the spirit of mili
Mili died last night.. as quietly as she came in to our lives …
She found us when we were hurting, and adopted us. She put up with all our tantrums and ways whereby we humans decide the way our animal friends should live. She delighted us with innumerable antics and filled the empty space with joy.
But she was a child of the wild and could never forget that. She fought the tomcat, and attacked birds to our misplaced horror. She put up with us as we tried to domesticate her.. Then one day she was all grown up and needed to follow her instinct. A huge court of admirers she had and we were quite helpless.. Some felt she should be let free, but she always came back.. An uncaring adult even called her names.. was that the day she decided that this world was not for her..
But the harm had been done once again by adults who do not understand. She had got used to us, to the comforts she got and had forgotten some of her survival skills. Two days back she was hit by a vehicle and came back howling to what had a become home. We took her to the vet who said she was just shocked and would be allright… We tried to nurse her back to health but she had decided otherwise…
We found her inert body… her free spirit had flown away.
the art of dreaming..
When the kids of sudhar camp aka potty nagar were asked what they wanted to be when they grew up the answer was: teachers, doctors, firemen, policemen…
Now the parents of these children left their homes to eek out a better living in the city and do menial jobs: rickshaw pullers, vegetable vendors, household servants, small shopkeepers then how and how can their kids dare dream otherwise..
This was the reaction of a visitor from another land.. with malice to none I would like to ask a simple question: does not one see children of workers become doctors in their homeland..
Come to think of it, maybe that is where the tragedy of our land lies: the labels we stick on people that stiffle their future. So the son of a domestic worker will remain that even if he becomes a CEO! That is probably the modern day avatar of the erstwhile caste system.
We at project why dare to dream and teach our children to do so.. if they cannot fulfill their dream, they can fulfill it for their children…and the road is one: education, the one possession no one can steal or take away from you..
India will change when quality education is imparted in each and every school, and that can only happen when our modern rulers accept to do it, when NFEs and parallel systems of learning are done away with…
And have you ever thought that in the dream the child expreses lies the hurt he has seen: and if a sudhar camp kid aspires to be a doctor it may simply because of all those who died around him because no doctor was there to help, or if he wants to be a policeman it is because of the helplesness he felt as a tiny tot when policemen humiliated his father in front of his eyes..
I do hope that out of this anger and hurt comes out the will to break invisible barriers and fulfill impossible dreams..
Children have a right to dream, so please do not take away that right from them…
a matter of time…
I dropped by the Lohar camp today and once again was taken in by the warmth and generosity of this proud people. Kamlesh was cooking makki rotis and I got treated to one, topped with sarson saag and oodles of white butter.
From the corner of my eye, I saw that the quantity of dough kneaded was tiny and that maybe what was being offered to me with so much love was someone’s much deserved lunch. But then not accepting it would be he ultimate humiliation for this proud people. I sat on the proferred charpoy, on the main road to the amused looks passers by, and savoured this offering of love…
We set down to discuss what I had come for and I was, once again, taken in by the rapidity with which everything I said was understood and improved on.. Then I walked through the basti – just 32 ramshackle tents along the main road – to greet old friends. As I walked I sensed that something was amiss. The smiles were there and the warmth too, but there seemed to be a lassitude, an imperceptible feeling of hopelesness that I had not see earlier. It was more than understandable: it had now been almost 4 long years since we started our project in the basti and launched our legal battle to get the Lohars what had been promised to them: permanent shelter. The Public Interest Litigation is still pending in the High Court. Our plea to the NHRC for the plight of these children remained unheard. These children of India, who enjoy the same constitutional rights as yours or mine, see the light of day in dingy tents, getting their first breath of car fumes instead of fresh air…
They came to the city much before other migrants, over 55 years ago and still live on roadsides. Vague and empty promises were made to them as their tents were given a smart sounding address – rana pratap camp – thus bringing them into the voter’s net. But they lie forgotten, waiting for a miracle.
Their children have grown with urban tastes and want to be included in what is their rightful home. But they bear the brunt of labels given to nomads the world over. Yetwhen you ask them what their favourite food is they reply in unison: pizza!
