our very own Rhodes scholar
I recently sent a mail to a dear friend, staunch supporter and incredible human being informing him about amongst other things my recent award. I his usual gentle and unassuming manner he sent his heartfelt congratulations and a link stating simply: In fact I’ve been getting some press lately as well–In fact I’ve been getting some press lately as well! When I opened the link I feel off my chair: Willy has been selected for the Rhodes Scholarship!
If anyone ever deserved if it Willy.
I have know Willy for two years now but it seems I always knew him as he is what I would like every young person in the world to be like. He slipped into our lives via an email offering help. It sounded like no big deal. But Willy Oppenheim is one of a kind. When I first interacted with him via emails, I never would have imagined Willy was what we call just a kid, the kind who go pubbing and hand around with friends and have just barely grown out of GI Joes and Ben Tens! At the age when young people actually do that, Willy and his friends were busy finding ways to make a difference and boy they did. They set up the omprakash foundation and began reaching out to the less privileged the world over.
When I first met Willy in the very early hours of a summer morning in Delhi, when I had just woken up and he was still not asleep having just landed, I was deeply moved. Though we had never met and though almost 3 decades separated us in age, we hugged as old friends would. It seemed just right as we both knew how to see with our hearts.
Today Willy is not only a friend, but someone I turn to when I need a sounding board for new ideas, when I need reassurance, when I feel a little low and need to be uplifted and also when I need help and he has always been there for me. Thanks to the omprakash foundation we at pwhy have weathered many a storm and also own a great library with thousands of books.
I will end this post by quoting the opening para of Willy’s application essay for the Rhodes Scholarship: I spent my adolescent years idolising the men with whom I worked in construction in rural Maine. The chasm between this environment and my affluent Connecticut hometown made me self-conscious of my privilege and determined to forgo college until I felt that my elite education could benefit someone other than myself. As an eighteen year old volunteer teacher in India, I was suddenly invigorated by the idea that i could use my relationships with local educators to amplify their voice before a global audience an d help avid the tendency of development efforts to patronize and disempower those they intend to serve…
Willy has already done more than that! The children of project why join me in sending their congratulations to their Willy Bhaiya!
Is it time to mutate?
The recent award ceremony and ensuing conclave on confronting the challenge of corruption concluded two days ago. Most participants must have returned to their pursuits and for many life would go on as usual. Somehow that was not the case for me. The two days spent amongst people who are trying to make a difference and sharing their experiences and views has had a deep impact on me and has compelled me to stop and think about project why and its relevance if any. Please bear with me as I share some thoughts as they may bring about a real change in the work we have been doing for the past decade.
While debating on the disturbing issue of corruption what came to the fore was the fact that there was a complete erosion of values across the social spectrum. For every one, rich or poor, corruption had become a way of life, a belief system, something that one and all had accepted and stopped questioning. This was indeed a dangerous situation, one that needed to be addressed. Many ideas were mooted and debated, the main one being: how does one re-instill values in each and every strata of society?
The conclave ended but the disturbing questions raised had taken root in my mind. Something was not quite right. For the past 10 years we at project why had been trying to make a difference and yet at this moment it seemed that we had not really been able to do much. The perturbing why that had resulted in the setting of project why had been: why do so many children drop out of school? And for the past ten years that is the issue we had been addressing. Hence for the past ten years we at project why had been meticulously ensuring that no child drop out of school and I must admit we did a good job. Our benchmark had been numbers and we achieved tangible success as our numbers rose from 40 to 800! And in our desire to excel we perhaps forgot to look at other issues altogether. Or was it that we just sank into another comfort zone. Last week’s conclave shook me out of that complacency.
Giving children the possibility to remain in school and hopefully complete their schooling is undoubtedly laudable, but is it sufficient? To bring about the change we all seek what is needed is agents of change at each and every level of society and an average or sadly often mediocre class XII certificate cannot do that. The issues that plague our society are far larger. Let me give you an example that may explain what I am trying to get at.
We all know how important it has become to save the environment and reduce our carbon footprint and yet this footprint is growing surreptitiously in every little sum hovel. When I first walked into the home of one of my staff members who lives in what we all call a slum ten years ago, they had one small black and white TV, a few tube lights and a fan. Today thanks to an increased income and two dowries they have 3 colour TVs, two refrigerators, two DVD players, 2 coolers, a washing machine and more! The family was once very poor and thus to them all these new additions are endorsements of the fact that they have climbed the social ladder and bettered their worth. It is impossible to walk into this home and talk of carbon foot prints! If we want to see change one day in this home, it can only come when the little girl who is growing up in this home and attends what is called an upmarket school, brings about a wind of change. And that will be possible because she is getting a sound and holistic education.
