medical nightmare.. another tale of 2 indias
A recent national magazine wrote extensively in its latest issue about the medical boom that India is experiencing these days. Super speciality hospitals with seven star luxuries and helicopter to cart you to and fro! Seems we are now at par with the most developed countries Never mind if all this comes at a whopping price. There are many who have more than required! But that is one side of the coin. Let me tell you the story of Mollika.
Mollika is one of our creche teacher. She is a quiet and dedicated soul who does her work with utmost diligence. She never misses a day, never complains.. the perfect teacher. Last month she took ten days off as she was unwell. She came back looking pale and tired but git back to work without a whisper. Only her smile seemed to have been lost somewhere. A few days later her sister who works for me told me that Mollika had been diagnosed with a TB infection that was not infectious but required long term medication. Like all Indians she had gone to the Government hospital where all tests had been done and she had been given a long list of medicines she had to take for six months. The tragedy was that for the past four months her husband had lost his seventeen year job and they had finished their meagre savings. Being extremely proud people they had told no one about their plight and hopes against hope that the husband would find a job.
Mollika took her prescription to the chemist to purchase her medicines but came back empty handed. The cost for one month was an astronomical 4200 rs, more than her salary. She just bought a week’s supply. That was all she could afford. Now TB is under a WHO programme that is well advertised and called DOTS or Directly Observed Therapy (DOT) for the Treatment of Tuberculosis. Millions have been spent to promote it. Through DOTS patients can get free medication under supervision. Seems almost miraculous but the ground reality is not quite that. First of all Mollika should have been told by the Safdarjung Hospital to join the programme. Instead she was handed a prescription and asked to purchase the medicines form the open market. She should have been informed about the necessity of taking medication for six months and the consequences if she did not. She was never told anything. She should have been informed about the DOTS programme. She was not.
When Manu got TB and was almost dying we tried to get him into the DOTS programme. But in spite of our explaining to the doctors and health workers that he was in no stage to move, let alone visit a centre four times a week, they were adamant and would not budge from their position. That is maybe why DOTS is not as successful as it should have been. We had no option but to purchase medication from the market. We have bough one month’s supply for Mollika. We will try and get her registered in a DOTS programme but I am a bit skeptical! Let us see how it goes.
For Mollika and the likes of her there are no super speciality hospitals… wonder if that will ever happen. Till then we can only do our little bit.
Mollika has two teenage school going kids. Sghe needs all the help we can give her.
From five to seven
Seven kids now study in boarding school so from famous five we have now become secret seven. Meher and Yash andhave now joined their seniors aka Utpal, babli, Vicky, Nikhil and Aditya and taken their first step towards freedom as Epicteus decreed: only the educated are free.
My mind zips back to the times when I was desperately trying to convince people that sending these very desperate children to a ‘good’ boarding school was the only way to allow them to break the circle of poverty they were lots in, the only way to ensure that they would not become child labour to help the family survive, the only ensure that they would regain their lost childhood and be freed of the absurd labels that our society sears on your soul the day your are born. True it came at a price but not an astronomical one, not one that was in excess of a meal in a posh eatery or the pair of shoes bought at a branded store.
I never expected the stiff resistance I got from all and sundry, people who could afford not one but multiple meals or shows in a single month! There were the cynics, the skeptics, the Cassandras of all shade and hues and even prophets of the doom. At first I could not understand anything as to me the fact of sending children to a good school was a win win situation, something that should be lauded and applauded. Then it slowly sunk in that in our society, one which is carefully and absurdly divided in hermetic boxes you do not cross over or step out of line and there I was committing the cardinal sin of crossing lines and breaking impregnable walls. All kinds of reasons were given to make me change my mind and not commit what was thought to be a social aberration. I was told that the children would never integrate, would never do well and more of the same.
Well dear detractors today I stand vindicated. The results have juts come and all our children have done extremely well be it in academics, extra curricular activities or simply conduct. And I am terribly proud.
You can see the results here.
Well done kids!
To greet the happy boy!
The child comes toddling in, and young and old With smiling eyes its smiling eyes behold,
And artless, babyish joy;
A playful welcome greets it through the room,
The saddest brow unfolds its wrinkled gloom,
To greet the happy boy.
Since he has left, barely a few hours ago, time hangs heavy, like a lid, and another poem comes to mind, this one from Baudelaire.
On the groaning spirit, victim of long ennui,
And from the all-encircling horizon
Spreads over us a day gloomier than the night;
Wonder how a little child can conjure such a transformation in supposedly well honed and regulated adult lives. But then are not children images of God, sent to remind us that all that is pure and beautiful is very much alive. It just that we have to remember to see with our hearts.
Perfect love, it is said, sometimes does not come until the first grandchild. I am sure it is true for many but I have been blessed in more ways than one. For the past ten years many little smiles and toddling feet have entered my world to wipe the sad brow, albeit for a few moments. Many little grubby hands have held mine, conveying more than a million words and many furtive kisses have been planted on my cheek as a token of perfect love. Nothing is ever asked in return, there is no need. The heart simply melts and you find yourself breaking rules with alacrity and suddenly tired feet and aching backs vanish as you find the best way to fulfill the unreasonable demand that has been made.
Children are precious, we all seem to have forgotten that!
empowerment to ownership
Empowerment to ownership! I wrote the title of this blog some days back and then somehow writer’s block or was it the God of lesser beings at play? I do not know. When I did write the title I was feeling a little saddened as my dream of going from empowerment to ownership seemed to be a tad turning sour. The blog was supposed to be logical extension of my cri de coeur written a few days back.
