Every child in our country….

Every child in our country….

Today, almost every child in our country has access to primary education. It is our endeavour that every child, irrespective of whether he is rich or poor and which section of the society he belongs to, should be given an education that enables him to realize his potential and makes him a responsible citizen of our country. These words were part of the Prime Minister’s address from the ramparts of the Red Fort on India 63rd Independence day.

How I wish this were true! Sadly it is not so.

Allow me to share a story with you, one that is true. It happened on August 14th 2010, just a day before our Prime Minister delivered his speech. We had gone to the I Day celebrations of the children’s boarding school to be part of the festivities which were to end with the launch of a Literacy programme in a nearby slum cluster. We were very excited as this is the very area where God willing planet why will one day be seated. The rain Gods were bountiful on that cloudy morning and by the time we reached the slum cluster it was pouring the proverbial cats and dogs. The programme was to be launched in the tiny roofless community centre of the cluster where a small tent had been erected.

A few days earlier someone had visited the cluster and made a list of children interested in joining the programme. The names of around 40 children figured on that piece of paper and they were to receive a small token: a notebook and some pencils in a smart plastic folder. The show began. The flimsy tent was not able to hold the rain and soon the piece of paper was soaked and the names washed away. This was almost providential as we soon realised that there were not 40 but hundreds of children in the small tent with the same amount outside. Children of all ages. I was moved to tears when a young girl, about 16 or so, who looked married also held out her hand and said she too wanted to study! The books and pencils were soon outnumbered by the little hands held out in anticipation.

I moved away and started talking to the parents. I was soon told that most of the children did not go to school though the parents were keen they do. The reason :the sole municipal school in the vicinity had more than 100 kids in each class and even an illiterate parent was aware of the fact that no learning could happen in such abysmal conditions. Children passed from class to class without any learning! This was the situation a day before the PM’s speech just a few kilometers away for the Red Fort. Where was the access to primary education the PM announced with such confidence. Was this the way Independant India hoped children would realise their potential and become responsible citizens!

There is a universe of difference between what is on paper and the reality on the ground Mr Prime Minister. The children of your own capital city do not have access to education, let alone quality education and nothing seems to be really happening. It is time we did something. I do not know whether you will, but we at pwhy certainly will.

To the God of Lesser beings

To the God of Lesser beings

I was recently asked by a friend to make a selection of my blogs as he wanted to publish them in a a small ebook. I must candidly admit that I was thrilled. He also mentioned that maybe I should chose those where I talk of the God of lesser beings. There are over 1200 blogs and I did not quite know where to begin so the suggestion was more than welcome. My blogs are like children to me, some perhaps smarter, better looking and nicer than the other, but each one as precious. Thanks to the wonderful search tool I was able to zero in on the blogs in a jiffy. As I started sifting through them a smile on my lips, I began to wonder how, when and why the God of Lesser beings had come into my life and who he or she actually was.

I realised that there were moments in my last ten years when everything went suddenly dark for more reasons than one: it could be the total lack of funds that made me wonder how the next day would dawn, or the helplessness of a parent who needed help to save her dying child; or an absolutely incomprehensible and terrible situation that needed a solution that was not forthcoming. In those moments I needed help and had no one to turn and yet felt deep inside that there was somehow out there I could reach out to, someone who would rescue me. There were also times when I felt lost and dejected and ready to give up. At those times I needed someone to steer me back and give me the courage to carry on. And believe me there was someone who again heard and sent a miracle my way. But I never knew who it was.

One day little Utpal romped around the house a God mask on his face stating he was Hamoumam! At that instant I realised that he was the one who helped me, the God of Lesser beings, the one little boys prayed to and the one that heard prayers forbidding Gos did not, the one who did not need to be propitiated with costly offerings and complex rituals. The one who only heard those who saw with their hearts.

He has been the one who has walked by my side each and every day for the past ten years and has strangely become the only God I pray to!

