I almost did not go! The sky was laden with dark grey clouds threatening to rain and if I were to catch a sniffle it would spell disaster as Ranjan’s immune system is close to nought with the darned chemo. But then even though large drops started falling I decided to take a chance. It had been too long since I had seen my kids at the women centre and as they were celebrating Independence day with their usual fervour. I thought it would be a nice outing for my grandson too. So off we went and the rain Gods were on our side. They had played spoil sport earlier and that had compelled the women centre team to reorganise the sitting arrangement and the stage had to be in the open so that all kids could be seated under the tin roof.

The show was lovely. The flag hoisting, the National Anthem sung loud and with great zeal even if some were faster than the others, and some out of key. That is what made it that much more touching to me. It was not a well rehearsed performance but an anthem sung from the heart. Then the children presented a show with dances and songs and speeches. I was impressed by the quality of the performance. Some of the solo dances were I was told self taught, courtesy TV reality shows, and quite impressive. A robot dance was particularly well executed and loved by my grandson who delighted us all evening with his version it.

As I watched these little and not so little faces, I saw so much hope in the eyes of every child that my blood ran cold. I had just finished writing a blog on Independence day and what it meant to me and my parents and how disillusioned those who fought and lay down their lives for this day would be if they saw India as she is today. It was easy to rant and rave and write words that would remain just that: words – that may or not be read – soon to be forgotten. Looking at these children, all three hundred and more of them, I realised that they had set their hopes in what we could give them and do for them and thus the responsibility that someone – let us call him/her god with a small g – had given us was far larger than what we could imagine. It was OK to rant and rave about things that were not as they should be, but we had been ‘chosen’ to right a wrong for children born half a century after India became independent and still stuck in a rut of promised not fulfilled, deprived of all the rights that were theirs just because they were born in this land.

So though I am going through a bad patch, I cannot and will not give up the pledge I made to myself many moons ago. I have to make that little difference so that the hope in the little eyes I saw becomes the reality these kids deserve. A reality that became theirs on August 15th 1947 but never reached them.

August 15th is Independence Day. It is also my Pa’s birthday. It is also the day my Mama was freed from the pledge she had taken of not getting married before India became independent. All said and done it was probably the day I became a possibility. My parents were insanely and passionately in love with India. My father gave up his Mauritian (British nationality) and elected to come back and serve his motherland. My mama’s sacrifices and harsh childhood, the nights when the hunger pangs were so severe that sleep would not come, but these were accepted with dignity as the sole bread earner spent more nights in jail than at home; the welts of the backs of her father and his freedom fighter friends that were tended by a young child, all that was forgotten as the Indian flag was hoisted on the ramparts of the red fort. To our little family August 15th was indeed a very blessed that, as it was the very foundation of my small but wonderful family.

Being an Ambassador’s child meant that the tricolour flew every day on our house; it also flew on papa’s car when he was in it. Independence Day and Republic Day were celebrated with a formal flag hoisting. As I grew from childhood to my teens, I learnt about the solemnity of these days and also about the price people like my grandfather had to pay to make India a free nation.

After Papa retired, we became simple citizens of a country I had been made to love. I was, and still am, proud to be Indian. How can I forget the dying words of my father: do not lose faith in India. I guess he needed to give me this legacy as he died a few days before the destruction of the Babri Masjid, when religious extremism was at its worse. The destruction of the Masjid would have broken his heart.

What picture can I paint of my country today that would be worth dying for. The only ray of hope I saw for a fleeting moment was is in the eyes of the children of project why who sang the national anthem and hoisted the flag this morning. I shudder to think when they too will lose faith in this land that does not care for them or for any one. After 66 years of Independence what have do we have to be proud of? Three children dying every minute of malnutrition? Children who have sat religiously on a school benches (or on the floor as we have still not been able to provide a school bench to every school going child even in the capital) and can barely read or write after years? Midday meals that are not fit for consumption but are forced out the throats of kids even if they die (I was told this morning after the I Day celebration at the women centre that teachers told the children to remove the worms from the slush they were served and eat it)? Children who work not only in eateries or mechanic shops but also in educated homes as servants in spite of laws against child labour? Statistics that should make any self respecting human being hang his/her head in shame but leaves us immobile and unconcerned.

How can I explain to those who laid down their lives and suffered humiliation to fight for freedom that in the past 66 years what we have excelled at is dividing the country in every which way possible. That those who were given the sacred task of building a Nation have destroyed it again again. Caste, religion, gender, language and how can I forget riches have all been instruments to create deeper and deeper schisms in our society. Where some live in mansions others live in holes. This again happens in our capital city. Some throw away food with impunity, others follow field rats to their burrows and are skilled in scrapping out the grains stolen and stored underground by the rodents to calm the hunger of their children. This after 66 years of Independence. And what makes it worse is that every year grains rot as we have not been able to come up with a sound way of keeping surplus grain safe.