I had ended that blog with the words I had said my bit. As usual the teacher has not uttered a word. I asked him to think about matters and get back to me. I know he will ultimately accept to move. The other option is still too scary. But a see has been sown and I hope it will bear fruits sooner than later. I had perhaps also sent a silent prayer to the God of lesser beings urging him to show the young teacher the way as all said and done I was quite fond of him. That was also the time when I must have decided to write a blog about ownership, at least to make my views and thoughts clear. I must confess that when I wrote the title E to O, it sounded grand and somehow outlined the initial mission of pwhy. However over the years as the project grew somewhat organically the O got lost en route. Any feeble attempt to bring back the concept of ownership was met with such resistance and furore that one quietly hid it under the carpet. Maybe it is was too early, too scary, too ambitious.
However all this changed and the clouds lifted when the very teacher who had first refused a posting for some flimsy and inane reason and then retreated into a state finally came to see me yesterday. I must admit that as once bitten and twice shy I feared the worst. Was it to be another trip to the dreaded courts? He sat silently as he always does and needed as usual to be prodded to talk. I asked him gently what he has decided. To go to my village in Bihar and start a branch of pwhy he said in a barely audible voice. I thought I was hearing things and asked him to repeat what he said. He did and I wanted to whoop with joy but noblesse oblige! He slowly explained how he wanted to go to his village for a few days and explore the possibilities of starting something there. Yes, yes, yes was my excited answer. This was my dream come true: to empower people and show them that their real future was in their place of origin. Th real success story was to teach people skills they could then take back. This was more than I has asked for. The excitement was palpable but it was also time to quickly regain composure and be Anou ma’am the wise one. And above all it was imperative to guide the young man and show him the way.
I told him that it was a wonderful idea but that he had to take it one step at a time. The pwhy model would not just be replicated in a Bihar village. It had to be modified to local needs. I suggested he went to his village for a few days to assess the situation and then came back with a short term plan that we would support. Then he would have the necessary time to work on the field and slowly craft the long term needs and make a proper plan. I reminded that we too started with spoken English classes for just 30 kids!
This was truly a ah ha moment for pwhy, the vindication of the seemingly absurd dreams one had held on to: to be able to empower people and have them go back to their villages and create better options there. I know the road is long and tortuous but I know we will overcome all and I know understand why the blog took so long to write.
off with their heads….
Off with their heads.. says the Queen of Hearts in Alice in Wonderland. Hide them away is what the Queen of Delhi has decreed for the beggars of Delhi during the Commonwealth Games. You cannot wish the dross away so you simply conceal them. Do read this article, it shows you the human horror of the CWG and gives some startling figures for all of us to ponder on: 3 million homeless after the games, 100 00 families displaced to beautify Delhi, 2000 children working as labour on CWG sites, 50 000 adult and 60 000 child beggars to be removed from the city for the 15 days of the games and parked in camps on the outskirts.
For good conscience, the state government does mumble that something will be done for the homeless after the games. Knowing the reality of things one can simply translate something and after into never!
Courtesy the games, families who have been living in the city for over a decade find their homes destroyed and are now squatting on pavements from where their children go to school. They fear further eviction as the games approach. Maybe they too will be parked outside the city for the duration of the Games just as the beggars in some insalubrious make shift camp and let loose again once the show is over.
The CWG Damocles sword been looming large on our heads for some time now. For some time we feared about our very own slums, but thank heaven’s we managed to escape as we were not on the routes the visitors would grace. You see Delhi is only getting a selective make over. We were apprehensive about how the CWG would affect us and I did share my concern many times. Now it is a matter of months and one can already get the feel of what awaits us. I wonder whether we will be the ones shown off or the ones hidden under the tattered carpet.
mehajabi.. the beautiful one
Wonder if you remember Mehajabi and her mom! The ones who lived in a room with a strange view. The one whose open heart surgery we sponsored some time back? Well she was back to visit and what a delightful girl she has become. But that is where the happy story ends. The last two years have taken a huge toll on this little family.
During the recent floods that ravaged Bihar, Mehajabi lost 3 of her siblings. The children had gone to spent their holidays with their grandparents. Only Mehajabi and her kid brother remained in Delhi. The waters came and wiped her entire family and whatever little land they had. The family was now truncated to four: Mehajabi, her brother and her parents. The father had lost his safe job in the small town madarssa ( Islamic school) he worked in and having no qualifications had no option but to work as a daily wage labour in Delhi. The mother took to cleaning homes for a pittance. The little brother was sent to a local private school and Mehajabi left to play and look after the tiny home.
But her mom had other plans for her and that is why she came to visit us. She wanted to put Mehajabi in the same school as her brother, only she did not have the means to do so. She needed our help. When we asked how much it would cost to educate this spunky girl the answer was: 200 rupees. We smiled and told her we would give her the money provided there would be be other child. Should that happen, we would stop all help.
She gave us her disarming smile and promised! Only time will tell whether she will keep her promise. Till then Mehajabi is off to school!
a perfect siesta
My birthday was to be a quiet day after all the revelry on the previous night. For the past few weeks my life had been dictated by a little bundle of joy, my grandson, and moves like a clockwork orange: 1 pm lunch time, 2 pm siesta time and so on. And believe you me nothing can alter the pattern, I would never allow it to. When Agastya is here, only the granny lives! Anyway birthday or no birthday 2pm on April 4th was siesta time.