Yes what I am trying to say is that the time has come for us at project why to mutate and replace quantity by quality. Today in our chase for numbers we often have children who spend short stints with us and then move on. This can be for a wide range of reasons: parents relocating because of work or increased rents, a new NGO opening and luring children away etc. Increased numbers also means our inability to provide more than basic instruction because of paucity of time or shortage of funds. And even if a child stays on with us and completes her of his schooling, she or he is far too often swallowed by the prevailing system: an early marriage or a mediocre job to help the family. With 800 children it is impossible for us to maintain close contact with the family and mentor the future of the child.
Would it not be better if we stopped our obsession with numbers and sought quality. Rather than 800 kids, we only reached out to let us say 200 and gave them quality education. Children that we would ensure remained with us and grow with us. Children we would give more than instruction in the three Rs! Children we could follow as they bloom.
True it is ambitious. True it will not be easy. One cannot just cast away a few hundred of children. Then how does one select the chosen few? My brain has been working on overdrive and after much thought a possible option comes to mind. Perhaps we could take the class I, II and III children of let us say Okhla and the women centre and begin with them. Thus we would add a new class every year till we reach class VIII and only take on new children in class I. The rest of the classes would carry on as usual with the only difference that we would not take any new kids, or replace any child who leaves.
The other point that comes to mind would be the increase in costs. At present what would be needed would be two English teachers and a small activities budget. The rest would have to be managed within existing resources. The children would come to project why for three and not one hour. The children of the pilot project would continue having one hour of school support but would have an extra hour of English and an hour of for wanted of a better word: general knowledge. This would range from environment, to story telling, to science, geography etc all taught in an interactive and fun manner. This is the bare bones idea. It will of course have to be fine tuned as we go on.
This will enable us to make the much needed shift from quantity to quality and truly make a difference. However this can only happen if all who support us continue to do so!
I proud to be…..
I proud to be Indian was the strange title of a Bollywood potboiler and in spite of the wrong syntax of the title, it somehow stuck in my mind. Yesterday we took little Sohil to the All India Institute of Medical Sciences. We had known for some time that he needed surgery to treat his hydrocephalus but it was the visit of Jeff that made us realise the urgency of the matter. Jeff had seen a child wit hydrocephalus turn into a vegetable in a remote village in Afghanistan as he has not received the simple surgery that would have made all the difference.
This set us into action. Old diaries were perused and the phone number of an eminent neurosurgeon was retrieved. I am sure the God of lesser beings decided to play his past as the doctor normally quite difficult to track down was available and yesterday we took Sohil to meet him. For those of you who have never been to an AIIMS OPD let me try and give you a description. Imagine a crowded railway station hall and multiply the numbers. In it place four doors on opposite corners, each having a doctor and in front of the door imagine the kind of queue you would have in front of a ticket sales counter on opening day of a long awaited movie and multiply it by four. The crowd is a medley of young and old, rich and poor and you can even add a prisoner chained to a gun holding cop. Voila! The stage is set. Now because you know the doctor you have been told to break the queue but that in itself is a herculean task. You somehow manage and though at that time you do not understand how you did, you realise later that unlike movie halls and railway platforms, there is no aggressive behaviour, no anger, no resentment. Actually people make way and even smile at the little child you are holding in your arms.
You reach the doctor’s room which is tiny and also overcrowded. You sit in a corner and wait while the doctor informs a family that has come all the way from a village in Orissa that there young son has a brain tumour. This is done gently. The family is told that there is hope. Then your turn comes.
Doctor Suri takes time to examine Sohil and then tells us to get the tests done in private labs as the waiting list is too long. He reassures us that Sohil will be well and that he will operate on him personally. And as we hear those words we are moved to tears. In that tiny overcrowded room here is only hope and life. And the man doling this in ample measure is one of the finest doctr you can find as not only is he a good doctor, but he is one that has not been lured by the outside world and has stood by the oath he once took. My heart fills with pride and the funny title comes to my mind: I proud to be Indian!
But the story does not end there. The tests and operation will require funds. Two young volunteers, Cat and Lukas, have accompanied me and they both decide without batting an eye lid to sponsor the tests and want them done immediately. They will be done today and on Friday we will return to the doctor and get the final diagnosis and surgery date.
