You’ve touched my life like an angel
If I ever saw an angel, it was in your eyes. You’ve touched my life like an angel… Thanks for being there for me!
Four years back a little angel dropped into my existence. True that he was scalded and scorched and did not look very pretty but his incredible eyes were truly seraphic and in spite of the searing pain they held a message of love, hope and faith. I somehow knew he was blessed.
That day Utpal walked into my existence and life was never the same again. Miracles started coming our way and problems seemed to vanish as fast as they came. Project why grew in leaps and bounds at an astounding pace that left us all puzzled and stunned. Angels appeared from nowhere and nothing seemed impossible.
As I sit in the very first hours of this New Year crafting seemingly impossible dreams I can feel his presence and know that these dreams will come true. What I seek today is a way to make all the little dreams that the God of Lesser being has left in my custody come true and even if what we seek has a staggering number of figures, they pale in the wake of what they would actually yield: smiles on faces that had forgotten to smile, hope in hearts where there was only despair, shelter to those who live in constant fear and above all a tomorrow for those whose today has died.
Planet why has to become a reality and I know that a little angel is at work to make it happen.
Utpal is also a little boy just like others and today as a special treat he goes to see Hanuman returns with his pal Kiran and his ageing Maam’ji before he returns to his boarding school.
of cakes, ladoos and sewaiyan
Xmas was celebrated in earnest at the women centre. There was a tree, streamers, stars and bells, pictures of Santa drawn by the kids and much merriment. There was home baked Xmas cake and presents for all.
Sophie who had planned the party made a little speech explaining what Xmas was and how it was celebrated y children in our country. I was designated to translate and began by asking the kids whether they knew what Xmas was. Most of the children at the women centre belong to poor Muslim families and rarely go beyond the streets of Madanpur Khader where shops are not decorated for Xmas and do not sell Xmas ware and hence the answer to my query was a barely audible no accompanied y a vigorous shaking of the head!
Links had to be made so I asked about Eid and then Diwali and everyone nodded and smiled and went on to say that Xmas was just like those days for people who went to church instead of temples and mosques, all homes of God. When I asked what kids ate on Eid and Diwali, pat came the answer: ladoos and sewaiyan, so cake it was for Xmas and the link was made. Xmas became something familiar and comprehensible: it was simply a matter of replacing cakes with ladoos or sewaiyan!
for everything…
In many schools across our city where English is taught children are often heard singing the following prayer:
Thank you for the food we eat.
Thank you for the birds that sing,
Thank you God for everything.
Strangely this prayer transcends all religion and faith, all social and economic barriers. Schools in remote corners of the city which boast of a sign board stating English medium have their children reciting these verse often led by a teacher who can barely articulate the words. I must confess that in our creche it is also sung with great fervour even if it sometimes difficult to differentiate the words!
I have heard it over and over again as I walk up or down the stairs of our centre but it was only yesterday evening when I was looking at the pictures of our Xmas party that the familiar tunes came to my mind as I saw the snapshot of Manu eating his meal sitting at a table and using a spoon!
My mind flashed back to the summer of 2000 when I had first seen Manu and to the words I had first written about him: Manu, a young physically and mentally challenged young man lived on the street, neglected, dirty and soiled. People would feed him but like you feed an animal. Children threw stones at him. His family abused him in all conceivable ways. No one touched him, when things became too much he would let out the most heart wrenching cries.
In many ways those cries seeded what was to become project why as we all know it now. And as I looked at the photograph of Manu sitting at a table with his friends and teachers enjoying his meal I whispered the little prayer as it conveyed what I truly felt…
Yes God thank you for everything…
party time at pwhy
It was party time at project why and everyone was busy sprucing up their dancing shoes and rehearsing the latest moves. Even little Komal who has just learnt to stand did not want to be left out!
This year we were truly privileged as we had not one but two parties. One at the women centre organised by our wonderful volunteer Sophie, and the other a gift of our very special supporter young Dhaniya who has always given us this special moment.
For the women centre it was their first party ever and everyone was a little nervous, a tad tense as they spent a whole week in preparation: shopping, planning, more shopping, trimming the tree, wrapping gifts. Children were busy making decorations that were then hung all over the centre. Finally the 25th dawned and the excitement was palpable. Everyone turned up ahead of time, even the guests! The party was a huge success as the sound of carols filled the space infusing it with the true spirit of Xmas and it did not really matter if most of the kids had never heard of this festival, they all knew it was special and blessed. After tucking in cake and hot samosas the children left clutching their little packs with huge smiles on their faces and a song on their heart.
