A wonderful gift may not be wrapped as you expect wrote  Jonathan Lockwood Huie. And nothing can be more true as Ihave experienced once again. It is the time of the year when gifts come my way as it is soon my birthday. When I was a child I always got a new dress as toys were gifted at Xmas only. Then came a slew of offerings in sync with age: records, books, perfumes and so on. There was even a time when one bought the gift one’s self and gave it to the person concerned. There were also surprise gifts, one in particular. At a time when I was going through a rough financial patch I remember telling my best friend how nice it would be if people gave you a month’s groceries as a birthday gift rather than some artefact or no utility. Imagine my utter surprise when she brought me just that on my next birthday: boxes and boxes of groceries!

Then as one grew greyer and wiser it was always difficult to identify what one wanted when one was asked the question: what do you want for your birthday? Somehow my 50th was a watershed year. Just a few weeks before my birthday little Utpal came into my life: scalded and moribund. Everyone thought he would die except I! He had to live no matter what. And live he did, with might and main. That year he was my birthday present and what a unique  present that was, one I would enjoy for the remaining years of my life. That is when I realised that I had been chosen for a mission by the One we call by innumerable names, the one who crafts our destiny. From that day one my birthday gifts changed altogether. Sure I still got the usual knick-knacks but that was not the real gifts. My real ones could be wishes that I expressed, a unique party with a special guest list, poems sent by a friend, an assignment by my staff, Manu coming home after a stay at the hospital. The list is endless, each one a little miracle. And of course a very stunning 60th!

From a very tender age I have been accused of being naive and with a heart as soft as a marshmallow. It is true that even today anyone can ‘move’ me. All you need is a few tears and a story to go with it. Many reproach me this attitude but I defend it in my own way. For me anyone who crossed my threshold with a need has been sent to me by the one I call the God of Lesser Beings and hence each one has to be listened to and all effort has to be made to help. I have been like this all my life and I do not think I can or will change. This way of looking at life works for me. So what if some think I am naive or even a sucker.

With my birthday approaching I wondered what would be my surprise gift this year or whether one would come my way. It all seemed very calm. But yesterday a man came out of the blue needing help for his young wife. Even though I tried to act against my grain as it had been some time since we sponsored a surgery and had lost most of those who helped us, I quickly ‘melted’ and took the papers from the man. I wanted to give it a try. My words and the magic of the Internet did the rest and shortly after having posted an appeal a kind soul reached out to help. I was overwhelmed and moved to tears. It felt wonderful to know that there were people out there with their hearts in the right place.
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I got my gift and it is a huge one. First and foremost the life of a young woman will be saved and four little children will have their mom to love them. But there is more. My naive ways stand vindicated. Good exists even if it is a little harder to find. I know it is also means that I cannot ‘retire’ or give up as long as someone up there still needs me.

But more than anything the fact that the young woman is named Noori makes her special. My grandson’s middle name is Noor.

So as you see a wonderful gift may not be wrapped as you expect. You just need to look with your heart to find it.

Life throws challenges at you, when you expect them least or when you have sunk too contently into your comfort zones. It happened to me today. For some time now things have been running smoothly at pwhy, and due to some personal worries, I must admit I have been playing the role of an absent landlord. I do show my face every morning, but then leave to carry on other activities, many related to pwhy of course. This morning I was all set to repeat the daily routine and had climbed into the auto rickshaw when a man, in his late twenties I guess, came to me  and mumbled something while handling me some papers. I was perplexed when my driver tried to explain that the man’s wife was sick and needed help.

My first reaction was to tell him that unfortunately we were not sponsoring medical emergencies any more have lost the persons who once helped us do that. But something in the eyes of man stopped me half way. There was desperation of the kind I had not seen. He told me that he had knocked at every door and gone from pillar to post for the past 8 months hoping to find the funds to treat his wife. He seemed to be at the end of his tether and looked at me with a supplication I could not ignore. Somehow the fact that the man had not given up touched me deeply.

I looked at the papers and found out that Noori Praveen – that is her name – had a cerebro vascular condition and her treatment would require 100 000 Rs- roughly 2000 US$ -. He had papers to prove that. I knew from looking at him that there was no way he could raise that amount. I wish I had deep pockets and could have reached into them but alas that is not the case. But I knew I would not be able to look at myself if I did not try to raise the amount.

Noori is a woman born in this land just as I am. But she was born on the wrong side of the fence. She was denied all the rights that we appropriate ourselves so easily. Nobody must have asked her whether she wanted to get married. Nobody told her that she had right over her body. She had no choices. She must have been married in her teens and become a mother soon after that. She started having headaches  but would have ignored them till they became unbearable. Some quack in the village must have treated her. Then, when nothing seemed to have worked, she would have been taken to a close by town and then ultimately to the portals of the last hope: the All India Institute of Medical Sciences in New Delhi.

In a land where swanky hospitals are mushrooming by the day, the poor have no option but to go to the State run facilities. And even there free treatment is only partial. There comes a time when you have to pay, and pay big! Noori is at that juncture. Her husband has not given up and is still knocking at doors in the hope that someone wil hear. Noori sits waiting hugging her children and her excruciating pain.

I could not pass by. I only had the power of my words to be her voice and hope against hope that someone out there will hear he pain and reach out.

I can only hope and pray that the fact that a man stopped my this morning was because someone had heard the prayers of this young woman and her little children.