In the evening I call Jeff and tell him about our visit and the need to find funds for the surgery. He will sponsor it! Jeff is my son-in-law and the money is the Xmas budget of my little family.
So today I proud to be Indian, grandmom, mom, mom-in-law and proud of project why!
Thank you Jeff, Parul, Agastya, Cat, Lukas, Benoit and Doc Suri for giving Sohil many bright morrows.
This one is for you
Dear Papa,
It has been exactly 17 years since you left and there has not been a single day that you have not been on my mind. Our journey began almost 58 years ago when I clutched your finger as I saw the first light of day and breathed my first whiff of air. It is your hand I held as I took my fist step and you I looked up to each time I needed to be reassured or praised. And even though you are gone I still feel your presence. Somehow I never let got of that finger.
You taught me everything but above all Papa, you taught me to look with my heart, something I held on to and never let go. And that made the rest easy and possible.
If not for your my life would have remained barren and empty. You gave me the strength to walk the high road no matter how difficult the journey, you taught me not to give up on dreams how impossible they seemed and the belief that the morning always dawned no matter how long the night.
Yesterday I received an award recognising the work I had done for the last ten years. This one is for you as you are the one that made me worthy enough to get it. Today thanks to what you taught a little girl many little lives have changed and many children smile and believe in tomorrow. And I see you in each and everyone of them.
Today again I look up to you to be reassured. The journey is still long and I need your strength to ensure that my steps do not falter and that I reach the end of the road.
I miss you
Anou
just a night away,
The award ceremony is over. The lights have dimmed and the next morn dawned. There was no glitter or glamour. An informal press conference in a sunny garden, the actual award giving in congenial surroundings and a day long conclave on corruption. It was all in all a simple yet memorable event. And what made it so was not pomp and show or sheer numbers but the kind of people present. It is probably the first time I had the privilege to be with so many souls who saw with their hearts.
There was the special band of organisers that were undeterred by the fact that no sponsors had come forward and determined to make the event memorable and follow their dream and honour those who shared it: the remarkable young man who withstood months of detention and then celebrated his freedom by helping others regain theirs, the slum dweller who broke the circle of poverty and decided to help other children form slums do the same, there was a group of young men passionately fighting for the dreams of millions of marginalised children and a princess from a faraway land giving hope to little girls. And these are just a few. They came from all walks of life and all parts of India and other lands. They had come together to right every wrong in whatever way they could. The mind of people not deterred by obstacles big or small, not swayed by cynics or doomsayers. They believed that tomorrow existed and was just a night away. And that had all come together to proclaim this loud and clear.
It was wonderful to be in a space where only positive energies had right of way. The mood was upbeat and buoyant. True people shared their problems but the solution was a sentence away. And if one did not work, one knew there were many others that would be tried till the problem was overcome. What a gathering it was. One that spelt hope and promise.
For me it was a privilege to be there though I felt very small and humbled. Yet I came out of the experience a changed person. I realised how much more there was to do but for the first time nothing seemed daunting or impossible, I just knew I would reach the end my journey.
the big day
In a few hours I will be awarded the karamveer puruskar. This award is meant to recognise individuals who have been pivotal for leading change beyond their business as usual by being committed on individual levels to work on social issues.
You may be wondering why this post this morning. One should have written it tonight or maybe tomorrow, when the glitter of the event would have dimmed and only memories and snapshots remained as testimony of the day. And yet I felt the need to share a few thoughts before the event, the lights, the glitter. Tonight people will speak of the achievements and make them sound extra-ordinary.
As I scan the past ten years of my life, the ones that brought me to this day, I feel no sense of great achievement. I just did what I had to. There was no choice. Manu had to be given back his dignity, Utpal has to be saved from his terrible ordeal, Meher had to be given a second chance, Babli could not be allowed to waste her brand new heart and Manu, Champa, Anjali had to have a home. And today little Sohil needs surgery or else he may lose the only chance he has in life.
As I said there was no choice, no option. One could not look away and walk on. One had to stop and do something. That was all I did: stopped! Nothing extra-ordinary in that. Today I pray that I have the strength and courage to continue doing so, each time a deafening why is heard.
a unique football match
The field was barren, rocky, uneven, patchy and strewn with empty plastic cups and bags. The players: a bunch of slum kids, an eager young German football fan and a business school student from France. The day was sunny and spirits soared high.
Welcome to the project why secondary kids first football match of the season: an initiative of young Lukas, a volunteer from Koln who is with us for a couple of months. And there are more to come.
