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Compassion brings us to a stop, and for a moment we rise above ourselves wrote Mason Cooley. The recent appalling incident of total and shocking indifference that seemingly shook the nation brought to light the distressing lack of compassion that permeates our social fabric. The sight of the bleeding policeman begging for help may have disturbed us but would it lead us to act were we ever placed in a similar position is the question that begs to be asked.

This incident brought back to memory another incident that occurred 5 years back. One morning I was informed by one of our staff of the presence of a young man who had been lying in the area and seemed hurt. When I went to the spot I found Babloo Mandal, a man in his twenties writhing in pain. He had a huge maggot infested wound on his leg and he cried for help in agony. It seemed he had been hurt in an accident some time back and had been left there, perhaps by the driver of the car that hit him. This was a Monday morning and I discovered with horror that the man had been lying there since late Saturday night. This was a crowded area with flats and shops and people passing regularly but NO ONE had extended the boy any help. His words seemed incoherent but if you bothered to stop and listen he was simply begging for someone to save his life. The stench of his wound was vile and people simply walked by hurriedly.

I also discovered with renewed horror that the police had been called the previous night but had refused to take him to a hospital. We decided to spring int action and while we set about calling the cops one of my staff went to him and held his hand and told him that help was one the way. We realised that Babloo was simple minded and mentally challenged. The cops did eventually turn up but no one was willing to pick him up, so I sent two of our teachers with them. I thought that we had the matters in hand but I was soon to discover how wrong I was.

An hour or so later I got a call from the hospital saying that the doctors refused to attend to him and had handed some disinfectant and cotton to my teachers. Babloo was left on a stretcher outside the emergency hall. Enough was enough. I called a friend from the press and set out for the hospital. My journo friend reached the hospital a camera man in tow at the same time as I did and  pictures were clicked before the authorities realised what had happened. Soon we were swarmed by security personnel and hospital staff. Babloo Mandal was finally taken into the emergency room but there too, no one was willing to cut off his shorts. It was again a pwhy staff who went and got a blade and did the needful. His wound was cleaned and dressed and we waited hoping the hospital would admit him. But that was not to be. The hospital staff told us tersely to take him away.

A few phone calls were made and we found an NGO that had a shelter with medical staff and were willing to take him. Babloo was finally taken to the shelter and then moved to a private hospital that took care of him. And though gangrene has set in, the doctors managed to save his leg. In the meantime, based on the few details he could give us, we managed to trace his family and after a few weeks Babloo was reunited with those he loved.

I had forgotten about this incident but the sight of the policeman begging for help brought back memories of Babloo Mandal. At that time what we did what was to us the obvious option and nothing out of the ordinary. True everyone else’s behaviour had upset us, but somehow we never found it necessary to delve upon the matter. I was just another day at project why. But today somehow many questions that should have been asked years back come to mind. Is compassion such rare quality? How can people watch and let someone die? Why did no one go near the bleeding man and at least reassure him? How does one teach another to be compassionate? Why don’t we stop and rise above ourselves when needed?

I do not have the answers. All I know is that I will stop each and every time it is needed.

Here is a test to find whether your mission on earth is finished : If you’re alive, it isn’t.” wrote Richard Bach. I stumbled upon this quote last week. Somehow the words seemed to be an answer to many unformulated questions that often crowd my mind.

I have often been asked, the last time not later than yesterday, whether there were not times when I felt like giving up. The truth is that I have, and the truth also is that I am still here. Over the past 10 years many obstacles have come my way, some harsher than the others and yet one survived them all, be it the cynicism and lack of compassion that one saw all around, or the unveiled threats and dark moments when day never seemed to break. But each and every time, when all seemed lost, a little flicker of light appeared from nowhere: a little hand that held yours a tad longer than usual, a smile that warmed your heart or a look of unadulterated trust that made you spring back with renewed confidence. And above all the myriad of hands that reached out from the across the globe to make sure your steps did not falter.

I must admit that many a times I have thought of project why as a mission, one I have not chosen but been destined to fulfill. I must also admit that I have spend many sleepless nights wondering how it will all end, wondering whether I will be able to set things on course so that project why can sail on smoothly even after I am gone, and whether my mission has ended. I got the answer in Bachs’ words: If I am live, it hasn’t.