The ritual began. Setting the pillows, getting the favourite soft toy, trying to get the bundle of energy to lie down. As I was doing all this I heard footsteps. It was Popples who had come back from the market with my birthday gift: a small car to add to the collection on my desk, as it seems I get one each time he is home, and two key chains with God figures that will soon hang on my handbag. I hugged him and as I did, he whispered: can I sleep with you too? Of course was the answer. And we settled on the bed. At first he lay next to Agastya and murmured endearments to him. This simply melted my heart. This was something I had hoped and prayed for, to see my precious Popples and my priceless Agastya get to know each other and bond! As Utpal caressed and stroked the baby urging him to sleep, little Agy, seeing that this was not the normal afternoon drill, perked up and thought it was bonus play time. It was time to set things right and I shifted in the middle. While I patted the baby to sleep, I felt a little arm move across my body and hug me. It was Popples. Then a few kisses till slowly Morpheus prevailed and the little boys slipped into his arms.
The only one who did break the rule was me as I did not and could not go to sleep. The moment was too precious and I wanted to savour every moment of it. Initially it is was a pure sensory delight of having these two little boys I so love sleeping next to me but then my thoughts drifted and my mind went on overdrive. This was not just two little boys it was so much more. For me personally it was two souls who had changed my life and giving it a whole new meaning. Each in their own inimitable way had given an old biddy a new lease of life and fulfilled many dreams. They had added a spring to my gait and a song to my heart. But that was not all, as they lay next to me in deep slumber, they also proved beyond doubt that all schismatic attempts to divide human beings and hence society did not and could not have divine sanction. The Gods had made us all equal and love knew no barriers. And if man was the creator of such aberrations, then only he was the one who could redress the torts.
It was time we did…. Little Popples and tiny Agy juts showed us the way.
What a blessed moment.
a very special birthday gift
It was a party. One you could never imagine in your wildest dream. Would beat the Mad Hatter’s one hands down.
The guest list was unique and could never have been drawn by even the best event planner. Only the magic of pwhy could conjure that one! Age was no bar. You had one year olds and eighty years olds. Country was no bar. Social origin was no bar as some were born on streets and some were to the manor born.
There was little Agastya my grandson who sat with his big eyes and serious look wondering at what was going on. Then there was Utpal the miracle child who should have not been walking this earth but who beat all odds and today is in class III in boarding school. Young Kiran was there too, the lovely girl born on the very week we began our work and who is the best friend of our special class and little Ishaan whose mom and I actually began project why! These were the little guests.
Then there was the young boy born on a road side who became a teacher and then walked the ramp, the three wheeler driver’s son who always stood first and today is also a teacher with us. His name happens to be Prince and he is one! Next on the list were two young lads, both from simple homes and both teachers at pwhy. They had just come back from a 15 day tour of Rajasthan as special guests of our Enfances Indiennes friends and were still on cloud nine! There was of course my A team Rani and Dharmendra who have made me almost redundant as they steer the project with perfection. Two lovely volunteers Lorianne and Lewis added their charm as Lewis is a singer and Lorianne a wonderful lens woman.
Then there was a lovely group of people from many parts of France who had come all the way to share in the celebrations. People from different walks of life who believed with me that every child had a right to blossom and bloom. They had come to renew their support and commitment to my swan song.
And then there was my family, who has stood by me like a rock, who had shared all the moments of joy and sorrow, even those that were never expressed. The ones who have believed in me even when I faltered. My lovely daughters, my son-in-law and the one I chose to be my partner.
It was a perfect meeting of heart and hope. The culmination of 10 years of a wonderful and thrilling journey and it could have just been a celebration of this very fact. But that was not the case as hope is eternal and cannot and should not be walled in the confines of a human life. Hope lives on. Two wonderful souls were also present and they held the key to the door that would enable us to anchor our work in time. It was a privilege to have Deepika and Manav with us and to know that they too were willing to believe in our dream of planet why, or should I say planet hope.
I stood there humbled and proud. Was I really the one who had orchestrated this night, a true night to remember? And if the answer was indeed yes, then I feel no guilt in giving myself a silent pat on the back, not forgetting however that the journey is far from over and that I do have miles before I sleep.
The class of 2010 (cont)
There have been some interesting reactions to my previous post.
One said: Spoken like a dedicated, bold and truly concerned teacher.Can feel the anguish and frustration beneth these words.Any thing given in the hands of these politicians has no future. This should be more of a reason for more of Project Why. Because we know that ultimately the responsibility lies in the hands of those who have passion and dedication.
Let me share the experience of Vizag. Last June (sometime) the court gave a directive to close all the private schools not having registration with the Education Department. It turned out that these schools were actually catering to the working class children whose parents have a dream to give better education than the Govt. schools can provide. Parents being gardner, domestic help, drivers, peon, watchman small vendors etc., where both mother and father work hard to meet the education expenses, suddenly in the middle of the session found their children siting at home. They had already paid the annual fees for which they had saved the whole year and now arranging the similar amount at such short notice meant going to the loan sharks or letting their children loose a year. The drama went on for almost two months.A counter petition was filed and the relief came in the form of these schools exempted for the present academic year from closing.
There are always two sides of the coin, though these schools may be violating some norms on the other hand they are filling the gap created by the same system.