I urge you to look at these pictures so that you too can share the magic of this moment
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The next day we had our project why annual bash one that is now almost tradition thanks to a lovely little girl who lives in another land but who has always given this very special treat to her pwhy friends. When the first such party was planned we asked the children what they would like to have: pat came the answer a DJ and a coffee machine. So there was a DJ and a coffee machine and the children had a ball! Rinky and Saheeda who cannot hear danced with gay abandon and little Komal all of 18 months old put p a mean performance that could match any item girl! Kids enjoyed a nice meal and then it was time to leave.
My thoughts went to our host of the night, a little girl who lives in another land but who each year gives a bunch of children of a lesser God a moment of pure unadulterated joy. I hope that one day she too will be here with us sharing this incredible experience.
Share some moments with us
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nanhe is back
Nanhe is back. After a long break.. a few months actually. Nanhe is back after long negotiations with his mom as often the battles with moms are arduous and foregone as it is almost impossible to deal with the passion and lack of logic of a mom’s love for her child.
This time the adversary was some new therapy that has taken Delhi’s slums by storm: a electronic massage gadget that claims to cure all ailments from cancer to back pain or even toothache. It comes at a cost but that cannot deter a mom’s determination. She has each day managed the needed amount and taken her child convinced that he is better and can stand on his own. Desperate moms see things we cannot.
A deal was struck. Nanhe would come to pwhy in the morning and we would ensure that he is dropped back in time for his treatment. So Nanhe and his larger than life smile walked into the class to every one’s delight. And I watched in wonder this lovely boy who is in many ways a miracle child.
busy being grateful
Life in the past eight years has been an exhilarating roller coaster ride with a medley of wonderful experiences, sensations and events that hit us at such a staggering pace that one often did not quite have the time to savour them fully.
I guess it was because one was busy meeting every challenge forgetting to pause and enjoy the feeling of delight and thrill that came with each of them.
As I sat composing my yearly greetings mail I had by force majeure to take stock of all that had happened in the last twelve months and I was staggered at the number of miracles big and small that had come our way in this incredible journey of hope and joy. True that some or most of them did not fit the usual cannon of success but nevertheless for us they were truly wondrous.
I also realised that at some moment my life I had also stopped saying I believed in miracles as life itself was a miracle and I was busy being grateful. Somehow time seemed too short to express all the gratitude one felt, gratitude for the simplest things like the sun shining, the wind blowing; gratitude for the little smiles that greeted you every morning, for the report cards held out with pride, for the child whose heart was now fixed; for the other who spends his holidays with his healing mom; for the millions of hearts reaching out to make all this possible and above all for the privilege of being able to see witness and experience all this.
I have no time for anything else, I am simply busy being grateful.
an oath gone awry
Shubhum was operated upon for a congenital heart problem on Monday 17th December, the latest inmate of our heartFix hotel He is doing well and should be back home soon.
Shubhum came to us in May 2007 and should have been operated upon in September but for reasons that defy logic and the Hippocratic oath, the backlog of the All India Institute of Medical Science was such that the poor child’s operation kept being pushed away. Who cared that his family was poor, that each time he came from his native village his father, a humble tea stall owner, had to shut his tiny business and incur huge expenses.
Hubris had taken over a place of healing and a battle of egos was more important than the lives of poor people. Strange that the people involved in this tussle were bound by that sacred oath.
It was in September 2003 that Raju our first inmate was operated upon. Somehow at that time things were different and we had all been impressed by the quality of care and the spirit of the doctor. Then with each surgery things seemed to deteriorate albeit in an imperceptible manner at first, till the politicians stepped in and revived the reservation issue and all oaths went awry as the streets burned. And then as if one thing was not enough a clash of personalities nailed the coffin. Strikes and more strikes as simple hurting people suffered.
This is endemic insidious rot gnawing at our social fabric as we continue our frenetic race towards development and growth forgetting that no growth can sustain itself unless it reaches every nook and corner of our land.