Yesterday was a very special day at the project why creche. Twelve little creche kids had been invited by Navakriti School to spend the afternoon on their premises and in spite of the bitter cold the children were very excited. The morning was spent sprucing everyone up, making badges, combing hair, washing faces: in a word getting ready for the big outing. At last it was time to go. The children walked to the waiting car and piled in. The adventure had begun.

Navakriti is a lovely school with large playgrounds, swings and slides, a kitchen garden and even little bunnies. Our kids were taken back. They had never seen such things having all been born and bred in the squalor of Delhi slums. They did not know what to do and simply stood frozen for a while. After a small welcome it was time to go out and conquer a whole new world. The first task was to go to the kitchen garden and pluck tender spinach leaves to feed the rabbits. Not an easy task for children who had never seen vegetables grow. But soon everyone got the hang of it and everyone had his or her leaves in their little hands. Feeding the rabbits was another ball game as most of the children got scarred of the little furry balls in their cages. But slowly they got over their fear and handed out the leaves to the hungry little animals. The children also saw the large cauliflowers, the big radishes and every thing else growing in the garden. It had been a wonderful discovery of nature.

Then it was tome to play and out came the bat and balls. The children played to their hearts content running with gay abandon in the wide open spaces. Their little faces glowing with excitement and joy. After the bat ball game it was time to explore the swings and the jungle gym. What fun it was and how easy it is for a child to reclaim an usurped childhood!

But the weather soon got the better of everyone as it was extremely cold and getting dark. However there was still a treat left: story time. The children sat enthralled and listened to the wonderful story of the little bird looking for his mother.

The day ended with hot pakoras made from cauliflowers from the garden and warm halwa. The children sat at little tables and devoured the lovely snacks. It was time to go and the children thanked everyone and climbed in the waiting car, their little heads filled with images they would never forget.

Here are some pictures of this wonderful outing

We would like to thank our friend Rahul and the Principal and the staff of the Navakriti school for giving our children this wonderful opportunity.

The year end festivities are over and today we begin the first week of the new year and the new decade of project why. Overwhelming is it not? But also exhilarating and exciting. The first thing that comes to mind at the dawn of a new year and more so a new decade is new resolutions. I pondered a long while on what our new year resolution should be?

After much thought I decided that from this day onwards the one thing we would do is celebrate every good moment, no matter how small or seemingly innocuous. I realised sadly and sheepishly that one often tends to maximise the few bad moments, the small obstacles, the tiny impediments, the minor hitches and forgets all about the good things, the wonderful achievements, the superb feats and the miracles big and small that have come our way.

That project why has been in existence for a decade is wondrous. That it has withstood the test of time is nothing short of a miracle. Is that not worth celebrating! All else pales in front of this simple accomplishment and yet we forget to acknowledge let alone honour it. Is it not remarkable that in spite of all odds we have never faltered in the past 10 years, never given up on any challenge no matter how impossible it may have seemed and always come out winners. It is sad that far too often such achievements are just brushed under the carpet or taken for granted. From today onwards we will take time each day to highlight the good moments no matter how trivial they may seem.

A new year and more so a new decade is also time to introspect and make necessary course corrections. 2010 should herald the decade when we make a slow transition from quantity to quality. Till date our main objective has been to arrest drop our rates and ensure children complete their schooling and we have been successful in doing so. We now intend to slowly mutate and try and give our children an enabling environment and the skills needed succeed in today’ world. We aspire to give Education for All a whole new meaning!

This where we stand at the dawn of this new decade.

An unexpected occurrence enabled me to pay off all the pending loans for the planet why land. Call it a miracle if you wish. I call it a father’s gift. I sat a long time, after having written the repayment cheques and let my mind travel back to the time when I use to sit next to my father and listen to his wise words. I must confess that at that time I never truly realised their sagacity and often brushed them aside with impatience. One of the things he oft repeated was that nothing happened without a reason as not a leave moved without Divine will. You will agree that when you hear such words in your adolescent years or as you enter womanhood, you are quick to discard such thoughts as you believe you can conquer the world and more! But as I grew up and as life slowly enfolded, these words became a leitmotiv. Hindsight is always wiser, is it not?

In the past years I have more than once realised the futility of banging against closed doors and understood the wisdom of simply waiting for things to happen. Nevertheless when a few weeks back the kind person who had given us a loan to purchase our land called to say he was in desperate need and wanted his money back I really did not know how I would ever be able to repay the loan. I must also admit that in those moments Papa’s wise words never came to mind. Yet a few days later a letter from an uncle informed me of the imminent sale of an old property I had forgotten about or rather given up on. The proceeds of the sale would be ample enough to repay back all incurred loans. It was a miracle or as I realised later a father’s gift. Had the sale occurred earlier the money would have been spent and I would never have been able to get out of my predicament.