Habitat for the poor is an alarming problem. Haphazard constructions on reclaimed land led to the Bombay and more recent Chennai floods. The sad part is that no real solution will emerge as they would shake the precarious political equations in place.
One has to seriously think of telling people to take back the skills acquired to their habitat of origin to ease out the pressure that will choke our cities to death. Habitat with basic amenities have to be built for those that will remian, as we must not forget that their form an integral part of our society in which they have a vital role to play.
We try at pwhy to make the children realise this by valorising their habitat of origin and tellin them that they need to take back what they have learnt to other children in the villages, as every child cannot come and live in cities. this is one of the reasons the pwhy model is based on in-house resources.
I am not one to beleive that this will not happen some day.. when the people themselves realise what is best for them.. recently the mother of 6 children said in the course of converstaion that in the village her children were in better health as they could have access to vegetables and milk and good water, and run in the fields..
I simply smiled… a matter of time it is.
boman.. beauman …superman…
religion was called the opium of the masses by marx..
a panacea for all ills it has become an easy answer to what requires serious consideration, a way of explaining what defies logic..
now have you ever wondered how children get drawn in the net..
a few weeks back as we walked passed a statue of some leader erected high on a pedestal, mr p tugged at my kurta and pointing towards the statue kept saying ‘boman’ boman’ and then folding his hands while he urged me to do the same.. slightly irritated I complied just to ensure that stubborn mr p would agree to move on..
it is much later that I unraveled the mystery of the word ‘boman‘.. well it was ‘bhagavan‘ or god! to this little fellow anything that was big, and made of inert material was a bhagavan and had to be shown respect…
one can wonder how mr p who is an extremely sensitive child perceives this entity: something big, something to be scared off, to be wondered at.. the first message that has been given to him is one of diffidence. Does his mother get angry if the little fellow does not fold his hands?
all will depend on how the lessons proceed… but that is how the first seeds are sown.. at present anything big is ‘boman‘.. with time it will acquire qualities and subtler definitions, and then differences of ‘boman’ will appear, your boman and their boman…
oh how is wish that boman remains boman or at best beauMan – how different the world would be…
始めまして。 Hajimemashite – nice to meet you
project why has been a journey of discovery, not only of India, but of other lands.
Japan had been till late an unknown land that one viewed with awe, admired its wizardry, and got acquainted with its cuisine.. but somehow it remained faraway and unatainable.. till nauko walked in one fine day with a big smile and tons of warmth…
for the past two years the japanese ladies of delhi have become part and parcel of project why as they come regularly and teach many things to the children. their subdued presence, their meticulous and unobtrusive ways have made them loved by all be it the children or the teachers.
we celebrated the bamboo festival and learnt a japanese song and recently we were part of the japanese ladies bazaar where a lovely poster in japanese introduced our activities..
this lovely link between a tiny slum in India and a group of japanese ladies is one more proof of the indubitable reality that when one learns to see with one’s heart, differences vanish and the world becomes one.
どうもありがとう。 Dōmo arigatō Nauko
and the wisdom to know the difference..
The serenity prayer has been used in many situations and today as I tried to explain the realities of India to some friends from other lands, it came back to my mind:
Grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change;
courage to change the things I can;
and wisdom to know the difference.
How true these words ring as one tries each day to get a little further in the goals one has set and the dreams one has conjured
One can understand how defeated one who does not understand India in its complexities can feel when faced with what seems simple activities. It is true that one would like to change everything in a hurry but can one forget that we are dealing with thousands of years of traditions, customs, mores, hurts, inconsitencies, unfairness.. much of which is so deep seated that it will take time to unravel and redress.. and yet things have to change.
The only way to succeed is to accept those that will take time to alter and change the ones we can without disturbing fragile equations.
One just has to look at the number of social laws that gather dust, as the causes they seek to redress continue to flourish bet it corporal punishment or child marriage..