Happy I day

Happy I day

There is a post waiting to be published but I have decided to hold on to it, maybe till just tomorrow, as I wanted today’s post to be one of celebration and joy and the post I refer to was to borrow the words of a friend the kind that drives one to utter despair. But today is Independence day and in spite of everything, it is a day we need to honour. I must admit that two days back I would have been at a complete loss to find something to share with you but the God of Lesser beings decided otherwise and gifted me another perfect day.

Normally Independence day and other such celebrations are closed door affairs in the children’s boarding school but this year the school decided to launch a Literacy Mission in the slums near the school and were graceful enough to ask us to associate ourselves with them. The mission was to be launched after the I day school festivities. We were on cloud nine as this is the very area where Planet Why was to be located. And I must admit to be privy to what happens in school on days where parents are not allowed was indeed a rare treat.

The day was cloudy and humid but we were hoping and against hope that the rains would not play spoil sport. We reached bright and early and were greeted by a walk of honour where children held little flags and wished us Happy I Day! Utpal was one of them and I was terribly proud to see him smile and wave his little flag. We were then escorted to the tent where the show would take place. I must admit that I was a little weary as I wondered how long we would have to wait for the proverbial chief guest. We were seated on the front row making us sort of VIPs! A short while later a young student came to ask us to come for the flag hoisting and we knew the real VVIPs had arrived. The flag was hoisted as the school band played the national anthem and then there was a march past.

Once we were again seated the show began. I must again admit that I was on the look out for our kids and wondered when they would appear on stage. We had seen some of them all dressed up and were eager to see them perform. There were a few items by the older children and then it was time for the little ones and there they were Aditya, Meher, Yash and little Manisha who had been in school for barely a month. They performed what is called an action song to perfection and my eyes misted – as they always seem to do in such occasions – as I watched them dance and sing. It was a touching petition to God and I think that the God of Lesser beings was moved too as the heavens opened and it started pouring. The tent came down and every one ran for cover. My heart stopped. What would happen now. What about all the kids who had not performed yet. I dared not ask, too scared of the answer I may receive. I just waited with bated breath for what would happen next.

We were soon asked to move to the Principal’s room where the customary ‘refreshment’ was hurriedly served. There was tea and cold drinks and an array of eats. Then some time later as we were still guessing what would happen next the good news: the show was to continue in the dining hall. I was truly impressed by the speed at which everything had been reorganised. The show as the young MC said must go on! Babli danced in a lively number on national integration and Vicky was part of an enthralling yoga display. A few more songs and a great performance by the school band closed the show. There were a few speeches and then it was time to go. But the day was not quite over as the school had planned to launch its literacy mission on that day.

It was still raining but we were all very excited. The school had identified a nearby slum cluster and children and parents were waiting in spite of the pelting rain. A distribution of pens and notebooks had been planned but soon we realised that there were far more children then notebooks! The number of children was overwhelming and each one wanted to be part of the programme. Parents were eager too as the only municipal school in the vicinity did not really seem to be working as there were more then 80 kids in each class and not much teaching, and many children just did not go to school.

The literacy programme envisaged by the school was to be held on week ends when students would come and teach their little underprivileged peers. It was undoubtedly a great idea but we knew from past experience that much more was required. What was needed was an outreach programme like the ones we ran and I knew what had to be done. We had to start one as soon a possible. My mind went on overdrive trying to work out the logistics: how to start, when to begin etc. And as innumerable thoughts crowded my mind the rain stopped and the sun came out and somehow I felt that the God of Lesser Beings smiling.

I had been given my very special I day gift, one that showed me that for me the show was no way near over.

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more loo tales

They came at 1 crore ( 10 million a piece) and were touted as the best ever. They came in all shapes: mausoleums, Indian fort, glass boxes a strange and bizarre mix of style. Prototypes were built and the deal was that the one selected would be cloned in 200 locations while the others demolished. An absurd waste of money in my book. Residents of the chosen colonies went up in arms calling them monstrosities, something I second loudly. According to the latest buzz they will all be demolished!