Yesterday all loans were paid back and today we proudly own the land for planet why. I can only whisper: Thank you Papa.

It is the last day of the year and the decade. Time to take a moment and look back at time gone by as we at pwhy step into our 10th year. Time to allow ourselves a moment to celebrate the achievements and successes of the years gone by and I must admit there is heaps to be joyful about: the little school bags that year after year got filled with new books as children passed to the higher classes, the bright eyed youngsters who held out their Board results with pride, the tiny boarding school stars who topped their respective classes beating every odd in life, the little once broken hearts that now beat with confidence ready to take on life, the very special young adults who have a home to call their own and do not need to wander the streets or live in fear of abuse.

But that is not all as none of this would not have been possible without so many wonderful souls who never gave up seeing with their hearts and made all of it possible. As I look back on the decade gone by I am filled with an overwhelming feeling of gratitude that no words can express, but then for those who see with their hearts are words necessary?

An acquaintance dropped by yesterday. He is one of those strange persons who seem to be donning a new hat each time you meet. Last time we met he was involved in defending water rights worldwide and this time he handed me a card with the acronym MDG engraved on it. MDG, I was soon to discover were the lofty Millennium Development Goals of the United Nations and our friend was meant to work on seeing how to involve big businesses, again worldwide, in the game or how to make CSR programmes relevant. Why did I catch myself smiling. I guess because once again I was faced with the bizmess of giving! My mind went back to one of my earlier posts written almost half a decade ago.

Anyway I enjoy teasing this person about his new avatars and we began a gentle banter about his new role. I asked him what the famed goals were and how he planned to involve the so called big businesses in this. We never got further than Goal 2: Achieve Universal Primary Education. Somehow the playful mood that we had begun with turned serious and grave. We were now treading grounds I knew and had strong opinions about. This was no matter to kid about. I asked him how he envisaged involving large business houses and what if anything had he done in India? It seemed not much.

I was surprised at how militant I became. I guess I had found an interlocutor to share my extreme views on the matter with. I launched into a long diatribe about universal primary education. Education for all could only happen if state run schools became centres of excellence and the obvious choice for all – my dream of a common school. And maybe it was time that we in India ended the charade of having 33% as a pass percentage for school examinations as 33% got you nowhere. It was time to end the caste rid society of schools and come up with a school every child could attend.

Education for All targets the poorer strata of society and yet when we look around we realise that it is the poor children who have been let down again and again. In spite of constitutional guarantees, children from weaker sections are not given the enabling environment they need to grow and take their place in the sun. And what is infuriating is that they need so little. We have proved that in our ten years of existence as with very little help our children have sailed through school. And our little boarding schools stars quietly slipped into the top position of their respective classes without much ado. Imagine if all our kids could be given the right environment!

Universal Primary Education can and will only make sense if the adjective quality is added to the goal. If not then it will remain a charade played to satisfy questionable agendas or meet statistical compulsions.

It is Xmas morning and I pondered a long time about what would be the subject of my Xmas post. Silly of me as the answer was evident, it had to be Lolita.

Lolita landed on our little planet some weeks back and from the moment she stepped into our lives and hearts she brought with her the true spirit of Xmas: compassion, generosity and above all huge dollops of love. From the instant she walked everything was imbued with the magic of Xmas as we fell under her spell. Everything that had seemed impossible became incredibly easy and miracles after miracles sprung out of her invisible bag.
Lolita is someone who can only see with her heart and that makes her truly remarkable. You just have to murmur or wish or actually simply think it and it is fulfilled.

As I sit on this blessed morning I am filled with a deep sense of gratitude. I have far too often complained and whined about the puny obstacles that have come in the way of this extraordinary journey called project why and never sat down to think of the wonderful and abundant occurrences that have made this journey possible. Today I realise how fortunate we have been as every little impediment was the door real life Angels took to enter our world. And there have been so many. Lolita is one of them.

From this day on, when Xmas morn dawns on project why, we will always remember the pure unadulterated love that this incredible woman showered on us

To Lolita and to all the Angels that have landed in our lives I say Thank You!

Merry Xmas to all!