India will change one day, but one has to have the patience and the serenity to accept that she will change slowly and in her own time..
of hope and joy
project why may not have much in terms of what success is measured by in our day and age: buildings, fancy resources or comfortable bank accounts. but there is one thing it has had in abundance and that is the goodwill and love from every corner of our planet.
we pride ourselves in the great team of volunteers that have passed by. each one has left a little of himself and taken a little part of us.. each one becoming better, more complete, more understanding or at least more humane…
and if each meeting is filled with expectation, each parting is always a moment of sadness..
Taylor, a young student from the US left us yesterday after many weeks spent with the little children of the creche.. I instantly liked this young man.. his eyes twinkled and his face reflected a beautiful soul…
They say children do not fake feelings, and our little twins who had never smiled gave Taylor their first smile ever the moment they met him..
Taylor left me a beautiful letter in which he tried to convey what his stay with us meant to him. I do not know whether we deserve all the kind words he wrote, but I would like to share the following as I feel it somehow reflects what project why stands for: ” If through the course of my lofe, I am able to create a small fraction of the hope and joy you have created, I will consider myself a success as a person’.
Yes, project why is all about hope and joy..
and I am sure Taylor will succeed in life… and we will remember him each time little Fatima, or Asiya or Manoj smile…
thirteen years after
My father left me 13 years ago, today…
Pwhy would not have existed it it were not for him..
Among the many things he taught me, was the meaning of unconditional love.. the one you give without any expectation…
It took me a long time to understand that his legacy was the abundance of love that I was almost choking with, and that had to be let out and shared: pwhy was the obvious answer..
pwhy is an ode to love, a love that makes you richer as the more you give the more you have to give..
everyday i am overwhelmed by the abundance of love that pwhy has brought into my life.. and I feel blessed
every one was a star
sunday evening saw a star meet a young boy and a spirited woman..
yes akshay kumar, the bollywood hero met Arun the young valmiki boy whose heart surgery was sponsored by him, and Bindiya a lovely lohar (gypsy) lady who won our raffle and hence a meeting with the star..
the venue the home of our friend vikraant who had made this possible..
the smiles on the picture say it all: there were no cameras, no flash lights, no media, no buzz, just people meeting people, discovering each other, bonding in a humane manner.
it was delightful to see akshay holding on to arun’s hand an answering the candid questions of this young boy; it was touching to see him take time to find out about the Lohars and their history…
it was a great simple moment, where no one was pretending to be something or someone else, as there was no one to watch. just people bonding in one happy instant that each one would carry as a memory.
and for that moment in time everyone was a *star*!
there are no invitation cards…(cont)
It was late and the party was in full swing. Little Utpal had enjoyed himself, eaten to his heart’s content and consumed large quantities of cold drinks, not because he was thirsty but because of the tall glass and the coloured straw..
I held him on my lap and my hand indavertently touched one of his ugly scars.. a reminder of all the pain this tiny braveheart went thorugh… we all, even I, tend to forget the kind of pain this child experienced for what today would add up to a third of his whole life.. anyway I hugged him tight.. today was the last of the revelries of p and j’s wedding and tomorrow life would take on its usual course..
As I held him, I asked him whether we would meet tomorrow.. just a redundant question for which I really did not expect an answer. To my utter surprise he answered in his serious little way: “ Kal tum mere ghar chai pina” – tomorrow you come to tea to my home!
Somehow my little mr popples felt that he had to return the hospitality he had enjoyed for the past three days. When I asked him want he would give me he said “I will put sugar in the tea”!
Why are my eyes clouded as I write these words…
why are there no invitation cards..
” because i am saving trees..”
was my often exasperated answer.. but I manage to pull it off and stand by my convictions without succumbing to ‘peer’ pressure.
My daughter’s wedding was a vindication of all I stand for and I can say with some pride that I managed to conjure a show where two worlds met in a city where you are judged by appareance, glitter and pomp..
Yet we had everything, a page 3 party with page 3 people but where the lights, flowers, chairs and decoration came from a tentwallah that normally specialises in slum jagrans. The rites were in the purest vedic tradition but the groom rode a motorbike and the barat came in three wheelers driven by pwhy parents to the beats of dholaks played by two of our staff. We had a touch of Bollywood as the salis and sahelis (an eclectic mix of girls from diverse lands and social background) danced to the sound of Bunty and Babli’s Kajra Re , the show ended in the gurdwara hall of gNagar with a bash with pwhy kids and the DJ they wanted.
