in my mind as I held on to the little boy who had in one dark night lost his childhood: it was a hazy picture of a day when he would be reunited with his mom and sister in a ‘happy place’. And no matter how dim and remote it would seem at times, I never let it go!

The picture you see is not a figment of my imagination nor a piece of trick photography. It is a kodak moment. This moment happened yesterday when finally all the elements of a complex puzzle fell in place, and even the colors were right; Popples celebrated his 5th birthday with his mom and sister and best pal kiran and even maam’ji, in an idyllic place where ducks and flowers are in abundance and surrounded by a motley group of 60 kids who just like him one day lost all hope but regained it here.

The journey was long and the hurdles many but were all met with courage and dignity. An alkie mother had to be cured, a baby had to learn to live in an alien place, and a young girl had to be rescued from lurking predators all this while battling a host of so called well wishers bent upon opposing your every move. yes the odds were against us and the dice was loaded, the social profile was wrong, the foes many but somehow the happy picture remained engraved in my memory.

Yesterday once again the mr p support group set out for this special event. Armed with games and toys for his new pals and overflowing love we landed at karmmarg to celebrate a real mother and child reunion. There was laughter and song, Durga Utpal’s sister delighted us with a bolywood number, and we all sat in the shade amidst nature at his best and shared a lunch that would surpass any three star gourmet meal.

The day was picture perfect and the old maam’ji so moved that even the photographs turned out misty, but do have a look at them

www.flickr.com

mother and child reunion

mother and child reunion


A mother’s arms are made of tenderness and children sleep soundly in them wrote victor Hugo and yesterday after on whole year Utpal must have slept soundly.

It has been a long solitary journey for utpal and his mom, but they are both survivors.

It was also the first time in that the now legendary motley crowd that goes by the name of Utpal’s parents was not there to fetch him. trusted Dharmendra bhaiyya was given the task of picking up utpal and delivering him and the little red bag to the portals of karm marg. Imagine my panic when I received a call telling me that the whole karm marg was away on a field trip and only the ducks, the dogs nd a three staff members were there. My immediate reaction was to ask that Utpal come back to me, but he knew that something special was to happen and once again acted with wisdom beyond his age as he befriended those present and told Dharmendra bhaiyya to leave.

Later a bag was delivered to my home. It contained Utpal’s school clothes, his uniform and winter wear. I just held on to each that little bit longer as I emptied the bag missing his smile and babble.

As I write these words I do not know how the mother and child reunion went. I just foolishly spent the night kicking myself for not having put a sweater his bag.

why ki tazaa khabar

why ki tazaa khabar

why ki tazaa khabar is a new blog that saw the light of day on March 17th. The idea was mooted by the following words sent by a long time supporter: I find a major problem which is lack of information… my only problem is that I never get any information about that project. how that project is going on..how are kids in that project…did they do any progress..how is my contribution being helpful to them…how many teachers are there in the project etc etc.

Being one who has the tendency of easily slipping into comfort zones – i.e. taking for granted what goes on smoothly – this was a wake up call. I understand my friend’s concern as once upon a time I did send out regular individual emails!

But as the project grew and so did everyday challenges, individual updates became rarer as I believed – maybe wrongly – that the blogs and updates on the site were adequate information.
Having decided right from the outset that I would not waste my funders money on heavy administrative structures, and having also chosen to employ only community people who were not savvy enough to write in English, I was left with little choice. I could have sent a mail explaining this but I just sank into a comfort zone.

The wake up call that landed in my inbox jolted me into the need of finding a viable solution that would dovetail into the why spirit and give a day-to-day account of what happens at pwhy.
The way out I hit upon was a blog in roman Hindi in the words of those who were directly involved with running pwhy. So why ki tazaa khabar will be rani and shamika’s blog in their own words and will give all a different view of pwhy.