Will I be safe tomorrow, is the question every little girl in India is asking herself today. The reason are the weak laws that protect them from abuse and ignominy. Almost two decades ago a young 14 year old was molested by a powerful man, someone she looked upon to as he held the key to fulfilling her dreams, that of being a sports star. Twenty years later the molester was handed over a sentence: 1000 rs fine and six months imprisonment. But the story is not that simple: in the twenty years the powerful and heinous support system had tried every trick in the book to protect the perpetrator and ensure that his life goes on unhindered. Young Ruckiha’s family was hounded, she was tormented and persecuted till she took the extreme step, that of ending her young life.

Today a nation is in shock and determined to see that Ruchika’s tormentor is brought to justice and I like everyone else want to see that day dawn. But the story does not end there. Every day, in homes and elsewhere young children are subjected to abuse by powerful predators and no law or kind heart is there to protect them. The powerful wheels of our patriarchal system are set in motion and again and again the perpetrator is protected and shielded while the victim is isolated and more often that not condemned. The child after a few feeble attempts that are met with suspicion and disbelief, locks herself in a abject solitude carrying scars that will and can never heal. Some, like Ruchika take an extreme step and put an end once for all to a life of torment. Others simply carry on nursing scars no one cares to see as protectors have turned predators.

Yes we want justice for Ruchika, but we also want to see all our children safe. We want justice for all those who have no voice, for all those who are thrown into a well of loneliness by an insensitive and feudal society who thrives in protecting misplaced notions like honour and reputation. We want a legal system that understands the damage an apparently innocuous gesture can do to a child and protect that child. But why do I feel that we still have to wait a long time.

It began like any morning. It should have been a quiet Sunday but that was not to be. I sat with my morning cup of tea hoping to catch up on some innocuous reading. I picked up the latest issue of a well known magazine and flicked through its pages when my eye caught a picture that almost looked like the project why creche minus children. The title: Ghost Lullabies and the bye line: Babus milk a national creche scheme for Rs 350 cr on false claims, sent a chill down my spine. Thr story was that of another scam and by now one would think that one has become inured to the words like scam, fraud, swindle living in a land where corruption has almost acquired a respectability or has been accepted as a belief system.

Is that not what I so brazenly stated during the recent conclave on corruption where I was a guest speaker. Then why did my blood boil tis morning as I read about yet another scam? I guess it was because it concerned children, the tiniest ones, the poorest ones, those who had no voice. The Rajiv Gandhi National Creche Scheme was for the children of working women in the unorganised sector, for the little children who are often left unattended and in unsafe conditions, the ones for whom the pwhy creche was started.

I still cannot forget the sight of the little toddler whose mother use to tie him on a charpoy and then placed in front of her home every morning as she left for work. When she returned she would untie him and smother him with kisses. This was probably in the very first few months of our existence and the woman’s home was located in the street where we worked. I was baffled by the contradiction between the act of tying up a child and then later cocooning him with love. Though we were very new in the area and had not yet gained the trust of the people, I could not stop myself from asking the mother why she did that. The answer was irrefutable: she could not take him to work (she cleaned people’s homes) and did not want to leave him alone inside her home. By placing him on a charpoy outside she ensured that he was visible to others and hence protected, and by tying him up she ensured that he remained safe and did not wander away. You see she loved him too much to have anything untoward happen to him. Needless to say the next day we opened a creche in the tiny veranda of our office and he was the first child enrolled.

The Rajiv Gandhi National Creche scheme was set up for such children and to read that 350 crores have been swindled by bureaucrats and others from such a scheme makes my blood boil and run cold at the same time: boil because the money could and should have been spent on innocent children and run cold because is seems that nothing is sacred for racketeers. yes corruption has become a way of life, a socially acceptable belief system.

The question I ask today is when will it all stop? The question I ask today is how will it all stop? What is even more shocking is the answer given by one of the persons responsible for the programme: “I agree that mistakes may have taken place at some point, but the fact is, we’re human beings. None of the mistakes were malafide and intentional.” I am left speechless. How can falsified documents, fake audits and balance sheets can be bonafide and unintentional. No Sir, you are not just human beings, you are worst than the most dangerous predator!

This is our very own little Meher, the one who not even two years ago walked into my life and my heart. What an incredible journey it has been from that day onwards. Her look at me , I exist, was perhaps the loudest of all!

