One of the items of our recent Independence day celebration was a play on Gandhi’s salt march. The play had five British
soldiers cast in it. We needed costumes for them. We thought best to go to one of the costume rental places and asked for British soldier uniforms. The man said he would get them for us in a day or two. We were quite confident that they would be appropriate.
Imagine my surprise when I saw our four lads all dressed up on D day. They looked like the tin soldiers of my childhood. I wonder which British officer ever wore such an accoutrement! I could barely contain my smile, if not my laugh, as I saw my five boys proudly displaying their regalia. I could not for the life of me understand where this came from! Ottoman soldiers? Prussian ones with the wrong coloured hat or a very strange interpretation of the Royal Guards of Buckingham Palace. Any one’s guess!
As I said to me they looked like the little tin men of my childhood, the ones we kept in tin boxes and took out to play with. Whatever they were, on that morning they looked adorable and won many hearts! God bless them!
A few months ago an email dropped in my inbox. It was from a young girl studying in Switzerland. She wrote: I have always been inclined towards arts and humanities. I believe in social development and I try to keep up with the daily news. At the same time, I have been studying photography at school among others and it is a subject that inspires me a lot. I think it is a beautiful medium of communication. So I decided to mix these two elements for my project. I plan to organize a photography workshop in the month of July for a group of children aged 11-13 years, coming from a different socio-economic background and teach it to them as a mode of self-expression. My objective is to pass on my knowledge to these children who may not have the possibility of learning and studying this art as a way of self-expression.
Aranya had come recommended from a very dear friend and I had no hesitation in accepting her request. I must admit that at that time I was a tad skeptic, wondering how children so young would fare. But all doubts vanished when the young spirited girl landed at pwhy. The following days or should I say weeks were a pleasure to watch. Six boys and six girls ran about the project and the surroundings camera in hand clicking away. Every time I came to the centre the band of six would try and capture me one way or the other. It was a pure treat to see them at work camera in hand trying to get the best frame like true professionals. I must again admit a little bashfully that I did not quite believe in the end result thinking that the would at best get some amateur shots.
When Aranya asked whether we could include a presentation of the children’s images in our Iday celebration, I agreed almost reluctantly. So you can imagine my shock when I was treated to a preview of the presentation on a computer sitting in my three wheeler under the rain on the even of Dday. The pictures were not just professional but stunning and moving. The children had captured images of India worthy of the best photographer. They saw with their heart and that was truly heartwarming. Needless to say that the applause was overwhelming on Dday. I hope we can organise an exhibition some day when we find a sponsor!
Till then here is a selection of the photographs. Enjoy!
The definition of the word Hubris in the dictionary is the following: excessive pride, defiance of the Gods leading to nemesis. It is a state in which we can easily fall, particularly when we happen to be in a position of power. It is something I have feared and been careful to avoid specially in the last few years when I found myself heading pwhy. It would have been easy to slip up and bask in undeserved pride as miracles after miracles came our way. When pwhy began I could never have imagined the multitude of extraordinary moments that have occurred over time.
First and foremost when we began with a handful of kids and a single spoken English class I never thought in my wildest dream that we would be reaching out to over 700 children, let alone envision that we would sponsor heart surgeries and save many lives. I could not have pictured that a little boy with third degree burns would land in my life and become an intrinsic part of it. It would, you agree, not be out of place if I did feel a tad proud. But I was so petrified of seeming hubristic, that I never allowed myself that liberty and always felt that I was simply fulfilling what I been destined to do. And it all worked for the best as pwhy lived from year to year meeting all challenges with confidence and success. True we had some tough spells but help always came in the nick of time. Everything seemed so perfect that at times it seemed eerie!
Life could have continued in this tranquil manner. It did for a long time till the fateful moment when I began thinking of pwhy after me and became almost obsessed by its sustainability. In hindsight I wonder whether it was not hubris surreptitiously knocking at my back door. Till that moment I had been quite content accepting things as they happened, looking for alternatives when some obstacle came our way and never knocking at a door more than once. However the sustainability syndrome was another thing altogether. It gnawed at me day and night and I must confess still does. After many false starts what seemed a doable idea took seed in my mind: planet why a guest house with a twist. It never occurred to me that it was way out of our league.
As soon as the idea seeded in my mind, I got busy ensuring it would root and grow strong. I defended it with passion against one and all, always finding arguments to counter any stricture, and as I did planet why became more and more real, at least to me. The dialectic was comforting. I refused to look at obstacles as possible writings on the wall and simply gave up my maxim of never knocking at the door more than once. I found myself banging on doors. Some opened slightly, others wider and yet others remained shut. And yet every time one was close to despair a ray of light shone, albeit for a few instants. And that is how we managed to purchase our land, get our proposal vetted by international consultants, and even found a likely investor who promised the earth but has been ominously silent. And yet I refused to give up hoping that some light would shine on us again. I was driven. Planet Why had to see the light of day.
But then slowly better sense seeped in and I felt it was time to take stock and look at alternatives. It was decided to make 2011 a watershed year. If nothing were to happen by 31-12-11 then we would slowly lay planet why to rest and work on different alternatives and feel grateful for what we have.
So all hubris lies forgotten and as a dear friend so aptly wrote in a recent mail: Many dreams that we have take time – at times a long period – to come to fruition. I guess time is running out, and God seems to have withheld his Miracle till now. But till D-day, let’s continue to bear faith and look for other ways out. Much has been invested into realizing Planet Why but I hope you don’t feel demoralized by the current difficulties, because let’s not forget that the everyday operations of the Project is still uplifting hundreds of children out of poverty. Planet Why could well be the epitome and we pray for the day it stands in front of us, but before that day arrives we know the Project is still true to its core duty and beliefs. And for that, I think we have every reason to continue being grateful and strive on with resilience, faith and tranquility.
