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This is Babli’s world..

It is rich in some things and terribly lacking in others. It is filled with smiles and love, courage and determination, dreams and hope, prayers and belief.. all things intangible yet precious. Bablis’ home is tiny, maybe as small as a bathroom or a storeroom in upmarket areas. It has one rickety charpoy, not enough bedding to keep this family of five warm on what is said to be the coldest night in years. A few pots and pans in a corner, a few empty containers making you wonder what dinner will be tonight.

But life goes on in this home, and traditions are respected, the freshly painted walls bear witness to this: Diwali just went by. It is probably in this space that Santosha, Babli’s mom whispered her desperate prayer, that Babli expressed her silent desire to be a ‘police’ – , in this very space that the little family gets together at night to share the happenings of the day gone by. At present the topic must be Babli’s imminent heart surgery as prayers have been heard and dreams have taken the first step towards realisation…

The smiles of the children’s face are proof of the strange and almost incomprehensible fact that this is a happy place. For Babli it is a home she is proud of and from where she draws strength.

Yes Babli’s operation will happen soon.. it is just a matter of settling a few hurdles.. another miracle is in the making.. but that is not why I write this post.

I write this post to dispel what many of my peers think about what they callously call ‘jhuggiwallahs“, and quickly qualify with a string of negative traits. No, all jhuggiwallahs are not thiefs or crooks. They are just like us and live with dignity and courage in conditions many of us cannot begin to fathom. Babli is the fourth heart surgery, and we have supported each of the families. An operation of this magnitude often entails a parent having to take leave and we have have helped them with food and basic amenities. Let me assure you that once the child is through, we have never been harassed for help. The only thing we have received is an embarassing amount of gratitude.

I was hurt, angry and ultimately very sad by the outburst of a visitor who was witnessing our planning for babli operation. She cried out: “do not give them food for more than two days, all jhuggiwallahs are crooks and they will harass you for more”.

No ma’am, they are not crooks, they are human beings just like us…

A mail dropped by this morning. It simply it said:

I too want to help the slum children in our Hyderabad city, and as a first step started with a nearby slum in the outskirts. I now understand the uphill task that it is, but I won’t give up.
The main problem is the motivation. How to do that? How to keep those children off the street , to the gambling( oh there are so many versions!) the fights etc..? How to convince the parents to send them to the free teaching classes?

It was from someone who had written four years back seeking information about our work. I first thought I would reply the mail in the customary manner, but as I sat down to I realised that the words conveyed had a far deeper meaning for us at project why..

First of all it meant that a milestone had been crossed as we had moved from those who began asking many ‘whys’ to one who could now answer the hows. And to me personally, it was a validation of my often misconstrued objective of making pwhy a model that can be replicated. And if our experience can help someone wanting to reach out to children, then I am entitled to my Eureka today.

What I would like to tell our friend is that the first step is the hardest one… often one wants to but the desire never gets translated into action..but once the first step taken, once you have locked eyes honestly with the first child, there is no going back.. you just have to remember one thing: you cannot solve all the problems that surround you, but even if one life is changed, it would have ben worth the effort.. we took the first step in November 2000, never looked back and have a fair track record as proof of our success.

Now to come to the specific hows mentioned, the answer is that there is no single rule. Remember that you are doing this work because children are on the streets, because they gamble, because parents do not understand..

Even five years down the line we still face the same problems and find solutions specific to the particular situation as we are in a land where individualism is celebrated and hence no one solution works. You can only find the right solution if you have assessed the situation correctly. Many a times we have been shocked by things once we took the time to find out. In some cases you may fail but that should not deter you. You just need to be patient, forget your ego and remember your objective. Sometimes you may even have to befriend the local goon, use humour with the kids telling them that if they want to be bad then they should aim to be an educated Don… You have to accept to enterhis world first, before you pull the child out of it..

You just have to wear down your detractor of the time by using very Gandhian methods. It is during my work in the slums that I understood the sagacity of Gandhi.
There are times when you may have to compromise; that is often the case when you deal with parents, so readjust your timings, accept to look after the younger sibling while the elder one studies.. And somethings you will have to accept quietly, hoping that the next generation will understand..

But never give up. The children have paid far too much for the mistakes of us adults, ranging from ignorance to callousness.. It is time we made it up to them.

Nanhe has a smile to die for… and yet does he have a reason to smile, one wonders…

The youngest of five children, he was not even given a name, simple called nanhe..the tiny one. Nanhe has multiple disabilities. When he landed on planet why he could barely hold his head. The innumerable scars on his head were sufficient proof of the number of falls that child had suffered. Incontinent because of impaired kidneys, Nanhe was also often the butt of ridicule and repugnance.

Nanhe came to project why a few months back and has become an important part of our special section. As he is carried out of Sitaram’s blue vehicle, we are treated to his special smile, a moment we look forward to every morning. Nanhe participates in all activities and is even starting to take a few halting steps in spite of his deformed feet. And yet his pain is far from over as he has been diagnored with kidney and bladder stones and needs emergency surgery next week to clear a blockage that is causing him severe pain.

Nanhe has an infective joie de vivre, but as I watch him every morning I wonder what this child’s tomorrows are going to be.. and I feel totally helpless.. we will deal with one problem but another will appear and even if we heal the body, what hapens next, Nanhe can never lead a normal life..

Nanhe lost his father and his mother barely manages to feed her family, one in which three children have disabilities. A brave woman indeed but with all odds against her..

These are moments when one cannot call logic to the rescue. Some will say karma, but whose karma, the mother’s or the little child’s?

And yet everything in little Nanhe’s demeanour is impregnated with a desire to live.. so what we can do is make those days as happy as possible … and maybe, just maybe, nanhe is there to show us that life is worth living… provided you do things right

It was a very special afternoon on planet why..

At 1 pm the children of the special section were ready to receive their guests. There was a sense of palpable excitement as their classroom got ready for the show: a big screen, a LCD projector, a young indian astronomer and the senior primary and secondary girls. Over 50 people crowded in the little room where Pranjal was about to take them to a journey across the solar system…

A motley crowd it was where difference was the uniting factor. People no one would have put together to watch such a show. Yet they sat as the msyteries of the universe got unravelled by this young scientist who intuitively knew how to reach every single mind, with simple words and stunning pictures so that each one, could travel and dream for that one moment in time…

One again planet why had conjured its magic… as for that one hour all differences were left outside and only the joy of learning remained..

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.

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…

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.

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…

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

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..

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…

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

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*!

” 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

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..

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

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..

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…