A few years I would have reacted differently as I was still a neophyte in the world of Education in India, and was still trying to build impossible castles in the air. Those were the days where I propounded with almost illogical passion the case of the common state run neighborhood school where all children would learn together. That was when I felt all private schools were anathema, just teaching shops that were in for quick buck. I remember how vehemently and angrily I fought the poor parents who had opted to send their wards to the small private schools in the vicinity schools that bore names like Mother K school or SK Convent. I urged them to stop wasting their hard earned money and put their kids into the municipal school and send them to pwhy! Many did and their kids did well.
As time passed, I slowly came to realise that what was making their children do well was the time they spent at pwhy and the fact that parents slowly were claiming some form of ownership to the project. And I also understood that when they did send their children to so called private schools, this is juts what they did: claimed ownership to the education of their children. Government schools , because of their sorry state were no longer respectable and acceptable centres of learning. The penny fell when I read a remarkable book by James Tooley called the Beautiful Tree. It is the story of how the poorest people of the world are educating themselves: simply by creating small parent funded private schools. Maybe this is the answer, at least till the state gets their act inti some semblance of order. And this is also what we had wanted pwhy to lead to. We wanted it to be an example for parents to emulate as only then could ‘more’ pwhys be created. The present model that depends entirely on donations could never withstand the test of time or be replicated.
Sadly, this is perhaps where we failed. Maybe it is because of the stigma attached to the word NGO. Maybe it is because we gave to much for free in the initial days in the hope of being accepted and valorised. Maybe we should have charged a fee for day one itself! Too many questions that need answers, but maybe it is too late for some!
The other reaction was very close to my heart though it may not seem so at first It said: One doesn’t need nationalised schools. but one must have one school system for all. and that one system has to be about merit and everyone who do badly in that one common system…hard luck to them…let them all then be devoid of all reservation. 10 years of education is the only place reservation should be applied. all our children must start at the same starting block….after that…let them all proceed as per their calibre.
The reason why I clamour for a common school is two fold: one is because I was the product of one, albeit not in India, and the other is because I cannot quite see how we can have that elusive and desired school system when ALL children can start at the same starting block, because this can only work if all children learn together, irrespective of their social origins.
class of 2010
This our class of 2010! It is a matter of pride for me to write about them on the very day the children of India have finally got the right to education after waiting for sixty three long years. This class beat all odds and made it in spite of all those who took almost four generations to get their act together.
Today everyone is taking the kudos for this land mark legislation or as our Minister calls it “tryst with destiny”. The Government in power, the politicians, the educationists et al. I feel a little uncomfortable at all this as I wonder why it took 22630 days for the powers that be to realise that the future of any country lay in the tiny hands of its children. I also feel uneasy at the tortuous route that we as a nation chose to take to get to this day. Why did we allow our state run schools to run into a state of such despair that even the not so privileged had to go for the private option thus opening the gates for a new and very lucrative business: education! Were not our erstwhile leaders in various fields proud products of the government school system? That we allowed schools to become a lucrative option somewhere spelt the doom of the very free and equitable education for all we have so painstakingly brought about. Wonder why we chose this road and allowed this to happen?
We can celebrate to day, and have cause to but the battle is far from won. There are huge hurdles and they will soon appear. Let me share some. The new law states that no child can be failed till class VIII. How will be ensure that children get from class to class with the right knowledge. This needs sound systems and committed teachers. We all know the real situation! The Act is supposed to ensure education to 22 crore children (6 to 14). Out of these 1.1 crore are not in school. And the moot question remains: who pays the bills? Let us not fool ourselves, nothing will change overnight.. let us hope it does not take another 20 000 days to get where we want. And I am not even venturing into questions like what about those under 6 and above 14.
As I said, we chose a convoluted road to get to this day. Had we walked another path, the one that seemed to have been chalked out by our past leaders, we may have been able to realise the dream of a level playing field kind of education. A quick perusal of the city shows that there are state run schools in every nook and corner, with prime land. It is another matter that the buildings are often dilapidated. Had these schools been made into centres of excellence, the journey would have been easier. Today the road chosen to provide supposedly inclusive education for all is to force private schools to reserve 25 5 of seats for the poorer children. Reservation again, it seems that we as a nation can never get over this word. Now the private schools are up in arms and in court. We are talking business here and not education ideals, who will pay for these 25%. Then if the system mooted is followed it will take 12 years for a school to have 25 of poor kids as we start in 2011 with class 1. That is another 7665 days.
I read an interview with the Minister of Education and my heart skipped a beat when he said in answer to a question on the common school, something many of us think is the answer to education for all: Obviously we can’t nationalise education. As you know that we have neither the will nor the funding. The will Mr Minister, not the funding. One always finds funding if there is a will. Rad the interview and you will agree that the day when all children of India get their constitutional right to Education is still very far away.
And yet it does not take much to change things on the ground. Our valiant class of 2010 and their committed and passionate teacher is proof of the fact that if there is a will there is alwya a way!
in the queue
Recently a friend wrote a short note in the memory of the loss of two of her dear friends. It was a touching note reminiscing about rites de passage that had always been shared and she reminded us that this one too awaited us all. The wisdom was in accepting it and preparing for it in the best manner possible.
I must admit that of late I have often found myself thinking of my final curtain call. Life is made of a plethora of rites de passage, and each bring a new awakening and take us one step further on the road of life. But the last one is different. It is the final high note of the symphony of your life, the one followed by eternal silence. And yes the wisdom is to accept that it is inevitable and that to prepare for it is the best we can do.
