I wonder why there has not been much interest in little Radha’s story aired on national TV. Last time we sought help for an open heart surgery, we were flooded with phone calls and offers of support. The child in question is now a strapping young boy in class VIII.
Radha’s story came and went as quietly and unobtrusively as little Radha who can sleep on a roadside and simply tell you she did so and get along with the task at hand. We did find her a little home, more a burrow then a living space fit for human beings. She was so pleased at not having to sleep in the open that she danced her heart out the next day. You see she had slept right through a dust storm.
What had we hoped to achieve by making her story known to all? Some financial help that would have enabled us to move the little family into a proper home? Some medical advise about her rare disability? Some hope that her morrows be safe? But that was not to be. The very next day the authorities took away the cart which was their livelihood and all the utensils they possessed. Radha did not come to school today.
The death knell of all street food vendors has tolled. The cat and mouse game has begun. Bribes to be paid for a few days of reprieve till the next predator comes and removes the reclaimed cart again and so on. Wonder how long it lasts. Politicos jump in the fray for a potential votes. All is fair you see.
But that is not what I am disturbed about. My mind keeps going back to the one question we began with: why has no one come forward. And the answer is there for all to see: little disabled girls are not sound investment. Their truncated lives are not worthy of even the loose change that jiggles in your pocket or lies hidden in the folds of your drawing room sofa. After all Radha is only a little girl with a disability.
Could I forget the plight of our dearPreetiand her lunch box, or that of the sad people locked away behind impregnable iron gates? Little Radha is just one of them. Her story may result in a few chuckles of sympathy but does not translate into action of any kind.
We would like to see her thrive and grow, even if it is for a short time. She deserves every bit of happiness that can come her way. And we shall strive to ensure that this happens. So help us God.
Radha is definitely the new celebrity in class. Yesterday a TV crew came to the special centre to film her and then today the whole class went up to the foster care to watch the programme. Radha sat very quietly not quite understanding what was happening. She had never seen television.
After the programme was over, some of the boys of the junior secondary came back to look at her. Radha felt she was on top the world and could not stop smiling. You can see the story here.
Dancing with the feet is one thing, but dancing with the heart is another and little Radha did just that. Yes Radha, the one who cannot walk, the one with brittle bones disease, the one who dreams of being a dancer danced with her heart, and I know that even the Heavens stopped to watch her.
Radha never dances. Sometimes we take her in our arms and dance but rarely does she dance on her two little useless feet. But yesterday she did. Was it because she knew that tonight she would sleep under a roof and not on the road side. She danced non stop for almost an hour, twirling like a dervish and her arms moving gracefully to the beat of the music
Dancing faces you towards Heaven, whichever direction you turn said Sweetpea Tyler. Little Radha proved just that. It was moving, touching and overwhelming to watch her. There was not a dry eye in the room, even her classmates, those who cannot hear, or walk or speak watched her mesmerised.
Apologies for the poor quality of the video, but there was a power outage and we knew that perhaps we may never see Radha dance like this again.
She still sleeps on the footpath with her family, under a tree with no protection from the heat, dust or lashing rain. Her face is the kind Modigliani would have painted and she does look pretty as picture. But one look at her frail, distorted body is enough to tell another tale. Little Radha has brittle bone disease, a rare condition that affects 1 in 60 000 children and where the prognostic is grim. Little Radha’s life is bound to be short.
In spite of her distorted bones and frail body, Radha has an incredible spirit and wants to do everything her friends do in class. She plays every game even if that means running on her hands. When asked what her dream was she simply said: to be able to walk!
She lived in a house so tiny that you could not stand in it, and yet that is where she and her family laughed, cried, hoped, and dreamt. It is there that her father died and that her young mother tried to rebuild a life: one of simple survival. Not an easy task for a young widow as predators lurked everywhere. We had hoped that the young mother would agree to come and live at our women centre with her 4 children but that was not to be. Perhaps she was too free a spirit or was it her extended family that did not allow it. One would never know. Radha and her family continued to live in their tiny home till it was destroyed two weeks ago by the municipal authorities. The family lost what they called home and the protection it gave them.
From that day onwards the little family slept on the roadside without any protection from the heat or the rain. Their few belongings are carefully arranged on the kerb, or packed in plastic bags. When it rains each member of the family covers him or herself with a plastic sheet and waist for the rain to pass. A small earthen stove is built in a corner to cook the meals. The family sleeps in the open an easy prey to any kind of predator. The mother runs her food cart in the day and feeds her little family. And little Radha whose fragile bones can snap at the slightest touch navigates herself on the tiny pavement of what is now her home.
This little story is replete of deafening whys that need to be answered. Why is a child with a rare and complex condition born in a family that can barely look after a healthy child? What does a child like Radha do in a land where social security and sound medical care are non existent? Why is there no proper habitat for the poor and why can anyone be allowed to live in the abysmal conditions Radha’s family did for years? Where are the laws that protect children? Where are the rights enshrined in our Constitution and why are people like Radha’s family deprived of them?
For the last 15 days I have asked Radha every morning where she spent the night and for the last 15 days her answer has been: on the road! What is touching as well as saddening and infuriating is the calm with which little Radha answers the question and then goes to finish the task at hand with a smile. I do not know the answers to all the questions posed above. Perhaps only the God of small creatures can answer them. I only know that we need to do something, and do it now. We will find a new home for Radha, one that is livable and move them off the street today and help them with the rent if need be. I cannot hear another: on the road anymore!
She left this planet nineteen years ago. Yet it feels like it was just yesterday as she lives in everything that surrounds me and above all in all the little faces of the children of project why and in the hope and dreams of all the women that come to change their tomorrows at the centre that bears her name. For me she lives in very nook and corner of my home and in every fragrant plant that blooms in the tiny garden that surrounds it.
Kamala was one of a kind. A woman born well before her time who managed to instill in many a rare zest for life, no matter how difficult that life could be. As for her life itself was too precious a gift to squander away. Perhaps that is why she fought a painful cancer without the help of any treatment as for her dying in her sleep was unacceptable. She breathed her last in my arms fully aware of what was happening to her.
I often ask myself whether I have been worthy of such an extraordinary mother, one that fought every battle of life with courage and dignity. I have tried to the best of my ability to emulate her ways and stand for what I believed was right, but I find myself a very pale imitation of what Kamala was. And yet I strive each day to do a little bit more and will continue to do so till I too leave this world.
Much of what pwhy is, stems form what she wanted to do and could not for reasons beyond her control. Even in her very last moment, Kamala wanted to reach out to those how suffered or were less fortunate. I have just tried to translate all her dreams and wishes into reality.
To say that I miss her would be a euphemism. I miss her wisdom and sagacity; I miss her inimitable way of turning the darkest moment into a bright sunshine, I miss her ability to infuse courage in at times when all seemed hopeless; I miss her love and her smile. And today I miss her more than ever.
I wonder why there has not been much interest in little Radha’s story aired on national TV. Last time we sought help for an open heart surgery, we were flooded with phone calls and offers of support. The child in question is now a strapping young boy in class VIII.
