by Anuradha Bakshi | Dec 5, 2008 | Uncategorized
Radha’s mother came to the project this morning. She looked the epitome of despair. Even the most hardened soul could not have remained dry eyed. She clutched her last born, an eight month old baby that looked barely three. In spite of the chilly morning neither she nor her tiny son had a warm cloth to protect them. She had no time to sit in mourning though it was just yesterday that her husband’s mortal remains had been consigned to the fire. She had come to ask help to enable her to go to her village and perform the elaborate and ruinous rituals that would ensure that she would not be spurned by her clan.
Yes Radha’s young mom did not have the luxury to sit in a corner and weep her incredible and irreparable loss. Her pain was etched on her gentle face and the tears kept rolling as she recounted her tale. A husband consumed by TB and alcohol, four children to bring up one being little Radha and her brittle bones and nothing but a small cart that doled out cups of teas and some food to help her not only survive but live.
In spite of her abject misery I could sense a quiet determination, a yet hazy but eminently doable life plan, one that perhaps could see her and her children through. This simple and illiterate woman had somehow come of age. Motherhood was at stake and she was determined not to give up. True she had come seeking help but somehow there was a dignity in her demeanour, a courage that needed to be saluted particularly as she was a woman nothing had prepared for the life she would now have to live.
We cannot even begin to imagine the magnitude of Radha’s mom’s despair as it is beyond imagination. She never had much but till yesterday she had the misplaced and yet indispensable security that a husband, no matter how worthless, provides a woman in India. Today she had been deprived of even that. She would have to battle every foe alone.
We will do whatever we can to see that she picks up the pieces of her shattered life and weaves a new one, one that can sustain her little family and bring back smiles to the faces of her young children. And yet we know that young Mira, her elder daughter barely 10 will soon become the little mother as Radha’s mom takes on the role of the head of the family.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Dec 5, 2008 | Uncategorized
Sometimes I am at a complete loss in trying to understand the ways of the God of Lesser Beings . Little Radha has been absent from class for a while as she had once again broken her leg. We were expecting her back as was usually the case. She simply loves pwhy and let us not forget she still dreams of walking one day. But this time the God of Lesser Beings had other plans for her.
Her plaster did come off and she was ready to come back but then a false move by her sister and her brittle bone broke again. Her father was planning to take her to the hospital the next day but that was not happen. That night her father fell ill and died on the way to the hospital: a victim of hooch and life itself.
Radha’s father had lost his job some time back. His health did not allow him to get another one so he sold tea and some eats from a stall in front of his tiny home. The family of 6 barely survived. Radha’s mom is illiterate. They have no source of income, no land in the village, simply nothing. An uncle performed the last rites of the father as Radha’s only brother is still a babe in arms. Now they need to perform the burdensome rituals in the village that will cost an arm and a leg: noblesse oblige!
What will their future be? I cannot even begin to imagine what awaits them and am at a complete loss to see how we can help them. I simply know that we have to. Is the God of Lesser beings listening?
by Anuradha Bakshi | Dec 3, 2008 | Uncategorized
This morning I got a lovely mail for Harriet. She is the young girl who had spent a few days with us at project why and promised to help us when she got back to her school in London. Some time later she wrote again saying that she was planning a Xmas sale at her school the proceeds of which would come to us.
Harriet is a very special person, one that truly walks the talk. The sale was held and she informed me that a whopping 50 Pounds had been collected. It may seem a tiny sum to many, but to us at pwhy it is more precious than the largest donation we get, as it is one that is laced with love, compassion and tenderness. We fell humbled.
Harriet also had one more surprise for us: her very first article in a local newspaper simply entitled A Ray of Hope in the New Delhi Slums. It is a very touching article on project why as seen by a young girl from a privileged country.
Harriet’s mail brought joy and healing at at time when we are truly in need of it. India is still trying to make sense of the terrible week gone by. Thousands are on the street trying to find an answer to questions that seem hopeless. There is talk of war and aggression. Anger is tempered with helplessness and people seem terribly lost. In the midst of all this madness, this simple gesture from a young girl is the message we all needed to hear. It does not take much to reach out another, to help change a life or to bring a smile on a face that had forgotten to smile.
Thank you Harriet.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Dec 3, 2008 | Uncategorized
Bernard Ray gently left this world today after a long illness. He died peacefully. Who is Bernard Ray and why am I writing this post today?
The answer to these questions are simple. He is what we hope every human being aspires to be. In simpler terms he is Xavier’s dad and Xavier is undoubtedly the cornerstone of pwhy.
When Xavier decided to set up Enfances Indiennes as an organisation to support pwhy, Bernard was its very first member. He somehow knew that in spite of difficult moments it would not only happen but grow and thrive. 700 children today vindicate his belief!
I am reminded of St Exupery words when he wrote: To be a man is … to be responsible. It is to feel shame at the sight of what seems to be unmerited misery. It is to take pride in a victory won by one’s comrades. It is to feel, when setting one’s stone, that one is contributing to the building of the world. He was just that kind of man.
A few years back he came to project why and spent many hours with us. We were all touched by his warmth and kindness. What we did not know at that time was that his short transit via planet why was his unobtrusive way to bless all of us and to leave a little of his magic in our hearts.
Yesterday he left this world for a new one, a better one, one that is filled with light and love. We will miss him but somehow I know he will be there for the family his son made his own: in the soft ray of sun that warms a cold morning, in the cloud that gives respite from the scorching sun, in the first drop a rain that quenches the parched earth and the whiff of wind that gently blows on our face to remind us that we are protected.
Today we do not mourn him but celebrate a life well lived and again say with St Exupery: he who has gone, so we but cherish his memory, abides with us, more potent, nay, more present than the living man.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Dec 3, 2008 | Uncategorized
The latest addition to the ever growing dowry of a slum brides is believe it or not a washing machine. Even the humblest of families are ensuring that every girl reaches her new home armed with a washing machine. Often, as was the case in a recent wedding I attended, the machine is too big for the jhuggi in which it will have to find place. More often than not such homes have no bathroom, let alone a water point to feed the machine. Yet it faithfully accompanies every bride. It lies for some time in its packaging at the entrance of the home, for all to see and I guess the bride’s family gets the required brownie points. Then after herculean efforts and some astute maneuvers its is dragged within the home and placed in a corner often hogging space that could be put to far better use. It may just lie thus for a long time and things are piled on it. Then perhaps one day it will be taken out of its dusty packaging and with more maneuvering inaugurated by dragging some hosepipe after having been plugged to an illegal power connection.
The washing machine is a symbol of urban success . It has replaced the now jaded TV and motorbike. No one bothers to think of all that is needed to get the machine going: water, electricity and above all space.
We have never owned a washing machine. For over twenty years Lakshiamma and her husband have come faithfully every day to wash our clothes. The thousand rupees or so they get every month feeds their family. It is true that sometimes the clothes are not quite as clean as one would like, or sometimes in heir hurry they soak a coloured cloth with the others and thus a white shirt gets some pink stains but what the heck. It is lovely to hear their voices as they babble to each other in Tamil. They are one of the thousands who leave their home to make a life for themselves and brighten ours.
In a world where water and electricity are getting scarcer by the day, they are true green warriors. For nothing in the world would I buy a washing machine! And yet I find it quasi impossible to explain this to my slum friends. I guess it will take a long time to teach them to walk to the next block rather than use their new bike. Let us not forget they have just acquired urban dreams.