Unfortunately I was not there but the pictures and the excitement of young Lukas as he recounted the event were sufficient to know that it had been a great game. I was thrilled to learn that the children played extremely well and that some were good enough to be in a team. And yet I knew that these kids would never make it, not because they lacked talent or motivation, but simply because once again we as adults had failed them. The state of the field – actually the sports ground of the two local secondary schools – said it all. Barren, rocky, dirty. Such is the state of sports in state run schools in spite of hefty budgets. And slowly with time the enthusiasm and talent dwindle and vanish and with them the dreams of simple children.
And yet all is takes to reignite them is a young boy from another land who dreams football and comes from miles away to share his dream with children from a Delhi slum.
a brand new computer class
Our Okhla centre has a brand new computer class! Well it is what only pwhy would call a class. It consists of one old laptop and a very motivated young teacher, a rickety table and a bunch of starry eyed kids.
Some time back, Dipankar the secondary teacher at Okhla hesitantly asked whether we could start a computer class. He told us that there was not a single computer learning facility in the vicinity and that the children were very keen on learning computers. What children ask, children get is that not the pwhy motto! But how would we conjure this one. Our main computer centre did not have a single computer to spare and the newly set up one at the women centre barely had enough resources to meet their requirements. But there is a god that listens to children and a little miracle came our way: someone donated us an old laptop. That was enough for us to launch our Okhla Cyberwhy!
So in the midst of a garbage dump, inside a rickety structure, on a shaky table sits a prize possession – a laptop – and around it sit a bevy of eager kids rearing to learn what they know might hold a key to a better future. It is a sight to see and savour and yet it also makes us wonder at how little is needed to transform lives and how little is actually done. These children who come from the poorest families also have dreams and aspirations and it is for us adults to fulfill them. But do we? That is the question.
a fun picnic
The children of the special section went for a picnic yesterday. For a whole week everyone had been busy planning the event. Lists were made, plans discussed. Everyone agreed on the menu: samosas of course and frootis to drink. Shamika and Cat our volunteer from the UK decided to bake a batch of brownies and some banana cake. Then it was time to decide about what else to take: mats of course but also hoola hoops, Frisbees, balls and the badminton set. Everything was retrieved and dusted and made ready. Notes were sent to the parents and everyone was ready to go. The excitement was palpable.
The picnic morning finally dawned and everyone was there on time, even the ones who usually come late and everyone was dressed in their best clothes. The star of the show was undoubtedly little Radha whose brittle bones and distorted legs were forgotten for the day as she turned up in a flouncy skirt trimmed with fake fur! Wonder where she ever got it from. Two big cars had been hired for the day and it was time to go. The chosen spot: the Lodi Garden.
For the next few hours these wonderful children of a lesser god forgot all their woes: their dark and stifling homes, the abuse and slander, the sadness and hurt. For the next few hours they were just like other children running on the grass, basking in the sun, playing games and laughing as they never had. Never mind if some could not walk, hear or talk. For those few hours they reclaimed their usurped right: that of being children. It was touching and heartwarming to watch them: a truly blessed moment. I wonder if the god of lesser being was also smiling.
You can share some of these very special moments:
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friends forever
Looking at this picture warms the cockles of my heart. To the uninitiated it may look just like two little girls learning together. It is not quite that. Allow me to unravel the mystery of this special snapshot.
Kiran the little girl on the right of the picture is very special to project why. She was born the day we began our activities. Mature beyond her years she chose to make the special section her haven and spent her early years there. She now goes to an upmarket school though she still spends all her free time with her old pals of the special section. Pooja the little girl on the left has been a student of the specials ection for many years. She comes from a very poor family and is hearing impaired. Kiran and Pooja have been best friends and Kiran even learnt sign language to be able to communicate with her special pal. When she has time, Kiran often helps Pooja with her class work. Like all little girls their age they share many secrets and laugh and giggle together. It does not really matter if one of them is locked in silent world, the other broke the barrier long ago.
Kiran and Pooja are the perfect example of inclusive education. They prove beyond doubts that children from different worlds and with different abilities can learn and grow together if given a chance. It is we adults that never really give them that chance.
Most of the things worth doing
Most of the things worth doing in the world had been declared impossible before they were done.Louis D. Brandeis
To many this picture is just a piece of barren land. And yet it hold many dreams in its custody. The dream of ensuring that a bunch of forsaken souls can live and die with dignity, the dream of safeguarding the work started a decade ago, the dream of securing the morrows of many children born without any. This land is hallowed ground as it this where planet why will one day see the light of day.