To yourself, respect
As I sat writing my yearly greeting mail I came upon this Xmas gift suggestion from Oren Arnold: To your enemy, forgiveness. To an opponent, tolerance. To a friend, your heart. To a customer, service. To all, charity. To every child, a good example. To yourself, respect.
At first it looked like yet another corny quote that abound on the web but as I read and reread it I realised how relevant it was to the world we live in.
I presume we would all agree to this simplistic list and find it obvious but if we just pondered for a while how many of us actually comply with it. When was the last time we actually truly forgave someone or for that matter practices tolerance? I wonder.
But what really rung true for me was the good example to every child. Just last week we saw the the senseless gunning down of a teenager by his classmate and once again one realised the total absence of role models that children could emulate?
But it is the last word of this quote that should set us thinking. Do we really respect ourselves for if we did the world would be a different place where tolerance, forgiveness, charity, good service and god example would come by naturally.
the sewing circle of Khader
Just two months ago it looked an impossible dream to some, an audacious step to others and an outrageous venture to yet others. But like everything else at pwhy it had to be: the women centre came into existence because two women needed our help desperately and a promise made to a little child had to be redeemed. Reasons that make scant business sense but nevertheless need to be acted. It is again all about seeing with your heart and not your eyes let alone your brain!
Come to think about it no task seems insurmountable then even though you do not quite know where help will come from when you are constantly struggling to make ends meet. And it is with impudence that you set out and nod to every need that comes your way.
Today, two months down the line the secret of the fox in the Little prince is once again vindicated. What began as a gesture of assuming responsibility has grown into a happy place filed with laughter and joy. We have had our tough moments even despairing ones but they are tiny compared to the ones filled with hope and fulfillment.
Almost 100 kids come to our pre-primary and primary classes; our beauty classes have begun in earnest and our ladies sewing circle is a proud moment where women from all caste and creed sit together sharing their lives and building dreams that somehow do not seem impossible.
You can share moments of life at the Kamala centre here
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Learning to live together
The gunning down of a young teenager by his peers last week has raised a host of questions in everyone’s mind, disturbing questions to say the least, but questions that need to be addressed as they concern the well being and future of our children.
One should not make the mistake of treating this as an isolated incident and try to find a convenient scapegoat: a careless parent or a careless school. And one should not compound the mistake by imputing this disturbing act to vague reasons such as violent Internet games or new money . This incident is endemic to what we have allowed ourselves to become and thus each one of us is responsible for the four bullets that were fired by tender hands on that fateful Tuesday. What happened that day is a reflection of what our society has mutated to in the recent past.
In our rush to acquire a new identity defined by malls and powerful cars, by overt luxury and opulence we have destroyed the very fabric of our society. In our haste to embrace alien ways, we simply sacrificed the values that held us together for thousands of years.
One of the many solutions proffered while discussing the Gurgaon killing was the importance of widening the scope of education ands making it more meaningful. A glance at today’s education pattern in Delhi, India’s capital city is sufficient to make us aware of the fact that something is terribly wrong. In the past few years one has seen on the one hand the degradation of the state run school system where children in class IV or V can barely recognise their alphabets, while at the other hand there has been a mushrooming of luxury schools that look more like five star resorts than places of learning. Even education that should be a level playing field today reflects a divided and fractured society.
My mind goes back to the very beginning of pwhy when we set out to define education in a broad sense and adopted the Four Pillars of Education of the UNESCO Delors Commission. Learning for Jacques Delors did not stop at knowledge but extended well beyond: learning to know, to do, to be and to live together. I must confess that somewhere down the way we too forgot the importance of this multi-pronged approach.
Learning to live together has to become an integral part of our education system where children are taught to respect each other and celebrate differences and learning to live with others can only happen when schools look like schools and not like dilapidated structures or luxurious edifices, almost as if they were replicating the lives of the children they teach. Children are far more resilient than we want to believe and can adapt to almost anything. Schools should be a place where children learn to cope with life in all its manifestations and hence reflect a middle path approach.
One has to take a serious and honest look at education as it stands today and take the needed measures to reform it drastically. Only then will true healing begin
farewell shalu
The news was like a bolt out of the blue: Shalini was leaving the centre. In her own way had tried to convey this to us a few days back; we just thought she was going off for a few days to the village or a wedding like so many times earlier. But this was not quite that. Her family had sold their house and bought another one in a far off area and so Shalini would not be able to come to pwhy!