It is true that this realisation comes in our twilight years and is often heralded by some event or the other. It can be the sudden and unexpected loss of a dear one or it can be much gentler, like the slow realisation that time that was once your friend and moved slowly, suddenly becomes frenzied as days seem to pass at lightning speed, barely allowing you to catch your breath. This takes me back to my university days when one tried to comprehend the theories of Bergson on time and its duration. We all remember how time sometimes hangs and sometimes simply flies. When we were young this duality of time was associated to pleasant and unpleasant experiences, today it seems otherwise. As age advances time seems to take wings.
This is perhaps a gentle reminder from the Gods that one must put one’s house in order and do it pronto! I just realised mine is a little larger than the conventional ones. So it is time I pulled up my boots and got to work. There is no time left to think, ponder, deliberate or reflect. These are luxuries that are no longer my due. It is time to act and act fast even if it means making some mistakes or slipping a few times. One can always retrace steps or apply some soothing salve. The house has to be set in order. And that above all means that pwhy has to be protected and given a life long lease. The wisdom lies in making the right choices even if they are not the ideal ones. Let us not forget I am now in the queue!
of the terrorist, by the terrorist, for the terrorist
For the past few months many annoying things have occurred. First after years of placid relationship our bankers have suddenly jumped into mistrust mode. I now regularly get calls or mails asking inane questions, this in spite of due diligence having been undertaken more than once: do you have affiliations with any political parties, are any of your trustees politicians, are you purely a social service organisation etc. Come on, we have been in the business for a decade, have been vetted by the Home Ministry, the Police department, the Income Tax authorities and have all required certifications. So are we not legit! It does not end there. For the past months many donations from long term donors have been sent back as the word DONATION was not mentioned in the transfer document. Our word was of course not good enough. Explaining this to our donors is not always easy. In one case one poor donor from Italy had written DONAZIONE but even that was not accepted! The word is DONATION screamed the banker!
But that is not all, last week our on line payment facility was also stopped. This is indeed a killer as this facility enabled us to receive the small donations that form the backbone of project why. I wonder how we will overcome this one. I shudder at the paper work that will be asked for. Our volunteers too have also born the brunt of this new age order. Poor souls cannot access their on line banking facility from India, as it is considered a high risk country an are left high and dry.
Yes there is an insidious new world over that was surreptitiously hijacked the world and entered every nook and corner of our daily existence. Police checks at every corner, always at peak traffic time creating terrible snarls, need of ID proofs to purchase a SIM card or much else, security checks that will soon get very invasive once electronic body scans replace the already humiliating manual one, need to carry your personal belongings in a clear plastic bag for all to see etc. Last month a friend was refused a drink in a pub in London. The reason was that he had grown a beard and ‘looked’ like a terrorist though he is of sound European lineage.
The whole world is at war against ‘terrorism’ and yet the end is nowhere in sight. This leads us to try and define what is ‘terrorism’ or who is the ‘terrorist’ we need to watch for. And the answer is very nebulous. If you have time read this essay. I am not one to favour or support any form of terrorism, whatever the hue, but when you read the essay you wonder what makes young children, barely grown girls and boys, women, simple souls take up guns and follow a destructive path with utmost belief and faith. What dreams of theirs have we as society crushed, what invisible hurt have we inflicted upon them, how have they become prey to hidden and often incomprehensible agendas? I know these are uncomfortable questions that we would like to avoid but that need to be answered if we want a semblance of order to be restored in this world.
every 8.7804 minute
An invitation card for a upmarket promotional do, landed on my desk yesterday. I do not know why such cards come my way! And as always it made me wince. The card looked like a cigar box and was made of outrageously expensive paper. Open the box and in lieu of cigars, you find a card nestled at the bottom soliciting your presence to yet another extravaganza with not only imported food and wine, but imported entertainment.
L, a volunteer, was sitting there and after looking at the card simply said: wonder how many children could be fed with the price of this one card. Strange that she should have mentioned this, as the previous day a TV channel had aired a report about malnutrition in India. The figures was startling, shocking and made one hand one’s head hang in shame: in Madhya Pradesh alone 83 children die of malnutrition every day, and that is just one state of India. And this while surplus grain worth millions rots in what is known as the granary of India.
The amount of extravagantly priced cards that come my way is staggering. I have figured out why I, the proverbial recluse, am on their mailing lists: courtesy the husband’s upmarket club affiliations! PR agencies get hold of club directories and voila! Cards are printed by the zillions and couriered (no post please) and you find yourself invited to dos galore, opening of bedroom and bathroom furniture showrooms, jewellery exhibitions and more of the same. The cards often land unopened in the trashcan! I was tickled pink by a recent ad of a mobile phone company that urged everyone to save trees and use SMSses to communicate everything! Come to think of it it could be cheaper and one had the luxury of the DND (do not disturb) option. With the courier man you are subjected to the door bell ring at all hours of the day, and they have an uncanny habit of coming when you are taking forty winks or have just stepped into your bath. Blessed were the days of the postman: he only rang the bell twice a day!
But bantering apart, time has come for all of us to stop wearing blinkers and start looking at the harsh reality that surrounds us, and not just look but ask ourselves some disturbing questions. The first one is whether we can carry on the way we do without batting an eyelid as if all was well? If the answer is yes then sorry I disturbed you; if the answer is a no even a hesitant one, then comes the next question: how responsible we are and what can we do? My answer was pwhy. A tiny drop in the ocean but nevertheless a beginning.