It has been eighteen months since this piece of land has being lying barren, braving heat and cold, and hoping for the first brick to be laid. It has been eighteen months since I have been trying to share this dream with one and all. Eighteen month since I have been attempting to make people believe that every child has the right to a great future and that every child is worth fighting for and investing in. Eighteen month since I have been hoping that Manu and his pals will be safe forever. It has been eighteen months since I have received a string of letters stating: your idea is a worthy one but unfortunately does not fit in our programmes, we wish you luck or the present economic situation makes it impossible for us to… It has been eighteen months since I have quietly filed these without showing my disappointment to any one, hoping against hope that the extra strand of white hair or the barely perceptible stoop is not seen by anyone.
Yes the past eighteen months have been hard. The dream I refuse to give up on seemed to be slipping away and yet I knew I could not give up on it though I found myself surreptitiously making impossible plan Bs and Cs. Everyone seemed to have something to say against my dream: too expensive, too large, in a word: impossible! And yet all I asked was the price of flowers or a bucket! Yet I held on to my impossible dream praying for a miracle.
And it came today. Not as a cheque with the required zeroes or a promising letter but in a mail from a young girl that simply said: I have some good news, I have been talking to several teachers at school, the head of charities and the sustainability group teacher. I know that Planet Why is going to be environmentally friendly so I approached Miss Browne (head of sustainability at my school) to see if we could do some fundraising for Planet Why as part of a sustainability group project (which I am part of.) She thought it would an excellent idea and has seen the information about planet why from the website. Hopefully this will help towards the building of planet why which i am determined to help happen!
I was no more alone. There was someone else who believed in my dream and was determined to make it happen and somehow I knew it would one day.
a few of my favourite things
I was recently asked what may seem an innocuous question: what makes you joyous and what makes you blue. The answers should have been simple and yet the question turned out to be an existential one. And the reason it became so was that the enquirer was not one to be satisfied with a superfluous answer.
My mind went back to the famous song from the musical Sound of Music as I set out to seek what would be my brown paper packages tied up with strings. No favourite song or treat came to mind. No place I would like to travel to again. No particular person I would like to meet with again. I felt strangely at peace and content. What brings me joy today would be looking at the video above and seeing young Bittoo hug little Radha. Again an innocuous image and yet such a blessed one. You see Bittoo is locked in a silent world and Radha battles to survive in spite of her brittle bones. They should and would have never met but for pwhy. Today they are classmates and live from one day to another, stealing whatever happy moments they can lay their hands on, unaware of what tomorrow holds. As I look for more happy images, I find myself flooded with similar ones: a child proudly holding his report card, Manu sitting at a table, Sohil dancing… Simple images that fill me with joy and peace. and yet, as I look on, the same images fill me with fear and sorrow. Will I be able to ensure a morrow for all these little souls?
Strange how over the past ten years the lives, hopes, joys, fears, tears of once unknown little children have managed to obliterate my own. Strange how today when I want to conjure moments of happiness it is their little faces that spring to mind. So let me once again try and think of my very own raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens and I would say a pizza shared with a little boy on PTM day, a bright pink school painted by a bunch of kids, a little girl dancing with her heart. These are but a few. There are so many more safely tucked away in my memory.
And as for bee stings and dog bites, they simply happen when I realise the fragility of all these happy moments and the need to try and make them live happily ever after.
Just a few miles away….
Just a few miles away from where I sit to write this post lies the village of Badarpur Khader. I would have never known it existed were it not for a small article tucked away in the inside pages of my morning paper. The article simply stated that this village which is in North East Delhi does not have any civic amenities: no electricity, no water, no dispensary, no school. Over 200o people live there. None of its children, particularly the girls have ever been to school. And this after 62 years of independence!
I decided to browse the net and find out more about this village. Over the years the people of Badarpur Khader had found ways to cope with the situation: all housework is completed before nightfall, mobiles are charged through adaptors connected to tractor batteries, and all weddings take place in daylight! There is more. Last year, the village decided to stand up and take action by setting up their own school.
Of course politicians do visit the village during elections, make empty promises and then vanish in the dark. Authorities give implausible reasons for the state of affairs and retreat into their comfortable shells. Life goes on in this forsaken village…
What is shocking and disturbing is the fact that this little village is within the very city that is busy preparing itself for a sports extravaganza and spending astronomical amounts of money, and yet it does not have the tiny amount needed to build a school promised to this village years ago. A PIL has been filed in court highlighting these issues. One wonders how long it will take to wake people out of their slumber!