For all of us at pwhy, and particularly for her teachers and friends in the special section it was a great shock. Shalu is one of our oldest students and somehow an integral part of this very cherished class. Her warm nature, her even warmer smile, her incessant blabber, her passion for dancing, her eagerness to help , her genial disposition, her fond hugs had become part and parcel if our lives and are going to be painfully missed. True that she had temper fits and bad moments but even those had become dear to us as they were part of who Shalini was.
As we all set down to come to terms with her departure it almost felt as if a chapter was closing for us. Something yet intangible had come upon us and we all knew that things would not quite be the same.
Shalini’s hurried departure also brought forth another reality that sadly pervades the lives of children with disabilities: they are never part of important decisions that families take and their well being is never a mater of concern. Shalini is in her thirties but to her family she is unimportant. The area the family is shifting to has no option for her and she will now be relegated to the confines of her new home. She will lead a lonely life and become more difficult to handle. And sadly there is nothing we can do.
It is a times like these that I realise how important it is for us to set up planet why as that would be a happy option for persons like Shalu. I do hope that it will become a reality soon!
PS: just heard that Shalu could no quite fathom the meaning of the farewell party as she was convinced she would be back the next day.
a chiling moment
The gunning down of a 14 year old by his classmates in an upscale school in the suburbs of Delhi has shocked everyone. What seemed to be something that happened elsewhere, in other lands is now on our doorstep.
The past two days have seen a plethora of reactions from people of all walks of life trying to explain why this incident happened. From lax gun laws, to lax parenting; from violence on TV shows to violence in children, the causes are many and need to addressed. But what was at the same time sad and frightening was the sometimes furtive but often unconcealed references to the social background of the children. The greatest tragedy of the Gurgaon shooting is undoubtedly the fact that the children in question belonged to the other side of the fence, to the other India or rather as a commentator said to the third India that no one has seen coming: an India that is now claiming its right to everything that till late had never been theirs.
That rural parents should want the best for their children is to be lauded; that upscale schools are recognising this reality and becoming inclusive should also be hailed. It is definitely a step in the right direction. One should not make the fatal mistake of looking at this terrible tragedy as a social one, as one that occurred because the children in question belonged to a certain class of society. Children from so called good homes have also slipped and made horrific mistakes.
My blood ran cold when a parent interviewed by a TV channel stated that rural kids could not adapt to convent schools. This is a mistake we should not and cannot make as unlike what we knew as the other India is very different from the new India that is emerging and assuming power.
The reality is that in today’s day and age money has taken the place once held by values. This a phenomena that transcends social barriers and is becoming a hydra-headed monster that will be difficult to contain.
The Gurgaon shooting is a wake up call in more ways than one. We must look at it in larger perspective and take remedial measures. What is needed is to have the courage to assume responsibility rather than pass the buck or simply forget it thinking that it cannot happen to us. And above all one has to ensure that this incident does not close doors for children seeking a better morrow.
a matter of human rights
Yesterday a leading TV channel aired a programme on slum tourism. What held my attention was the comment made by an activist who went to say ‘ I very strongly feel that this is the worst kind of human rights’ violation or I would go on to the extent of saying that its an abuse of its own kind.’
In the past years slum tourism or reality tourism has been formalised by certain NGOs as a means of raising awareness and much needed funds. It may look voyeuristic to some and appalling to others and many would condemn it and maybe I would have too, ten years back before pwhy came into existence.
It is easy to become guardians of morality and jump to conclusions without giving it much thought. I guess what is abhorring in this instance is the fact that foreigners are the ‘tourists’. We Indians would not sign up for such a tour. Come to think of it we it we are so inured that we do not even see what stares at us, bet it in newspapers, TV shows or simply on the street or at a red light.
I remember how offended I felt many years ago at TV programmes in Europe that showed India either as a poverty ridden land or as one of snake charmers or turban headed Maharajahs. I wondered why other achievements were not highlighted. That was then, before pwhy, before my own brush with reality and my own struggles at getting my country fellowmen to open their hearts and part with a coin to reach out and help others.
To the activist that cries out human right violation and abuse I would like to ask why there are still children who roam the streets in India, who are used and abused by the like of us and above all why we chose to remain silent or simply turn away.