Was it easy, I must confess it was not as at every step I had to fight my way and hold tight to what I knew was right and find answers to the inane questions I was asked.
But we pulled it off..and it was a lovely celebration where people had time to get to know each other, to share laughter and joy, a wedding where the human touch was not lost and where the sanctity of the occasion was not lost.
Weddings have lost their true essence and meaning, they have become impersonal bashes that are remembered for all the wrong reasons: don’t we always hear things like – the food was cold, or the whisky duff, or it was too cold or to warm – !
Imagine you received a letter from a parent marrying his child, informing you that he or she had decided to use the money set aside for the party planned to sponsor heart surgeries for kids and that all would be informed of the progress. Would that person not rise in your esteem?
The money is that of of just one of the numerous parties plan, when food and guest lists are much of the same…
Think about it..
see pictures of the wedding here
Art of Living ..gNagar style
The Art of Living, is something terribly à la mode in present times and everyone is attending classes or discourses to master it..
For the past five years I too have been attending such classes but in a different school altogether and with masters who are just two feet tall and have not even walked this earth for a thousand days.
I often have kids from gNagar come home to spend some time and I am amazed at their behaviour and at the ease and grace with which they adapt themselves. A far cry from what my peers and friends tend to think.. I have never had anything broken, never a wall scribbled on, never a grain of rice dropped on the carpet..
K and Mr P came to the all the celebrations we had recently and I was amazed at their behavior. They did not sit in a corner but were part of the festivities, enjoyed themelves, wished people and answered questions. They danced and laughed and Mr p regaled everyone with his antics.. and then when he realised he was tired, even though the night was still young, he found me and simply said “Mummy pass jana hai” – I want to go to mummy-!
Mummy for mr P is a dark dingy room where the air is stale and damp, but it is home and that is where every sensible person returns at the end of the day, that is where one belongs…
One of the greatest lessons in the art of living I have been taught is the way these kids handle two worlds, with no resentment or jealousy, enjoying each for what it is.. but never forgetting what their reality is..
Can one find a better example of the art of living..
and the winners are…
The raffle draw was held yesterday at project why…
The raffle had been thought of as one for upmarket people and hence the prizes were tailored to that taste – barring of course the dinner with a bollywood star -. But once we had printed the tickets and set out to sell them, we were aghast at the total lack of enthusiasm we met be it college kids, friends or acquaintances, the response was lukewarm at best..
I must confess that teamProjectwhy was crestfallen, but somehow I was not too surprised. and in the spirit of what we stand for, we decided to sell the raffle tickets in the slums we work in . A great sales team comprising of pwhy staff, parents and children was created and we managed to sell quite a few tickets. We had to, as akshay kumar had give us a date in late november. To make the raffle more attractive to simple folks we added a VCD player!
On 20th November at 11 am, young innocent hands drew the names of the winners and to my delight Bindiya a lovely Lohar woman won the evening with akshay, and ram bibek, a poor tea stall owner won the VCD.. how proud they were.
Bindiya will be going with her brother and ram bibek has hooked on his VCD to his old black and white TV.
and everyone is asking when the next raffle will be…
The initial set back turned to be aboon in disguise and maybe we have a new funding option in the making.
Note: we are looking for sponsors for prizes that slum folsk would like – small music system, TV, irons, mixies etc we are still far from the 4000 one rupee a day donors we need
100th blog
This is the 100th blog I write and publish..
I started this blog a few months ago hoping that I could convey some of the heartwarming and heartbreaking moments one lives on planet why.
I have been overwhelmed by the response to this blog.
This was a special week as my daughter got married, but more so because this wedding was one with a difference. It brought together many worlds.. So there was a page 3 party, an extremely traditional wedding ceremony, a fun bash for the friends of the young couple and the celebrations ended on planet why with a big dance party with the children of pwhy!
It was a great happening as all barriers disappeared and all that mattered was the music and the laughter. The upmarket friends of the groom who had never left the confines of their parisian district mingled with the gypsy kids of the Lohar camp and celebrated this event.