There are many aberrations around us and this is just one more. The tale of two Indias is a never ending story. In the same city some children ride to school in smart AC buses while others need to walk 8 kilometers in inclement weather. Something is wrong somewhere and I wonder what it will take for us to wake up and begin setting things right!
the price of a bucket
A gold bucket worth 3 crores ( 30 million) of rupees was donated by an anonymous donor to propitiate Lord Balaji. The offering would be used for storing incensed water during the celestial bath of the deity. This is not the kind of news that normally catches my attention. I have over the years become inured to the aberrations committed in the name of God! The reason why I this item caught my eye, or should I say my ear is the price tag: 3 crores. Just the amount we need to build planet why.
The recipient that will now hold the bath water of a stone deity could have brought smiles on hundreds of little faces and brought light into their dark lives. I wonder what God would have opted for, were he given the choice. The price of this bucket was all that is needed to give young Champa, little Munna and a host of their special friends a home and a place where they could live and die with dignity. Champa and Munna are what we often call children of a lesser God. Are they that or are they manifestations of that very of that we fail to recognise? I do not know. What i know is that when I look into their eyes, or share a moment with them I feel uplifted . I only know that in their presence I feel cleansed and complete and far more at peace than in any so called home of God. So is not caring for these pure and simple souls the best way of propitiating and venerating God.
The equation is loaded: one the one hand a bucket that will simply hold water and on the other a recipe that churns smiles, hope and brighter morrows. And yet the former one wins the race each and every time. How does one reverse it is what I ask myself.
Today planet why is in jeopardy. Last year we believed in this dream with all our might. When we managed to secure our land in spite of many hiccups we were elated. We felt we could conquer all. But then recession hit the world, and us and everything took a back seat. All plan went askew. We knew we had to simply wait for things to pass and then pick up the pieces and reinvent ourselves to fit within the new scenario. That is what we did and are trying to do, and figures that looked manageable now seem monumental. So you can well imagine why I turned turtle when I heard that a bucket cost just about what I was seeking.
Every cloud has a silver lining and maybe this innocuous piece of news was what was needed to set me on my quest again. It is not the holy grail I seek but just the price of a bucket.
a special treat
The children of the special section never cease to amaze me. Each time you step into their class you feel lifted and all your worries and woes vanish – albeit temporarily! You have barely entered that a shrill voice greets you with a loud Namaste Maa’m. It is little Sohil. And then almost in unison you hear a loud greeting from all the others in the class. The greeting is touching as even those who cannot speak or hear join in their own inimitable way. They then resume whatever task at hand, be it the vigorous morning exercise session, the tedious math problem or the complex puzzle. You have many options: you can sit and watch them or join them in their activities: you are always welcome.
The wonderful thing about these children is that they never judge you, they just open their hearts for you to walk in. It is we, the so called normal people, who spend our time surmising, criticising, judging. If we see a person that does not look, act or think like us we are quick in labelling him or her as disabled or incapacitated. We deem them as inferior and want to teach him our ways and if that is not feasible we are quick to find a way to somehow shut them way. Special kids do not expect you or anyone else to be like them.
In our special class no two children are alike. Some have fractured bodies and others broken minds, some have both. Yet they all accept each other and reach out to each other in very touching ways. We may think they have limited understanding but that is not the case. The best example is the way they treat little Radha and her brittle bones. No one ever had to explain anything to them. They understand with their heart and even the rowdiest ones like Umesh or Munna never do anything that may hurt their little pal. Radha participates in all activities be it dance or musical chairs. Instinctively everyone makes room for her and ensures that she too has her share of fun. Sohil and Himanshu, the babies of the class, are cared for by their elder friends and a perfect synergy reigns in the classroom.
They have many lessons to teach of us if only we bothered to learn. They more than anyone else have understood the true meaning of compassion, tolerance, camaraderie and team spirit. They are not wasting time in proving points or oneupmanship. If only we had the ability to emulate them, the world would be a better place.
the unexpected puruskar
The mail simply said: iCONGO Team Congratulates you on your selection for the Karmaveer Puraskaar. I was stunned. A few months back a dear friend and supporter had written to me saying she was nominating me for this award. I was touched by her gesture and though I was quite certain I would not make it, I duly and diligently filled the form as required and sent it in. I thought that was the last I would hear about it and went on with my life. That was about two months ago. I must admit though that I did browse the net to find out a little more about this award, I guess it was but human that I do so. This what i found: Karamveer Puruskar: National Awards for Social Justice & Citizen Action are being commissioned to recognise individuals who have been pivotal for leading change beyond their business as usual by being committed on individual levels to work on social issues. The awards shall be given to individual for their contribution to promote social justice and action. As I read the words and perused the list of past recipients I smiled to myself: this was way out of my league. What was my friend thinking of.