It is sad but true that getting support within our own country is quasi impossible and that many of us who try and alleviate the situation have to extend our begging bowl beyond frontiers and share our disturbing reality. Then we are all guilty of the same though we do it in a covert way. Is that what makes it acceptable, as if that were not the case then we are all guilty of abuse and human rights violation. The flip side is that if we did not do it, then we would wind up our activities.
In the last year or so many children and others have received help because their stories were highlighted by the media. Is that a human right violation too? I wonder.
It is easy to sit in judgement but I would implore people who do so to think before they condemn or to give viable alternatives. Tourism with a heart or voluntourism is here to stay and speaks volumes for the new ways in which we should look at things in a world where globalisation is the preferred mantra. That an NGO should propose a slum tour to people visit India should not be anathema. It should at best makes us think and resolve to do something.
But sadly this seems wishful thinking. On human rights day a picture of children ploughing fields in land belonging to a minister’s family will once again be swept away to suit political ends and public memory too will fade. This happens far to often for comfort.
a moving lunch
Saturday December 8th was a very special day for a bunch of disabled kids, but more so for a very special young woman whose mother I have the privilege to be. A TV crew was coming to share their lunch.
The morning was spent in a frenetic bustle of cleaning, sprucing up, shopping and cooking. Everyone was excited and time seemed to stand still. Everything was set: the newspaper mats woven by the kids, the unopened lunch boxes, the freshly made aloo pharathas that were in the Saturday cooking class menu, and the project lunch of rice and dal that was always there for those who brought nothing.
Lunch has always been an important issue at pwhy’s special section as we have always held that parents of disabled children need to be made aware of their responsibility and treat them as they would treat a ‘normal’ child. However the staff lunch is always there to ensure that no kid goes hungry.)
Finally a phone call announced the imminent arrival of the TV crew. What followed was pure magic, or rather the miracle we had all been waiting for since eight long years. For the first time ever someone from the world out there came and shared a moment with these beautiful kids. It is true that they have been filmed many times for diverse shows and programmes but in reality it has always been from the outside or the edge. This was the first time that someone, stopped by all the lunch boxes and served plates and dug into them no matter how cold and congealed and unappetising the food looked. The moment was so heartwarming that Geetu our 2o year old fed the young dashing anchor with her own hands.
The food turned to manna from the Gods or a three star chef’s creation as years of yearning to be accepted and valorised laced it with a unique flavour no one could miss. Soon it was time to wave good bye and I too left the premises for another appointment.
It was only later in the evening when I got home that the true meaning of that day would enfold for me. A deeply moved Shamika asked me for the number of the TV producer as she said she needed to thank him. This was a first as Shamika is normally a reserved person. After many attempts she got the person and started thanking him but as she talked her emotions choked her, and she burst into sobs. It was then that I realised the real meaning of that lunch that almost did not happen.
It was like a dream come true for this young woman who at the age of 15 decided to work with special children and help them get their rightful place in society. A place where they too could be accepted and cherished. Lost in my own struggles I had not discerned how each rejection had touched my own child and how hurt she had been at each step. It also made me understand her initial reluctance at accepting this show. But above I became aware of how momentous the moment had been for her. I could not hold my own tears as I hugged her tenderly.
Today the kids are all going to troupe in to one of the teachers home to see this programme on TV. It is a moment I would not miss for anything!
an invitation to lunch
Yesterday a leading TV channel called asking whether they could film lunchtime at pwhy! This was for a segment in a daily lunchtime programme that highlights the lunch hour in different parts of the city. I guess someone decided that it would be good copy to go and peep at the other side of the fence: the slum kids.
Now at pwhy the only kids who stay the full day are the special ones and they are the ones who have lunch. So I told the young ebullient reporter that we would love to have them come by and share a meal with our special bacchas! Though we were on talking on the phone, I could sense the moment of hesitation and ensuing awkwardness. I could imagine the million unformulated questions that were crowding his mind as sadly one knows what images the word special or disabled or even handicapped – however politically incorrect – conjure in people’s mind. But I was not the one to give up.
After a mumbled I will get back to you the phone went dead. Shamika who is a very possessive mother figure to her brood of 20, was up in arms but I held on and redialled the number as I remembered that Saturday was cooking day at the special section and delectable aloo paranthas were on the menu. I also told the reporter that these children were just like other kids and though they may not have the same way of communicating as us, they were totally able to express their feelings. Less than a month back they had hosted a group of special children from France and shared a great meal with them!