The show the project why children put up to celebrate Ram’s Centenary and India’s Independence was breathtaking in more ways than one. The passion of the children, the quality of the different items and the warmth of the audience made it a unique experience. The large community hall was packed and the foot tapping music and dance were appreciated by one an all. In this post I will try and share the magic of that day and invite you to enjoy it. So take your seat, relax and watch with your heart
The silent anthem performed by the special children of project why.
Bum Bum Bole performed by the primary boys of our Khader Centre.
If you are happy sing the tiny tots of Khader.
Jai Ho by our very special kids
The Khader senior boys recreate the magic of a song from Lagan
National Integration project why style
Vande mataram by the project why girls.
Chak de India, or should I say Chak de Project Why
If journalism is the first rough draft of history, journalists need to make sure that in the press of events, goodness doesn’t go unchronicled writes a journalist in an article in the Independence issue of a recent leading magazine. The issue is aptly entitled the good news of India. It was a breath of fresh air after all the grim issues that highlighted only the bad news. And it seems that more than one magazine decided it was time to share the good news as another leading one decided to shelve the politicians and big wigs and devote its Iday issue on highlighting the trials and tribulations of invisible Indians. Kudos to both of them. It is time this happened as we have been for far too long stifled by ‘bad’ news aka scams, terror, murders and more of the same.
Good news, it is said, does not get the aspired TRP rates and yet when we find a story of hope tucked away in an inside page, or the end of a news bulletin it is almost like the breath of fresh air we need to survive. It is time someone listened and chronicled it, if not for us then at least for history.
Some years back I got a mail from an unknown person. He was keen on knowing more about our work as he wanted to write about it. He was not a journo but the creator of a website called Good News India and his mission was to scout across India to find what he aptly called News from India : of positive action, steely endeavour and quiet triumphs ~ news that is little known. The site was a plethora of stories about Indians who make a difference. Way back in 2003 he wrote about Ana Hazare the very person India is celebrating today. Perhaps he knew intuitively that Ana would one day lead India against corruption. I am proud to say that project why was also one of the good stories.
We need to celebrate the little people, the ones that remain hidden and unseen. They are the soul of any nation, the ones that keep it alive and vibrant. On Independence day we too celebrated our very own: the special children. On that day they got sparkling gold medals to honour them. It is a sad that our society has never learn to appreciate and celebrate difference. Special children may not be quite like us, or so we would want to believe, but if you learn to see with your heart, they are far better human beings than us. They truly know how to celebrate difference as they accept us unconditionally and allow us to enter their world without reserve. They are always ready to shower us with wholehearted love. And yet they remain invisible, hidden by their families and loved ones, shunned by schools and rebuffed by potential employers. We try to bring a little balm to their hearts and light to their dark existences. But on I Day we decided to bring them all center stage and give them a medal just for being who they are: the very best! Needless to say their eyes were filled with joy and pride and we hope the medals will be displayed in their homes as a gentle reminder of their existence.
The invisible Indians referred to in the magazine are the very ones we pass by and do not see, as we do not look with our hearts. And yet they are a part and parcel of our lives as they more than anyone else make our existence better. I am talking about the one who does not bat an eye lid and gets into your drain to unclog it or the tailor who works hard at finishing your favourite designer’s latest outfit that you will wear at the next do, and what about the innumerable construction workers who enabled your dream home to be completed? have you ever spared a thought for them.
I have my set of little people who I never fail to acknowledge whenever I see them. Come to think about it how much does a smile or a hello cost? There is my roadside tailor who has fixed so many of my clothes, the cobbler who repairs a broken heel in a jiffy, the vegetable vendor who sits late into the night and ensured you get the lemon needed for you sundowner. The list goes on: my sun in law’s favourite roadside barber, the chai wallah who has been there for decades and knows us all, the ironing lady who ensures that all of us wear well pressed clothes, the little flower man who brings the puja (prayer) flowers every morning notwithstanding the weather, the garbage man who lands every morning with his cart to your rid you of your garbage, the kabadiwallah who takes away your old newspapers and empty bottles and even pays you for them. And what about your electrician, your plumber, your garner. Imagine life without them. No pretty! Yet how many of us know their names and have bothered to find out about their lives. And yet they have lives, lives that perhaps are not amazing enough to make headlines, but still lives that deserve to be heard and chronicled as they are also part of history.
I remember reading a collection of books in my youth. It was a French collection named La vie quotidien du temps des… (Daily life in the times of…) and it could be the Romans, the Middle Ages, the Ancient Egypt and so on. It made fascinating reading because unlike history books it documented the lives of ordinary people. I have tried in my blog to record some such stories as I have had the privilege in the past decade to live close to such invisible people and learnt to love and respect them. I need to write more!
Today let me just say Chapeau Bas to all the invisible people and a big thank you for being there for us.
One of the items of our recent Independence day celebration was a play on Gandhi’s salt march. The play had five British
Imagine my surprise when I saw our four lads all dressed up on D day. They looked like the tin soldiers of my childhood. I wonder which British officer ever wore such an accoutrement! I could barely contain my smile, if not my laugh, as I saw my five boys proudly displaying their regalia. I could not for the life of me understand where this came from! Ottoman soldiers? Prussian ones with the wrong coloured hat or a very strange interpretation of the Royal Guards of Buckingham Palace. Any one’s guess!