Imagine my surprise when the mail informing me of my selection landed in my inbox. I fell of my chair. Why me? What I had done to deserve tis recognition? I had simply done and was doing what I truly feel everyone of us should do: give back a little of what life has generously bestowed upon you.
I would not have written this post were it not for another mail that stated: In your individual interest, you may go ahead and have your office issue a press release and announce your award in the media and on your blogs, websites, facebook, twitter and other networks. I have no office that can issue statements and pres releases, I can only blog about it myself and hope that my readers will forgive this unusual personal digression.
My selection for this award is humbling and overwhelming. It is an honour and makes one even more aware of how much more remains to be done and how little one has really achieved. It makes you realise that the journey is no way near over. The onus of proving that you are worthy still lies on you.
It has been an incredible journey. One that was started with the simple unsaid words: If I can change one life, it will have been worth it. I can say that in the past 10 years many lives have changed and that in itself is a huge reward. Getting this recognition leaves me speechless. All I know is that it could not have been possible without the help and support of so many, and it is their award more than mine.
Thank you!
the 1000 th blog
I cannot believe it. This is my 1000th blog! It took me four years and six months to get here. I took a trip down memory line and read some of my earlier posts. Their candour and naiveness brought a smile to my face. I must admit that taking the plunge was not easy and writing that first blog was a herculean task. I stopped at one of my earliest blog to take stock of the time gone by. The little boy who was then fighting for his life is today a little young man who lives in a boarding school and tops his class. He has indeed lived through many trials and tribulations and yet proved beyond doubt that life is worth living and fighting for.
During the past four and a half years I have written about the joys and the achievements, the failures and the defeats. I have blogged about issues that disturbed me and those that elated me. I have shared tiny moments of happiness and larger moments of frustration. I have poured my heart out time and again and been touched by the support and encouragements I have received. I have wept tears of joy as well as tears of exasperation. I have shared times when my heart filled with pride and also with despair. I have talked of my dreams, the fulfilled as well as the broken ones. I have pontificated and preached and sometimes surrendered.
For the past four and a half years this blog has been my true companion, the one that has made the journey possible and fulfilling. The canvas has of course been project why but I have allowed myself the liberty for small forays into my own life be it share a wedding or a new arrival.
The past four and a half years have truly been exhilarating! And these 100o blogs bear testimony to an incredible journey that I am privileged to be part of.
slumming it out
There is a new reality show in town. I read about it quite by accident in a leading news paper.The show website defines the show in the following way: Prepare yourself to witness a life-changing experience, as 10 seriously rich spoilt youngsters are plucked from their lavish lifestyles and dropped into the claustrophobic confines of a Mumbai slum… with cameras focused on their every move 24 hours a day! The rich contestants are paired with a slum buddy who guides them through the pitfalls and opportunities within the slum. Each week the contestants have to complete a task – the teams that perform the worst face the possibility of elimination from the show. Up for grabs is the big prize – the chance for the rich contestant to help fulfill their slum buddy’s dream.
The whole idea is perplexing. It sort of falls short of something and leaves me uncomfortable. The tasks that the contestant are expected to perform are push a cart across the street, sell trinkets, polish shoes, pick rags, wash clothes etc. While the show is being canned it is being visited by a string of celebs, all adding their glam quotient. The rick kids are expected to live in a slum for 14 days and the one who stays on the longest and manages all tasks earn a whopping amount to fulfill the dream of the slum buddy her or she is paired with.
On the surface the show seems to be worthy and even honourable. The contestant earn nothing, the celebs are coming for free and the winner is a slum kid who sees his or her dream fulfilled. But the more I look at the site and articles the more uncomfortable I feel.
For the slum kids it is a string of dreams come true: being on a TV show, meeting Bollywood celebrities, and perhaps getting a lot of money to fulfill some unfulfilled desire. Their excitement is almost palpable as they embark on a journey that can be life changing. Their thrill is touching as each plans a new morrow.