There was another I need to check with my producer and will get back to you but blissfully some time later a confirmation call came and our bacchas will hopefully be part of that programme.
coming home
Today is a very special day at the women centre as Utpal’s mom is coming back home! It is true that for a brief instant in the heat of the moment and the haste to succeed one had allowed one’s self to fleetingly forget the reason of our existence: giving women a second chance.
Today as Jhunnu makes her way home we all can redeem ourselves.
It has been a long ride home for this diminutive woman as she moved from place to place for long years nursing an ailment no one understood, but one that was slowly gnawing at her very soul. She battled her undiagnosed disease as best she could even at times when everyone turned against her. But her spirit never gave up.
Even why failed to recognise what truly debilitated her and spent two years treating the symptoms. It is only a few weeks back that the penny dropped.
This morning Sophie, a young nurse from France who is at present living at the women centre, decided to take a staff meeting and explain to all concerned what bipolar disorder was, as she felt that unless everyone understood the nature of the ailment, Jhunnu’s recovery would not be possible. As she described the signs and symptoms and stressed upon the fact that they were involuntary we all realised the pain and suffering that she had gone through.
As I listened on, I became aware of another fact that many of us may have overlooked: Jhunnu had no home but the women centre and no family but the motley crew that sat on the cold floor listening to Sophie. At that moment Christian Morgenstern’s words Home is not where you live, but where they understand you rang terribly true.
It was now for each one of us to make sure that this was truly home for one who had suffered too long and whose beautiful son waited patiently for a healed mother.
Welcome home Jhunnu!
It only happens at pwhy
Sunday December 2nd dawned as just another day for many. For a bunch of us it promised to be a special day but none of us could have imagined what it was to be.
At 9.30 am a tempo traveller reached our doorstep to take us to Utpal’s school. Us today was quite a party: there was Kim and Fen who had made a huge detour to come and spend a day with us, Barbara, our lovely senior volunteer who adopted us, Sophie our young volunteer who just came by, and of course our die hards Utpal supporters: Dharmendra, Amit, Kiran and maamji!
At 10. 20 am, we had a rendez vous with our sunshine man and his lovely family who joined the party. A few minutes later we entered the gates of Utpal’s school. My thoughts went back to the time when I had been asked by the school authorities whether someone would attend the monthly PTMs. I knew I would be there – God willing- but never imagined what Utpal’s parents would turn out to be!
Of the many incredible tings that have happened at project why, I feel that utpal’s story eptomises the essence and spirit of project why. This wondrous child has walked into so many hearts and proved beyond doubt that everything is possible if you just learn to look with your heart.
What we did that day would perhaps seem mundane to some: visited the school, watched children play, ambled in the winter sun, drove to a neighborhood market, ate pizza at a mediocre fast food joint, bought a woollen beanie cap, captured some moments on camera… This is how the day seemed when you looked just with your eyes and as my friend the fox from the Little Prince would say you would have missed out the essential.
But if we looked with our heart than the day became different. The tone was set at first by the protagonists of the moment who should not have been together as what do an emiment journalist, a famous photographer, a slum kid, a retired civil servant, a young professional. a business man, a french nurse and an ageing lady have in common. And why should they chose to spend a Sunday attending a PTM! It almost seemed as if St Exupery’s tale had come to life in its XXIst century version with its own little prince who strutted with a swagger as he set upon making each one of us rediscover things his way.
The day was filled with Kodak moments that beat any description. Utpal showed us his new antics as he rolled in the grass and ran up the slide and sashayed across the school. He then had a serious lesson in photography with Fen as he discovered the magic of a profesional camera that he handled with a confidence beyond his years. The mediocre fast food became a gourmet meal and the beanie cap a shopping spree. And the ride in the traveler a magic carpet ride.
When it was time to leave, only I could see the fleeting twitch of sadness in his beautiful eyes as he waved us bye bye. As we drove back in silence, my heart was overflowing with gratitude for all that I had been blessed simply because a little child had walked into my arid heart and allowed it to bloom again.