There are many things around us that should upset if not abhor us. The little child who knocks at your car window every day without fail and who should actually be in school as says the Constitution. The obscene amount of food thrown on the street after religious feeding sprees or outrageous marriages, the mounds of plastic choking every part of the city, the unnecessary breaking and remaking of perfectly sound pavement and roads that remind us of children playing construction games but they do not waste tax payer’s money. And this is just what we see. Open the newspaper or turn on the box and the nightmare continues. Kangaroo courts that decide whether you should live or die, children sold and abused. Many of us express our shock or concern from the comfort of an armchair and then simply procrastinate. Many of us rant and rave a bit while getting ready for the next do one is invited to and then simply forget till the next aberration. Some simply feel it is not our problem as there if a government that is meant to solve all that is not right smug in the comfort that we did our civic duty by casting our vote.
It is time we took a step further and made our voices heard, not just for the page 3 cases needing justice, when we are quick to light candles and stand vigil, but for every single child dying of hunger every 8.7804 minute, one who has no voice and above all no vote.
Prince will never study at Princeton
Prince will never study at Princeton – excuse the pun! But Prince is actually a very real human being and one that does us proud. He came to us many years ago as a primary student. A seemingly shy and withdrawn boy, Prince was nevertheless always first in class and a very serious student. He passed all his Board exams and recently joined a B Com course. His dream: to be a teacher and that is why he came hesitantly last week asking us whether he could join pwhy! Undoubtedly we said! And today he is one of the team: a secondary teacher at the Okhla centre. Another dream come true.
You must be wondering why I mentioned Princeton at all. A new venture or should I say adventure is being crafted by our new Minister of Education. If all goes is way, then very soon foreign universities will soon set shop in India and the moot question is whether their will be a quota for economically and socially backward classes. According to our flamboyant Minister foreign universities are private and therefore free from any commitment to social inclusiveness when operating in India! All this spells danger and a further division of education. One had hoped that the new Minister would have walked the path leading to leveling education rather than creating more layers. Now you will have the super rich who can go to Princeton and the not so super rich who will enter the portals of Princeton India if that university decides that India is a lucrative business. A repeat performance of what happened with school education when the middle class opted for private schools leading to government schools becoming schools for only the poor.
The article presents a probable scenario which I cannot but agree to: the creamiest layer – using at word now politically correct I presume – will continue to go to the real thing for the ambiance, the ersatz will be for those just below them. And for all others it will be the local colleges reputed or not quite so. And then there is one more question lurking: if branded universities do land on our shores, will our best teachers leave their present jobs and join the more lucrative options? And thus quality higher education, just like quality primary education will only be for the privileged.
Where are we going Mr Minister! Education was the only hope for the teeming millions of Indian children to whom our Constitution has finally granted the right to free and equitable education, to break the cycle of poverty they are enslaved in. From 1983 to 1999 overall education expenditure has declined from 80 to 67 %. Is education for all a farce or a sad joke played on poor unsuspecting and voiceless children. And yet the children of India beat all odds. Prince always stood first even though he lives in a squalid hole. His father is illiterate and drives an auto rickshaw he does not even own. Things would be right if Prince one day could join Princeton, where this temple of knowledge even open its doors in India.
commonwealth.. and common woes revisited
OK Delhizens loosen your purse strings, your state needs you. You will have to pay your tithe for the honour of hosting the commonwealth games! So from now on everything will cost more: cooking gas, CNG, ghee, tea, coffee, utensils, mobile phones. VAT is being increased from 12 to 20 %. The justification is simple: expenditure on Games projects had exceeded estimates while the “recession” had meant that revenues didn’t keep pace. Whatever that means! The bottom line is that each one of us, rich and poor are going to pay for this useless extravaganza!
The fear of what the CWG would mean to the common Delhizen has been looming large on our heads for some time now. We were fist told of relocation of slums and we feared for our own, mercifully till now we have been spared. Perhaps it is because we are not on the routes the players will take to go around the city. And as we all know, the clean up drive is just cosmetic. Then came the ban on street vendors and that affected us as many of our parents lost their sole mean of livelihood and many their sole source of sustenance. We winced a little but carried on. Last week Delhi’s school children were informed that they would have to go to school till the end of May. That was a shocker. With temperatures already soaring, wonder what the mercury will read come May! Yes the CWG were truly becoming an event to remember.
Finally came the last straw that breaks the proverbial camel’s back. As if the recent price rises were not enough, and just when one had finally mastered the art of balancing a budget by stretching a potato or watering a dal, came the final blow: everything would cost more and the reason was to fulfill some delusional fantasy. We wince at every price rise, it is but human, but then we process the matter and assuage our feelings by telling ourselves that the money is meant fr education, development, health of the poor and so on even if we know that the benefits never really reach their destination. But where are the mitigating factors. Will someone enlighten me?
when tables flew and roses appeared
Christopher James is a magician, but a magician with a huge heart. A chance encounter in a pub with one of our volunteers, few words exchanged and voila, Chris was all set to come and spread some magic in the lives of our kids.
He came this morning armed with his bag of tricks and enthralled the children at Okhla first.
Tables flew, roses appeared thanks to a sprinkle of magic powder, 50 rs notes turned to 500 rs one. And the children watched mesmerised and spell bound. Time stood still. For those precious moments the Okhla centre got transformed into a dreamland where everything looked possible.