Over the years the ones meant to rule us have failed us time and again. Over the years laws meant to deal with all that is stated above have been promulgated to gain votes and then never or poorly implemented. They are simply means to ‘look good’ at election times and carefully perused to see how they can become new ways of filling pockets. Yes we have mastered the art of corruption better than anyone else.  It has become a way of life for everyone from the humblest to the highest and mightiest. In a land where ingenuity and resourcefulness is our biggest asset, the poor that we have let down so badly and in all manner possible, find ways to survive: a tea shop on the street; a cart selling hot food; a tailor or shoemaker around the corner, the sky is the limit but to be able to earn they have to pay blood money. Would you call this corruption. I call it survival.

How would my mother feel, the one who was amongst the millions of free Indians to set the flag being hoisted on August 15th 1947 if I told her that two politicians in a town not far from where she lived, were caught on camera clinging to a flag pole as they push and heckle each other trying to claim the honour of hoisting the Indian Tricolour on Independence Day. I guess her heart would have simply shattered and all her life’s sacrifices brought to nought. My parents belonged to the generation who stood up when the National Anthem was played on the radio or at the end of the TV broadcast. We did it too, albeit grudgingly and perhaps because we had never felt the blows of the lathis of the British.

Mama who was so anti British did however accept to work for the colonisers as there was one cause that was dearer to her: equality and dignity for women. The feisty and diminutive woman who must have been in her late twenties accepted a job that entailed going to remote villages and ensuring that war widows (IInd World War) got their pensions and that these were not usurped by greedy male relatives. She also spent time with the women of the villages she visited and talked to them about hygiene, nutrition and above all their rights. Believe or not but she drove a 1 ton truck ad was accompanied by a peon.

How do I tell this woman that all her dreams of liberated and educated women in a free India have been usurped. That women and girls today are not respected and esteemed. That 2 month old babies are raped. That rapists get away as all the onus of the rape is shifted by a male led society on the victim: her dress, her habits, her whatever. That we as a society remain numbed and voiceless. That may be things were better off when she trudged from village to village to make a difference.

To a woman who fought to be the first girl in her town to go to school and went on to get a Doctorate, what do I tell about the education we are giving our children today. How do I tell her about classes were 100 children are cramped and teachers disinterested. How do I tell her about the fact that higher education has now become a privilege of the rich as poor children never get enough marks to enter the portals of state run universities and that their parents cannot afford private institutions. How do I tell her that our rulers have privatised and commercialised the only vehicle that could change the destiny of children born on the wrong side of the fence.

The India my parents love with such passion and fervour has lost its way. After 66 years of Independence India is still enslaved to the greed and rapacity of those who rule us and to the indifference of those who can raise their voices.

Happy Independence day!

There have been a few times when I have wanted to shut project why because of incidents that defeat the purpose of my entire life mission. Thank God these have been far and few but each time, they hurt and hurt and want to make you scream in despair. I really had hoped that we had seen the last of the machinations of wily politicians and shady trade unions. But alas that was not to be! In these moments my way of dealing with these issues in not concealing or hiding them but airing them for all to know.

Part of the support I have got emanates I think from my being honest in all ways possible, specially when things do not look good. Some time back an ugly incident occurred in our creche. It was a day when one staff was absent and the children particularly agitated and to crown it all, as it was summers, many kids had upset tummies. One little girl had dirtied herself over and over again and one of our teachers, who must have had a bad day at home, got exasperated and slapped the poor child. Though there was another teacher present the matter was not brought to the attention of the management. The child was sent home and needless to say the mother went ballistic. I would have to!

To make matters worse she lodged a police complaint and mercifully the matter was sorted amicably. Now beating a child is a no no at pwhy! So in spite of the fact that the teachers had been with us for a long time and were good teachers, it was decided to terminate their services. They did appeal but the management felt that this was a mistake that could not be forgiven and not only had a child been beaten but the proper way of handling the situation has not been taken and matters made worse by trying to conceal a grave misdemeanour.

One teacher accepted the decision and we found her another job. The other fell for the skewed advice of her relative who is a small union worker and decided to make an issue. A few days ago she threatened our computer to staff and told them she would break computers, throw stones and even hit herself and accuse us of having hurt her if they opened the centre the next day. The centre is located close to her home and thus she has the support of her family and relations. We opened the computer centre the next day and she was told to come to the office and meet me on a particular day. I do not go to pwhy these days so on Monday I went to office and waited for the teacher to come. She did not. The next day she came with some flimsy excuse and as I was not there, she simply told the coordinator that as she was not being taken back, she would now take action. It was nothing short of a threat! I was given to understand that she intended to play the caste card.

One of project why’s success has been to empower and train a whole team plucked from the very community and beneficiaries it reaches out to. Caste was never in our minds as I am rabidly against the caste card that his played and replayed ad nauseum by politicos and their acolytes. So threatening me with the caste card is nonsensical and makes me see red. If one was to peruse our caste profile, one would realise at once that it is the so called high castes that are in a minority. But sadly the caste card is one that is too often played to create problems.