It is the coming together of the two Indias and I for one should be thrilled. Is it not what I have always wanted. Am I not the one who carps about the fact that we see too few volunteers from the rich end our own city at project why. And yet all this done been done in the public glare makes me thoroughly uneasy. An article states that the inspiration of the show is Slumdog Millionaire. I have shared my views on the film more than once. I have felt riled at the way the SM children were used by all and sundry. I would have preferred to see them safely locked in a good boarding school so that they could one day transform their lives. This show somehow seems to rob slum lives of their reality and turn them into some sort of joke. The kids are meant to live in a created slum and not truly share the lives of their buddies. Would have like to see that happen! A set a la Big Boss has been created with mosquitoes et al. The tasks seem more like fun challenges rather than real survival situations. A person who sells ware at a red light does it to survive. If he does not make it there may be no food at night. Pushing a cart is harrowing and back breaking and not fun. The same goes for polishing shoes or washing clothes.
As I said I would have liked the show to have each contestant live for 14 days in the home of his or her buddy and experience the life of many millions. This pasty slum experience is all wrong. Life in a slum is filled with dignity and courage, values that are strangely absent in this show. Choices are few and needs many. Try coming to work every day in spotless clothes when you live on the roadside like the Lohars do. I see it everyday. Try surviving with brittle bone disease in a hole and never loose your smile even if you loose your flimsy shelter and land on the street. Slumming it out in a created set is an insult to all those who dwell in slums.
Of the 10 slum kids, one will have his or her dream come true and the others will go back to their lives with a starry story to tell. Where are we going….
the special girls
They are our special girls! Champa, Anjali, Preeti, Ritika and Neha. When together they can bring the roof down! They love dancing, singing and giggling like any teenager, and like any teenager they sometimes sulk and fight.
Champa and Anjali live in our residential programme. Anjali is an orphan and Champa’s mom is too old to look after this very special child. Preeti who is as bright as any of us was struck by polio at a young age and walks on her hand. Her muscles are so atrophied and would not be able to hold calipers. If inclusive education existed in India, Preeti would have been in school like other girls her age and led as normal a life as possible. Instead she is shunned by her own family who find her an impediment. During the recent festivals she was left all alone at home while her family went out to temples and fairs. Anjali walks with a limp and is a little slow, but she too could and should have been in a normal school, but that was not to be. She lost her mother a few months back and was left all alone in an unsafe environment with predators lurking. Champa is perhaps the most disabled of all. Though she can belt one Bollywood hit after the other she is unable to even dress herself. She is so childlike that anyone could lure her with a simple toffee.
What is the future of such girls. Bleak is anything. And yet when you seem them together you get touched by their zest for life and their joie de vivre. It is for these very special girls and others like them that we felt the need to go beyond our initial mission – education of children – and think of a viable alternative: a place where such young ladies could live their entire lives in a safe and enabling environment. That is how planet why first came to be conceived. A simple residential option was not sufficient. We wanted to give our girls a reason to live, a place where they would feel useful and wanted. Hence planet why the guest house!
I can imagine my girls thriving on planet why. Young Preeti has all it takes to become the manager of the guest house and Anjali could become a great housekeeper. And in spite of her shortcomings and limited skills Champa would also find her place in the show. The journey that has barely begun, promises to be exciting and we hope to be able to reach our destination in a not so distant future. So help us God!
project paint!
The Okhla children wanted to paint their school for Diwali. Instead of coming to us and asking for money, they decide to do it themselves. They all contributed five precious rupees and bought all the material and then rolled up their sleeves and painted the school themselves. The result a pink school. Not my preferred colour for a school but that is what they wanted it to be an after all is is their school!
This make look like an innocuous piece of news to many. But it is far from that. This is the first time children have taken the initiative to do something that would make their school look better. And five rupees may look inconsequential to many but for these children it is a huge amount. They must have had a lot of convincing to do to get it from their parents.
It is a very special moment for all of us at pwhy and for me in particular. Okhla had from its very inception been a community initiative. It has also been steeped in the love of people big and small. It has been hit by problems big and small, bet it storms or trucks. And it has survived all as it is imbued with a rare spirit no one could ever destroy. The spirit of children willing to overcome all odds to reclaim their often usurped right to education.
It is these very children that we have let down time and again. We have done it again with the recent scrapping of the Xth Boards or the latest decision on IIT admissions. It is time we started thinking about them and making laws that would include rather than alienate them. But is anyone listening?
When I see the Okhla project I am filled with immense pride and joy. Way to go!