Chris conjured Canadian coins out of nowhere and then asked his little assistant what her dream was before handing her over a coin. She said she wanted to buy a car. She clutched her coin and was found asking her friends whether she could walk into a shop with the coin and actually get a car! We all smiled but come to think of it it was a magic coin. The boys loved the card tricks and everyone was transfixed by the 50 rs that became 500! Some of the adults were actually seen looking into their pockets for a note to be transformed.
The show was over, too soon for some. Next stop was the women centre. As there was a little time left, Shamika gathered some courage and asked Chris whether he would come to the special section and do a few tricks for the special kids. He agreed and tables flew again for our very special souls. The children were fascinated and even if they could not express in words what they felt, all you had to do was look at their faces!
Chris cast his spell again for the children of our women centre. There again time stood still and everyone was transfixed, even the adults who completely forgot, much to my chagrin, to take pictures though the camera stood charged and ready waiting to be picked up!
Thank you Chris for having brought a ray of hope and joy to our children. God bless you!
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for all the wrong reasons
The case of Jennifer H is heart rendering. Imagine being adopted at the age of 8, abused by your adoptive father, moved to 50 foster homes and often abused in each of them and then when you finally have found a way out, had two kids and reclaimed your right to be happy and cared for, being simply deported because the adoption agency goofed up and never processed your papers. A TV channel is currently highlighting the plight adoption cases gone terribly wrong: children abandoned by adoptive parents who separate, children adopted to be used and abused, children stolen to be given in adoption to make a quick buck. The list is endless and each case more tragic than the other.
Adoption is a tricky option. True there are innumerable happy stories, where adopted children are surrounded with love and care. And thank God for that. The reason for this post is not a debate on the pros and cons of adoption per say. I write these words to one again highlight the fact that children are the weakest and most fragile of all beings and cannot be treated like a commodity and cast aside when you have had enough of them or used to fulfill some dark need as is often the case. Just google for ‘adoption gone wrong’ and you will find umpteen shocking tales. What is sad is that where natural parents cope with any situation, adoptive parents are quick to blame the child for any behaviour problem and in some cases even hurt it. In many instances adopted children move from foster homes to foster homes, each scarring the child forever. No one seems to accept the fact that adoption is a life long commitment no matter what!
When little Y was born, he seemed a ‘fit’ case for adoption as his was the most dysfunctional family I had ever come across, and though we do not delve in adoption, in his case we were tempted to do so. A family came forward, the legal procedure was undertaken and as per the law the adoptive family was given guardianship and the stage was set for the child to leave. Thank heavens that did not happen, as the adoptive family found another child and decided to simply walk away from this one. We were horrified at that moment and very angry but in hindsight this was perhaps the best thing that could have happened as had the child left, he might have landed in yet another foster home. In a few weeks little Y will pack his bags for another journey as he sets out to join his pals in boarding school. He will get what he needs most and what will set him truly free: a sound education. Believe me, we have struck the word adoption from our lives and replaced it forever with education!
Children are not commodities to be sold and abused to make a few bucks. They are not spare parts or temporary articles used to fulfill some need or the other and then locked or cast away, or easy prey to satisfy pervert desires. Children are the gift of God and need to treated as such with love, care and profound respect.
sweet dreams are made of this…
I remember the day when I first met Sanjay. It must have been 8 years or so ago and he must have been 14. We had just begun teaching a primary class at the Lohar Bati, gypsy camp, located next to our first centre. Sanjay and some of his pals, who had all dropped out of school, use to hang around our open air class, mesmerised by the foreign volunteers who sometimes taught classes. After some time we suggested they too come and join and some did, Sanjay was one of them. Little did I know that one day the somewhat rebellious good looking kid would break all ceilings and walk the ramp.
But let us not jump the gun! Let me tell you Sanjay’s story as I know it. Actually it begins well before I met Sanjay. Like many of you who live in Delhi, I too must have passed by the umpteen Lohar camps strewn across the city and never really looked at them, certainly not with my heart! It is only when we opened an outreach programme in what is called the Janata Jeevan camp, that I had to walk by the Lohar camp situated next to the Kalakaji bus depot. The sight and plight of the small bright eyed children running about and breathing if not choking on the fumes of cars revving up at the red light caught my attention and I decided to do something. The first thing that came to mind was to start a small creche and a primary section. Now Lohars, like all gypsies, are proud people, and not one to accept charity of any kind. We met Tau, the head of the camp and explained what we wanted to do. He immediately saw the wisdom of our request and accepted it. There was an open space behind the camp and that is where it all began.
As months passed, I found myself often heading towards the camp and spending time there, imbibing the rare wisdom and sagacity of these proud people. Somehow being with them was a way of stepping off the spinning world and recharging my batteries! They always had a cup of tea ready for me if not a hot hand slapped roti. I also discovered to my horror that they had been living on the pavement for 30 years though they had been promised rehabilitation by the government. I decided to do something and urged them to file a PIL in the High Court. Sadly nothing came of it and they continue to live with the Damocles sword of destruction hanging over their heads. Sadly again we had to discontinue our classes because of the authorities. We hope to be able top resume them again soon.
In the early days of our work there, I use to spend time with the children and often asked them about their dreams. They use to share them with me and they were often small and simple ones. I urged them to dream big, very big and to hold on the dream, because dreams had sometimes an uncanny way of coming true! I remember the older boys standing in the background and listening to what I had to say. I guess Sanjay was there too, but he never then shared his dream with me, though he joined classes and went on to complete his schooling. Geeta our creche teacher was Sanjay’s elder sister. When she got married she requested us to give her job to her brother as they needed the money. We did though I recall telling him that with his looks he should become a super model. I never knew my words would be prophetic.