Today after several difficult and often painful surgeries, Meher boasts of a hairstyle that strangely resembles mine and is all set to to take the first steps to change her destiny. Next month she will sit for her entrance exam to the same boarding school her favourite pal Utpal goes to. And then in April will pack her bags and go!

Looking at her smile in this picture is overwhelming. It makes me wonder at the ways in which my friend Godji sometimes work. Do innocent and beautiful kids like Utpal and Meher have to suffer incredible pain before seeing light and joy? Maybe. I am not the one to challenge that. I simply feel blessed and grateful when I see them laugh and play and reclaim their lost childhood. Never mind the occasional tantrums or the unreasonable demands, they have acquired the right to be children at great cost and are just making up for lost time.

I got a message on Facebook this morning. It was from one of the innumerable friends I have and came as answer to a series of pictures of my grandchild I had posted. It said: I always remember you in final stages of pregnancy taking classes sometime between 1979-82. You were inspirational and lively. I was always five point someone (Chetan Bhagat) type of a student (one of the hindi belt one) but you were never prejudice and sometimes more considerate. That was encouraging. Till this moment I had not realised that this friend was one of my students from my JNU days. She was referring to 1981 when I was expecting my second daughter and teaching French in the Centre for French Studies.

I read and reread her short message. Was there a hidden message? Was it the sign I was looking for? The bottom line was that even after almost three decades nothing had really changed. Invisible and impregnable walls still divided our society one of them being the one that separated those who spoke English and those who did not, the former having a head start in any race they ran. Never mind how intelligent or smart you were, how good your marks were, how motivated and serious you were, if you had not mastered the lingo of those who had ruled our land for a few centuries, you were doomed to be left behind. Was not teach my child English, the first request formulated by parents when we began our work. Even the most illiterate parent knows that, and even the most illiterate person will try his hand at English!

It is unfortunate that though we began with spoken English classes we somehow lost our way. Maybe it was because we all felt that keeping children in school was far more important and spoken English took a back seat. Our children passed their school exams year after year and many passed out of school. And though they cleared their English exams, they sadly never mastered the language and thus could never break the glass ceiling.

It is time to help them do so. And as I wrote in an earlier post it is time to mutate. We at project why must look at quality and not quantity and ensure that no child feels he or she is a five point someone type!

After the wrath and anger of my last post, I needed a healing touch before I could pick by virtual pen again. I knew that unless I mended my hurt, I would not be able to carry on and above all ran the risk of taking decisions I might later regret. So I waited for the proverbial sign and it came unexpectedly in the form of my little grandson tucked inside an old carton box looking at me with eyes filled with hope, hope that I would reach out to him and pick him up. Needless to say I did and that simple gesture melted my anger in a trice.

His eyes were trusting and brimming with innocence. He somehow knew that I would free him from his box and allow him to crawl wherever he wanted. I must admit that he did just that! I sat watching him zip around the house giggling and laughing and when he tired he sat down and applauded himself hoping again we would follow. I had fulfilled his momentary wish and that is all there was to it.

All children are like Agastya. Their little worlds are simple and they look up to those who love them to actualise their wants and needs. And so it should be but sadly that is not the case for millions of children whose little dreams get crushed out even before they are expressed. They are confined to little boxes and no one is their to lift them out and set them free. The little silly game Agastay and I played was an eye opener and made me look at pwhy in an altogether different way. Were not all our children trapped in little boxes and were we not there to try and set them free? What a challenge but more than that what a wonderful and blessed task. So what if the adults around them sometimes behaved irrationally and stupidly. Perhaps they were still locked in their boxes as no one had set them free.

I realised that I had foolishly allowed myself to be locked in a box, albeit for a few instants, and little Agastya Noor had set me free.

I am livid and have been so for the past twenty four hours or almost! Not the way I usually am but some things do make me see red. I have been mulling over my extreme reaction for the past twenty four hours as I knew it was far deeper than a simple reaction to a apparently innocuous incident. And here I am twenty four hours later writing a ruminative essay on compassion and gratitude.

It all began with a phone call. The call was from Prabin, our foster care teacher. Apparently the mothers of two our boarding school kids were with him and were asking him to ask me to arrange for transport that they would pay for so that they could go the the school PTM! As I said not a big deal but somehow it was like the proverbial straw that breaks the camel’s back. I could have easily dismissed the request by a curt no and ended the matter. But that was not to be.