I watch numbed and speechless. Do we need loos at this cost in a land where many still do not have access to a proper toilet. Oops I stand corrected: by many I meant the ones living on the other side of the fence, those no one cares about.

The reason for this blog is to vent my ire about all that is happening. I have reined my pen for a few days watching the on going saga of the Commonwealth Games or should I say Corruption Wealth Games. People lying unabashedly in front of cameras, letters appearing contradicting the lie and then more lies. People being made scape goats at the drop of a hat, others vanishing altogether like the technicians who were to man the ill famed giant balloon that cost over 38 crore rupees to the poor Indian tax payer. Every day some new scam is brought to light leaving us all bewildered and sadly helpless.

A small question does blink in our exhausted minds: who will pay the bill? And the answer is loud a clear: we! Be prepared dear Delhizen to pay more for everything, even the air you breathe. The likes of me who are in our twilight years will probably pay the bill till we breath our last. The other question that one dares ask is will the guilty pay and the answer is as clear: no! Some poor scapegoat will be found and axed publicly while the real culprits will simply disappear for a while till they regroup for the next kill. This is the sad reality and we are the ones responsible for all the mess as we have allowed our democracy to be hijacked by brigands. So grin and bear it all.

More questions come to mind, at least for those who still care: will those who have been rendered homeless get a roof on their heads; will those who have lost their livelihood be able to earn again once the drama is over – I mean the vegetable vendor, the cobbler, the iron man et al – and the answer is perhaps as the hungry mouth they once fed – the local cop or official – will start lurking again as he misses his weekly tithe. Who knows. Only time will tell.

Your email made my day….

Your email made my day….

Your email has made my day (and if forecasting is allowed, perhaps my whole life! đŸ™‚ ) Your words have given me the confidence to steer my life in the direction that I have always wanted to take. These were the words that dropped into my inbox late last night. It all began the previous day with another email that began with the words: dear Maam’ji and immediately caught my eye. Maam’ji was hallowed ground. I read on. The mail came from a young woman engineer working in a big corporation. She wrote about herself: her work, her dreams but what again caught my eye were the following words: occasionally, I accompany my grandfather and my mother to an old age home and an orphanage…and perhaps those are the only moments that make my life worthwhile. My eyes misted: here was a young woman who could see with her heart! What she wanted was to come and work with us in our special section. My heart went out to her. I wrote back to tell her it would be an honour to have her with us. Her reply were the words that begin this post.

This was indeed a very special moment for me. Let me explain why. When I set out on the pwhy journey my primary objective was undoubtedly to help make a difference in the lives of those less privileged and I must admit that we have not fared badly. But unknown to many if not all, there were many head fakes consciously strewn along the way and one of them was to be able to touch hearts of those on the other side of the fence. I always hoped that our work would inspire young educated souls and act as a catalyst for change. This is perhaps why I have spent so much time writing these blogs that as you all know are not simply a journal of our activities, but have over time become passionate musings on what I like to call the real India. I know that often what I write is old news, but I somewhat believe, or would like to do so, that I anchor it into a different reality. The hope being that the words would touch some heart. They did touch one and that in itself is nothing short of a miracle. I did begin my journey with the words: If I can change one life it would have been worth it. So I feel vindicated and elated.

But nothing comes easy. Today a young woman is willing to steer her life in a new direction and though I feel almost euphoric I also know that the road she wants to travel is not an easy one.It is wrought with obstacles, humiliation and hurt. Though you do see the best of what life can offer in the eyes of a trusting child you also see the worst: the callousness of people, the lack of concern, the cynicism and more. And yet if you want to carry on you have to battle them all holding on to the memory of the child’s eyes. It is not easy. In spite of my years and grey hair I often did come to the verge of giving up but the little child who christened me Maam’ji ensured I did not. You see I held all his morrows in my hands.

Today a young woman seems to have entrusted her morrows to me. Was I not the one who dreamt of being a mentor. Well the day had dawned. I hope my friend Godji will once again show me the way.