Sanjay has been teaching primary children for the past 5 years. His gentle ways and his boundless patience have made him a great favourite with the children. And for me the simple fact that this almost drop out gypsy boy became a teacher was something to be terribly proud of. And that is why when Camille Ponsin, a reputed French documentary maker wanted a ‘story’, I thought the one of the pavement born gypsy boy turned teacher was one he should go for. I was far from knowing that it would become a fairy tale, where seemingly impossible dreams come true.
The filming began and all seemed on track. One day Camille called me and told me that Sanjay had shared his real dream on camera: that of making it to Bollywood. At first I just smiled. Was this not the dream of every kid in the land, the one that sustained you through your darkest hours? I must admit I let it pass. Then another call informing me that Camille had a possible entree into the hallowed land, someone that could perhaps make this crazy dream happen. He wanted to take Sanjay to Mumbai and simply take it from there. The rest is now history. Last Sunday Sanjay walked the ramp for a top designer and did it with flair and aplomb.
It is with immense pride that I read the next days papers. I was tickled pink by Sanjay’s answer to a journo who asked him if he was nervous: “Chalna hi toh hai. Do saal ki ummar se kar raha hoon (All I have to do is walk. I’ve been doing that since I was two). His words reflected the spirit he was born with, the one that is the heritage of one who belongs to a proud people who have roamed for centuries without fear. Reading those words I knew that no matter what lay ahead, Sanjay would take it in his stride, whether it was walking ramps or simply walking the road of life.
My thoughts went back to the day when I had jokingly told him he should become a super model. I wonder if the God of Lesser Beings was listening.
Little men…
Meet Agastya and Utpal the two little men of my life. Just like the Little Prince they landed into my existence when I least expected them and yet most needed them. One came when I was going dealing with personal demons and needed to rediscover myself and test my own limits and the other when I needed to be reassured that time was still on my side.
When I first set eyes on Utpal he must have been a little under a year. At first he was just another little toddler, one that I hoped would become one of the pwhy kids. Little did I know what was in store for both for us. A few days later Utpal had his tryst with fire and somehow our destinies changed forever. I next saw him, swathed in ugly bandages and moaning in pain. He looked at me with his huge eyes and I knew that life would never be the same. That is the moment he walked into my heart and tucked himself there forever. He taught me to smile in adversity. He taught me that nothing was hopeless, you just had to find the right door and walk through it. He became my source of strength and my little ray of sunshine, that shone the brightest on dark and cloudy days. Today we have both grown. The little child has become a young boy and his Maamji a little older and a tad wiser, or so she would like to believe!
Then entered Agastya, my little grandchild and it was love at first sight! Simply holding him was enough to want to live many morrows. Life seemed enticing again. One wanted to see his fist step, hear his first laugh and just see and help him grow. Somehow the bones creaked less, and the gait became lighter as time seemed to still be on my side. I was blessed with two wonderful little men having special places in my heart.
Last week they met and bonded. I guess they both knew they shared one common thing: the love of a dotty old woman! I watched in silence, my throat hurting and my eyes moist, and mouthed a silent thank you, to the God of small children.
a gift of knowledge
A few months ago I got a mail form a young friend.He wrote: I have recently started an ambitious project to create story books for children and more importantly to devise means to make them available to every child of the world. We are working on the first book right now. I will be dedicating this first book to the children of Project Why. I was really touched. It all started with a twitter campaign where the aim was to reach 100 000 followers following which we would receive a huge library courtesy Grolier! A very ambitious project, but we were all excited and a little candid!
Months went by and I must admit I got engrossed in other things so imagine my astonishment when I got a call from my young friend informing me that the campaign had been successful and that we were soon to receive the promised books worth a whopping 200 000 Rs. I was floored! What a wonderful surprise. I was also informed that we had to go to Grolier’s office to receive the gift. Before I carry on the story, I wish to thank Rohit who is an exceptional young man who sees with his heart and makes dreams come true without much ado, just the way it should be. God bless him.
So last Monday an appointment was fixed and we were to meet the country head for Grolier and receive our gift. I had thought it would be a short formal affair but it turned to be one an unforgettable experience. We were welcomed by Mr James Yeoh, the GM himself and offered a cup of tea. We started talking about one thing an another and soon were sharing thoughts and dreams. I told him how much I appreciated the generous donation of educational material as it would help me ensure that my children have access to better possibilities and morrows. That is when James told us how he had over the years given young people of a lesser God the chance to step out of their limited world and reach the sky. His company trained and employed young people from underprivileged backgrounds. He told us how he had given a young fishmonger he has been impressed by, the chance to come and work with him. Today the young man was a marketing executive. I sat mesmerised, hearing for the very first time words that I had dreamt, words that I wanted many to mouth, but never heard. How wonderful it would be if many more thought like James Yeoh! And that was not all, he even promised to give our kids a chance!
Then it was time to receive our gift. I still did not know what it was. I must confess that I had seen the large display of books at the entrance of the office and had been fascinated by them as they were all wonderful titles and just the kind we needed but I still did not know that ALL those books were for us. When I did find out, I was again stumped. It was a dream come true as just a day before I was thinking how to go about getting some learning material for our new focus on quality project. And here we had it all.
Our sincere and heartfelt thanks to James and Rohit who have given the children of project why the most precious and beautiful gift: knowledge!