To set the record straight before I go on, parents of the 4 children that are in boarding school were taken to the school for the first PTM some months and told that henceforth they would have to make arrangements to go to subsequent ones themselves as I felt this was the every least they could do. The boarding school is accessible by public transport. The request of the two ladies was thus totally out of place.

However the request they made was very much in sync with a disturbing fact that has been plaguing us for quite some time and that we have tried our best to ignore and/or justify as best we could. The disturbing fact is the total lack of gratitude that we have witnessed over the years from those we have helped. And what is troubling is the fact that the larger the quantum of help, the less the feeling of gratitude. It is almost as if greed creeps in when help is forthcoming. The two ladies in question are perfect examples of this: we sponsored the open heart surgery of one’s daughter and cared for the other when she was terribly sick. I am at a loss to try and fathom why this happens? Is it because of desperation or because of wiliness. I would still like to believe it is the former but I really do not know. And today I somehow am not finding it in my heart to forgive easily.

For the past ten years I have been battling the lack of compassion I see in my social peers and the Lord only knows how much of it I have seen. Whether it is when I seek monetary help or share stories of the work we do, I am often met with disapproval bordering on contempt. What kept me going was the fact that I still believed and held on to the fact that what one was doing was at least appreciated by those it benefited. Please do not think that one is looking for kudos and credit. Far from that. But what irks me today is the feeling of being taken for granted. And that leads me to think that the lack of compassion perhaps stems from this very fact.

I know I have to take hold of myself and not let my momentary exasperation translate into any action I might regret tomorrow. I have to hold on to the fact that I am helping children who have done no harm and are in no way responsible for the idiosyncrasies of their parents. I have to assuage my heart and check my temper. And above all have to try and figure out one teaches compassion and gratitude to children so that they grow up with the right values.

So help me God!

It was a balmy day. The kind that sets you in a mellow mood and makes you feel benign. It was also PTM day, something I always look forward to and that for more reasons than one! First of all it is always lovely to meet the children, but there is more. The few hours spent in the little boarding school are always an escape to an island of hope and allow me to forget the trials and tribulations of my everyday existence and simply relax for a few hours be it by imbibing myself into a kid’s world, or even getting a lesson in life! One thing is sure each PTM is unique and special.

So we set out for this one in a happy mood. I was accompanied by Cat and Lukas two young volunteers. We reached early and were told that the children were in their respective classes. We set out to find them and lie all parents dreaded the outcome of the meeting with the teachers. But we were in for a surprise. All our stars had once again performed extremely well and three of them were first in their class with Babli and Vicky getting certificate of merit for best handwriting and scholar of the month! Wow we were stunned. These were little slumkids, the kind no one expects anything from, the kind you write off without even giving them a chance to prove the contrary.

My heart swelled with pride and I felt absolved of all the criticism and cynicism I had faced when I had dared think of sending such children to a upmarket boarding school. Maybe I had read it all wrong: the reticence of privileged people to open the portals of quality learning to kids from slums and poor homes stemmed from the fear or the conviction of knowing that they would outshine their privileged peers! Food for thought.

As we had planned to stay for a short time, we had brought some goodies to share with the kids as there was to be no trip to the pizza parlour. We sat on the grass and opened the boxes and I must confess we had as good a time as the kids as we gobbled cookies and cakes washed with warm cups of syrupy tea generously provided by the school. It was a perfect moment, one we knew was not to last but that we enjoyed to the fullest.

It was time to go and we bade farewell to the kids. Our driver seemed to have vanished to we stood next to the car and waited for him to reappear. In one corner of the patch of grass where we stood sat a little family. An elderly man with the kindest face you could imagine in spite of his forbidding moustache, and five boys aged between 15 and 9. The man had a picnic basket from which he fished out little glasses, bowls and plates. He had two large packets of food and I looked at him and smiled. He immediately invited us all to share the meal he had brought for his children and would not take no for an answer. There were divine millet rotis and homemade butter, the kind that comes straight from a farm. We shared this simple meal with a little guilt as this was what he had brought for his children, but refusing it would have been anathema and gone against all what real India stands for. It was an incredibly moving moment, particularly for young Cat and Lukas: a glimpse of India they would never forget.

The driver was there and it was time to go. Lukas wanted to know when the next PTM would be as he wanted to invite the proud and generous man! I smiled. I did not know if you would ever see him again, but we all knew that we would carry this moment in our hearts forever.

Here are some snapshots of this very special day