As I watched I thought to myself, that bringing two worlds together was not as difficult as one feared, one just had to take the first step with conviction and the rest followed, even in a town where barriers seem impregnable..
celebrating… with a difference
It was a celebration… but one with a difference.. and one that celebrated ‘difference’!
p and j got married.. in a city where weddings have become barometers of one’s success.. where people wreck their brains to find ways of outdoing others.. where flowers are flown from across the world and strange cuisines discovered… where guests drip jewellerey and stand in bored silence..
p and j got married.. in a ceremony that did out do many.. the groom came on a motorcycle and the wedding party followed in three wheelers to the beat of frenzied dholaks played by pwhy parents , the ceremony was held in the tiny lawn of the bride’s house and not in any farm house or starred hotel, the caterer was up market and the tentwallah from a slum, the guest lists was eclectic coming from diferent lands and all walks of life.. and everyone came together to wish the couple a happy life..
It was a wedding that brought together many worlds , one that proved that diferences needed to be celebrated…
DJ hona chahiye – there must be a D.J.
Two days from today my I marry my fist born…
A simple marriage is anathema to this city we live on…
As the marriage season dawns India’s capital city is replete with weddings that would put Mira Nair’s Monsson Wedding to shame.. it is almost as if Delhi’s beautiful people come alive.. you are flooded with wedding invitations that look like art pieces and you wonder how many trees were cut to make one such card…and cards cannot come alone: they are accompanied by sweetmeats in boxes that discreetely reveal the state of your bank account… and then comes the task of deciding which ceremony you will attend.. as gone are the days where invited to one only.. and what you will wear as that too is a yardstick to measure your success.
Weddings are no more family affairs where you were guided by the elders and the family priest, and have become social statements.. true that everyone is ready to agree with you when you say that they have become ostentatious displays of wealth, but quick to retort that it cannot be otherwise and that so for many reasons: from the wish of the child to be married to the fear of social stigma..
So planning a simple wedding, where the sanctity of the ceremony and the family traditions are paramount is quite a task, as I discovered in the past few days. My daughter’s wedding will held at home and there will be a limited number of people: the ones she wants to have on that very special day!
To achieve this in a city where everyone is judged by appareance has been a herculean task. Trying to explain why there are no cards, no fancy sangeets in hotels or farm houses, no fancy performers, no ostentatious wedding outfits that no one wears again is much harder than one may think. If you say that this is what you beleive in, the answer i :what will people say! You are made to feel unfair to your child, mean and marginal and after a while not fit for Delhi consumption.
But I did survive all and the guest list does not cross 100 and the number of food items on the table 10 and the music will be a dholak played by pwhy staff and the space has been limited to the confines of our home.. and the tone will be set by the family purohit..
But I must confess that I had to give vin to the demands of one side of my family: the project why children who also have the right the celebrate maam’s daughter’s wedding. They want a party where the main element has to be a D.J and a dance floor.
So one day after the wedding there will be a party in gNagar with a D.J., a dance floor and a coffee machine.
This simple demand made me realise how important it is for people lile us to do the right thing as what we called the poor, will always emulate what we do – good or bad – : to them that is the way to social transformation. The difference is that whereas we dip into our bank accounts or piled up wealth, they borrow at 10% a month from the local money lender.
Think about it….
Rarely is love instant
“rarely is love intsant and those lovers are fortunate, in that doubt never enters their mind” writes timeri n murari in his heartwarming tale : my temporary son..
I have rarely been moved by a book.. but as I read this one, all the little faces that have become part of my life came to my mind…and yes of course utpal
I have often wondered why I was so passionate about pwhy..
I guess I never realised that ultimately it was all about falling in love instantly and unconditionally with little kiran who was born the day we began, with utpal’s pain filled eyes, with babli’s determination, with yash’s helplessness, with manu’s resilience, with preeti’s innocence..
pwhy is just a simple love story…
with malice to…
Last week, a prominent magazine published a supplement on our city. The issue was about some of the social causes spearheaded by some individuals: a plethora of causes ranging from children to women, from rag pickers to legal rights, from environment and to animal welfare. project why also featured in it…
Out of all the causes, the one that made the cover was the sole animal welfare organisation…
People often wonder why I spend time surfing TV channels, particularly those viewed by the genral public.. infradig say my peers, but to me it is a way of gaging the reality around me, of comprehending what influences the people I work with and what ails society at that time..