You can share some of those special moments here
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This is a man’s world
It is a a man’s world and even we women sometimes start believing this biased sexist view of life. Utpal’s mom is still in the psychiatric ward of a hospital and though she is better and fit to go home – read women’s centre – we have been dilly dallying about the date of her return. The reason: a medley of misconceptions, half baked truths, misguided rumblings that occurred after her departure. A typical reaction of male oriented society that revels in demeaning any woman who has slipped or just behaved in an atypical manner.
Utpal’s mom was deeply disturbed and ill. She needed compassion and understanding. But everyone decided otherwise walking what they thought was the high moral ground. And even I for an instant found myself nodding at what was being said.
Later that night, when I sat with myself as I normally do reviewing the day gone by,I realised what I had done and must confess that I was not proud of what I saw. How could I have sat silently and not reacted. But then it is a man’s world…
When I set out to create the women centre, it was to enable women who had a past to rebuild their lives. It was to reunite a mother and a child, it was to defend women who had been wronged. I knew that I had to fight tooth and nail and see that she returns home as I more than anyone else knew who she truly was.
The next morning my stand was vindicated when a mail from a volunteer – a male – vindicated what I felt. It said: The latter ( Jhunnu) is a petite lady who has never-ending energy, but who has to suppress her regular mood swings due to alcoholism in the past with medicine. It has always been my wish that Utpal returns to his mother’s side as soon as possible, and this desire simply grew when I witnessed the exemplification of life’s vigor in her. I knew truly that this was not sympathy, but exhilaration at the strength demonstrated against the heartlessness of fate. May we all live to experience the joyous celebration of reunion between mother and child.
How could I even for an instant forget that reunion. It all began almost 2 years ago when J was admitted into a rehab centre. it is true that the journey has not been a bed of roses, and that there have many ups and downs, many challenges, many dark moments but there have also been many glorious moments when for brief instants the Utpal found the arms of his mom and each one made us believe that we would reach our final destination.
Utpal has not broken a single rule and I more than anyone else owe it to him to meet every challenge that comes my way head on and with determination. I beat myself for having slipped for that tiny moment and wonder what made me do do. Was it the fear of social acceptance. Or was it the fright of seeing my work undone. Or was it old age catching up. Where was the woman who had written a passionate post entitled she stood alone in march 2004 and that read:
An incident occured today. Strange or prophetic that it should concern a woman. We had been wanting to shift Utpal’s family from the area they lived for a long time. Both parents drink and the surroundings were conducive to their weakness. I have never sat in judgement as I believe that each one of us has something we are not always proud of It is also true that circumstances play a large part in such matters. But anyway I felt that the family would have better chances close to us.
We found them a little room near my office and I thought that matters were settled.
However society is far more cruel than I could have imagined and when they reached the new place with their luggage, many women started abusing Jhunu saying that they did not want their neighborhood sullied. I was called and my heart went out to this poor woman, standing quietly next to her bags, in total silence. What is it that makes us act in such a manner?
I just stood by her, and held her and let my silence convey what I felt. Soon, someone came and told me they had found a new place in an adjacent slum we all helped them move and stayed with the little family for a long time. I remembered Mary Magdalene…
As I lay awake, late that night, I had just one thought in mind: to make Jhunu independent and have her learn a skill that would give her back a rightful place in society.
How could I have forgotten that the idea women centre actually took seed on that very day and that its very basis was to stand by any woman shunned by the rest of the world. I would rather think of this as being a sign that helps us chart our course of action for the future and makes us aware of the challenges that await us. So help me God!
This is a man’s world as the James Brown song says but how can we forget the next lines of the same song But it wouldn’t be nothing, nothing without a woman or …. a child.
Remembering Ram
Today is November 29th.
Exactly 15 years ago papa left this world leaving behind a huge hole that nothing could fill for many years.
Seven years ago project why began its first hesitant spoken English Class in a tiny shack with 20 eager eyed kids and I instinctively knew that the emptiness that had been gnawing at me for so many years was slowly going to be filled.
Ram taught me many things. From absolute surrender to a greater force, to unwavering faith in the destiny of India; from the delights of life king size to the undiluted joy of sharing a humble meal, from erudite books of diverse culture to the soothing lilt of a bhojpuri lullaby. But the greatest lesson I still think he gave me was a the answer to a simple question I had asked as a child: where do I find God. His answer was simply: in the eyes of the poorest, most deprived child.