So we are looking at either yet another labour court case. I wish the Government had made some laws for not for profit organisations that depend on donors and thus do not ‘make’ money! last time we were taken to the labour court, the case was filed under the Shops and Establishments Act! The other option is a complaint at the SC ST Commission.

The sad part is that a poor uneducated woman will be used as a pawn so that politicos get some brownie points in a pre-election year. I must admit that in spite of working for over a decade on the field we have not been able to expose such games in a convincing way. This would be one of our failures. But is is also proof of how much the caste and creed issue is kept alive by our politicians to meet their hidden agendas. It is this very approach of division and reservation that has not allowed our country to grow. We have mastered and perfected  the divide and rule policy of our colonisers. It will take more than another generation to free ourselves of these shackles.

We had thought of finding an alternative job for this lady. But now, after her real threats we will not be in a position to do anything for her. Anyone who threatens to throw stones and break computers cannot be trusted.

I feel sad and dejected. These are the times when I feel like locking everything up and moving on.

Ok its official: Planet Why as envisaged for over 5 years now has been finally laid to rest. This is after many false starts as I guess I was not ready to accept failure – for want of a better word. Many posts are witness to this. I wrote many requiems to Planet Why. I prayed to all the Gods imaginable, wished on every star and knocked at every door I could think of. But to no avail. The dream of a lovely green guesthouse built in the Indian style is now is that: just a dream. I guess it will linger in my head for as long as I live, a bitter sweet memory tinged with a feeling, however unwarranted, of failure. I have always been one to beat myself when faced with defeat, more so as my inability affected the hopes and dreams of so many. So before I move on to plan B, and reinvent a truncated Planet Why, I think I need to one last time delve into my ineptitude to see Planet Why through.

Let us take it from the top. I still believe that the idea was/is a sound one. Hospitality is a viable business in our day and times and with the increase in people wanting to ‘do’ something in the countries they visit, giving them an opportunity is spot on. This holds true for those who just want a safe and clean place to stay and those who would like to ‘volunteer’ for part of their stay. The adjacent children centre was the ideal place to do just that. So that is the business part. Let us not forget that the plan was vetted and approved by international consultants. As for the design it was in sync with the land and the building would have been as green as possible in the given circumstances. The location may not have looked ideal to some but one must not forget that land prices in Delhi are astronomical and hence anything in the heart of the city was beyond our pockets. However we chose what I think was the next best option: a location close to the International airport. Moreover one must not forget that we needed a site where we could find underprivileged children to continue our work. The place was close to several villages and adjacent slums. Last but not the least, the setting up of Planet Why would have also enabled us to take our mission one step further by providing vocational skills to our alumni.

But every thing I did was not enough to enable me to garner the large amount of funds needed. I guess a recluse can hardly get access to those who have deep pockets. I do not feel the need to recount all the promises that were made and not honoured. The fact is that planet why did not happen. No point crying over spilled milk.

I always wait for signs from the Heavens and this time I has been loud and clear. Not quite what I wanted but one that definitely takes care of any shred of hope I may have still stowed away in some deep recesses of my mind.

The blow of Ranjan’s cancer has brought to the fore the fact that life ephemeral and does not lie in our hands. The true meaning of the quote: Man proposes, God disposes. I had always thought – hubris at work again – that I would devote the rest of my life to pwhy and that all others things would remain the same and hence would not need my full time commitment. One word – lymphoma – changed everything. My house of cards crumbled and I am now trying to build another one that seems rather flimsy.

The time I thought I was master of, has mutated into unpredictable spans the reins of which are held by the whims and quirks of chemotherapy and its almost individually tailored side effects. And my life now, has to satisfy itself by the tiny moments that I can steal in between. In these tiny moments I have to cram all else and thus have to make a list of things to do in descending order of importance. I so would have liked to place pwhy on top, but it cannot be so. Let me explain why. At this moment of my life I need to keep my sanity and wits intact. Everything else depends on that. If I were to have a meltdown everything I have lived for, both personally and professionally would come to nought. I realise today and in hindsight that the cornerstone of my existence has been and is my husband. The road he and I are travelling today is scary and uncertain. Every day comes with its set of demands. It is really like running an obstacle race blindfolded.

In this race I try to sneak a few moments to connect with all those who are supporting me, including you who are taking the time to read this post. And then my sanity depends on my finding some time  to write, either about my battle with the new adversary that has forced itself on us and that takes care of the anger and the pain, or Dear Popples 2 which is the Project Why story and takes me into a kind of suspended animation where long forgotten memories bring a smile and even bewilderment at all we have gone through.

One Damocles sword still hangs on my head: the future of project why. I hope it will cruise safely on auto pilot and give the time to come up with a smaller but more meaningful alternative that will give this love child of mine the security it needs.