It is the first time shamirani – the name they chose – are setting out on such a venture and if you feel it is something hat needs to be encouraged please do drop a mail to
shambakshou@yahoo.co.in.

from milk vans to call centre cars

I have always been a morning person and a light sleeper. Yet for years I never woke up before 4 or 4.30 am. If I let my memory travel back I realise that often it is was the cling clang of the Delhi Milk Scheme vans that used to wake me up. Sometimes a crow or a bird preceded it by a few minutes.

Lately I have found myself waking up as early as 2 am jolted from my sleep by the sound of a speeding vehicle. We live close to a flyover and in the dead of night every sound does get amplified. True that in yore years too sometimes their were cars whizzing past, maybe on their way to the airport, or Saturday party goers getting back home but it was an occasional sound that did not get passed the deep sleep one was in. It is the everyday sounds that reach that part of your brain like the milk van or the faithful crow.

Irked by this new phenomena that was now translating itself into dark circles under the eyes and an irritable Maam’ji, I decided to try and decipher the source of this new late night occurrence. It did dawn one such night: these were the BPO or call centre staff vehicles crisscrossing our city to meet their unearthly schedules.

A lot has been said about the effects of these new working hours that need to meet different time zones and turn night into day. many young people are paying the price and as is often the case, the once lucrative and upmarket job options is now being shunned by some and is slowly reaching the lower strata of society. Today many of our ex students work in call centres as the job profile is scaled down to meet the ever exceeding demand.

Doc P, our family doctor recounted how on a trip to the US he needed to change a booking and dialled a number answered by a young lad who was desperately trying to communicate in his newly acquired American Hinglish; no matter how many times Doc tried to coax him into speaking in Hindi, the lad held on: needless to say the booking was never changed.

While travelling to pwhy everyday one sees new hoardings for BPO training institutes that guarantee perfect English in 6 weeks or so. I guess they must be lucrative as new ones appear ever so often.

I guess I wil need to invest in a good pair of earplugs!

Sapna’s mom

Sapna’s mom

To me she will always be Sapna’s mom though her name is Bimla and she is also Monty’s mom. She came to us almost 4 years ago carrying Sapna who was 5 but could not even hold her head, let alone stand. She used to drop by sometimes dragging her feet and looking far beyond her twenty something.

Slowly her story unfolded and we were shocked to learn that a still born child has resulted in a prolapsed uterus, the reason for her awkward gait. I first wrote about he almost exactly three years ago as she lay in hospital where she had initially gone to get her uterus removed but landed up in having to get a heart valve replaced. The uterus lay forgotten.. though visible!

Today three years later she again lies in a hospital this time finally free of her agony and shame. her story could have been shared many times as so much happened in the intervening years, but somehow I felt that the moment was not the right as for her closure only came today.

Bimla is 28 though she looks 128. Married to a man that not only does not care for her but is also often jobless, she bore with the resilience of Indian women a fate no one can envy: a retarded first born that was seen as a curse, a second child that was often ill, a mother in law that despised her but on whom she was dependent, nothing looked right for this woman. More was to come as her husband was diagnosed with a congenital heart problem. So the surgery she needed was delayed as she had to replace him as a dishwasher in a small eatery…

In the meantime however Sapna started walking and saying a few words and Monty got better and became a regular at pwhy! Bimla can infuriate even the most tolerant person as she often does not react to things but simply accepts her fate; I guess it is her way of dealing with what she knows she cannot change. I guess she has perfected the art of living one day at a time, and does not or rather cannot allow herself the luxury to look at the future.

Last week she came by and a look at her swollen face and body shook us out of the torpor she had manged to instill in us: we decided to get her hysterectomy done come what may as were anything to happen to her her innocent kids lives would be shattered. Luckily Sabrina and Chris were kind enough to help us.

Needless to say that it was not easy to get her husband to come and sign the consent forms but we managed though once again no one fromm her family stayed with her, it was little Deepak’s grandmother who offered to be there, another pwhy miracle.

For us it was just the question of saving Sapna’s mom, as little Sapna is considered a burden for all and only has her mom on her side.