When I look back at the last seven years I feel blessed and overwhelmed. To many pwhy may look like any other organisation that dot the planet in a world where charity has become a lucrative business. But that is not quite the case. Pwhy is and has been a deep seated journey that had to be undertaken to give meaning and substance to the greatest gift we are all endowed with: life! To many again it may seem haphazard and undefined albeit rudderless particularly in a world where everything has to have a mission, a goal, a structure and is then evaluated by statistics and returns. If one were to adopt this canon than pwhy would fail miserably one many accounts as it often defies all logic. I must confess that at times I too have had difficulties in explaining what and who we are.
But this morning, almost ominously a volunteer who had spent a month with us this summer shared some the entries of his journal. As I read an account of pwhy through other eyes I realised the essence of what it truly was:
A little boy started crying after his father left him at school. Seeing this, Komal (age one) went over and tried to wipe the boy’s tears with her hands. When that didn’t work, she began patting the boy’s head like a big sister. The comforting went on for 15minutes, but the boy didn’t stop. At last, Komal sat beside him and started crying with him. That did wonders – the boy stopped crying,and Komal dried her tears too. That brought a sense of warmth to my stale heart, and a smile that was truly radiated from within. Komal’s bright eyes filled with curiosity and innocence made me realize what I was missing out in these past 2 weeks.
I had come to India in the hope of finding spiritual inspiration and perhaps even enlightenment, yet all I experienced was a dead soul amidst the daily buzz and “cultural immersion”. In reality, God has been everywhere around, in the winds of the morning, the rustle of the leaves, the colourfulsarees, the buffalos on the streets, the crows and pigeons, the partying flies, the filth of the slums, the stares of the locals, and most importantly, the laughter and tears of all the children I have come across. In trying to do “something constructive” and paying too much focus on the language barrier, I’ve neglected the fact that baby angels are valued for their purity (even innocent evil), and teachers appreciate it when I push on with them everyday in the hot and stuffy room when the electricity gets cut, drowning in my own sweat without any complaints.
For a moment it felt like I was the protagonist in Tagore’s Gitanjali– the one who sought Him but couldn’t find him anywhere, and eventually found it in the workers and the stone cutters. India’s poetic appeal – and perhaps its spirituality- is that beauty in the ugliest or most trivial of reality, under the harshest circumstances.
These simple words coming from the heart of a young sensitive man showed me what pwhy really truly was and filled my heart with peace and joy as I knew that I could finally give up my half hearted attempts at trying to fit it in restrictive boxes and allow it to flow freely. Just like a river it would take the shape of the land it crossed till it reached its final destination and merged in a greater entity.
And I also knew that the huge hole that had crept into my heart when Ram left had been finally truly filled. A wonderful gift Ram gave me before he left this world.
a wake up call
It was a wake up call in the true sense of the word!
This morning at 4.43 am the earth shook and though the magnitude was small (4.3 on the Richter scale) the epicentre was just a few kilometres from Delhi. I had just lit my prayer lamp and was about to start my morning prayers when grit from a crack in the ceiling fell on my head, windows shook and a loud rumble was heard.
It was a mild quake and the met department felt no damage would occur and Delhi would wake up to another day. Nevertheless it was a wake up call in more ways than one though it may once again go unheard.
Laws will be broken with impunity and alacrity and man will resume his hubristic roller coaster ride not heeding the gentle warning nature sent our way. Buildings will be built on river banks, trees will be chopped down to make way for more roads and more cars, concrete jungles will expand. more plastic will choke drains, carbon foot prints will become gargantuan in size and global warming increase by quantum leaps till Nature sends her next warning which may not be gentle.
It was also a wake up call of another kind. One that highlights the frailty of human nature and precarious nature of our lives, dreams, plans and morrows. A wake up call that compels us to stop and think in more ways than one. About all the things that remain to be done, all the words that need to be said, all that we often put off because we feel there is so much time left.
But more than anything else I felt it was time to express one’s gratitude for everything life had brought one’s way. To express appreciation for the obvious we take for granted, for the little things we fail to see. To give meaning to the two words we use in far too trivial a manner: thank you.
And I realised there were so many thank yous I had failed to convey. Not that one did not want to, but because one felt one had enough time. The list is endless but maybe it can be summed up by simply murmuring a gentle thank you for every moment I have lived.