An upmarket magazine will select as its cover picture one that moves its readers and so for a Delhi issue it chose a picture where the poor animal would bring the now very popular – cho chweet – that one hears in page 3 gatherings..
It is not the malnutritioned child that one would wish away if one could, or the garbage pile that will choke the environment, but the stray animal being bottle fed by a fellow citizen that will stir sympathy.
Wonder why? Maybe because the other images are too close to us or is it because they makes us aware of our responsibilities in a disturbing way…
A sad reflection of the reality we live in..
babli … a tiny woman of substance
“doctor bolta hai operation karna hai aur paisa ka intezam karlo.. ” (the doctor says I have to be operated upon and that we should get the money organised) said little babli in her shrill and matter of fact voice as she clutched sister arzoo in a maternal hug..
these words spoken by this little chit of a girl for whom even the simple act of breathing is an effort, sums up the attitude I would like to instill into everyone at project why..
Some kid… she is not scared , she just wants this operation out of the way so that she can get on with her life, and her dreams..
babli wants to study and become a ‘police’ as she says it. wonder why?
for a long time this brave child lived with the fear of dying but that did not stop her from living, and though she has great difficulty in breathing, she takes on life head on…
what is endearing and remarkable in this little woman of susbtance is her ability to recognise opportunities and seize them. as the family is extremely poor with just her mom earning, they had to move home each time the landlord wanted to up the rent, and so she never went to school.
When she landed on planet why, she took to her studies like a fish to water, her teacher is amazed at the speed at which she learns.. she went through all the pre-op tests with a smile and never complained.. even when she told us that her brother got a better deal at home, there was no biterness or envy, she just accepted this as a reality she could not change..
Life has not been kind to babli and yet babli has no complaints; she is grateful for what she has, and has the ability to make the best out of everything, however insignificant..
It is time for life to make up to her!
Note: babli will soon be operated upon. all pre-op tests have been done. we are waiting for the date. if all goes well, babli will reintegrate mainstream education in march 2006.
festive overkill
Today is eid…
In the past month we have had Navratas, Dusserah, Karvah Chauth, Diwali, Bhai Duj..
Durga has been worshipped and sent off to her abode, Ram has slain Ravana, women have prayed for the longevity of their husbands, Ram has been welcomed back and Laskshmi welcomed in, brothers were feted and now the holy month of Ramadan has come to a close.
Exhausting to say the least and most disrupting as children have not been in a studious mood.. each time one thought one had them back in the fold, up came another festival and off they went.
This is a new trend as some years back many of the above were never holidays…
And we are not through yet: Chatth Puja, a typically Bihari and Eastern UP festival starts on the day after Eid..and this one is three days long with innumerable rituals..
Till late chatth puja was unknown to Delhites.. but today it is celebrated with great pomp, and a must for politicians.. a reflection of the changing demography of India’s capital … over 11% of its population is from Bihar and another 20% from eatsern UP: a large easily manipulated vote bank..
It is heartwarming to see people of all faith celebrate together, but children’s studies and other activities do suffer. One should not forget that in the olden days, children were packed off to Gurukuls to learn, and there were no off days!
There is also a insidious and invisible danger that one may not be able to see. Often slums lacking basic infrastructure are legalised to enable the dwellers to get voter ID cards.
One of the most startling example we know is the Lohar basti where we work. A row of tents that barely keep away heat, cold or rain, have been given the name – Rana Pratap Camp – and its dwellers the sought after voter ID. For over twenty years, these people have lived in abysmal conditions, choking on the fumes let out by the cars revving at the red light. No effort has been made to give these citizens of India a proper habitat.
Cities like Delhi are bursting at the seams and slowly choking to an inevitable death. Time has come to start thinking of ways to send people to their habitat of origin. But tem with the people goes the vote bank..
Think about it…