a happy place
A recent investigation aired on national TV brought to light the horrific reality that prevails in a government home for challenged children in India’ capital city.
One wonders why these children of a lesser God are often treated in such a way and makes us question the validity of the so called welfare programmes run by the administration. It also highlights the plight of such children in a country like India, something we have been painfully aware of, and that led us to create our special section almost 7 years ago. It also validates our commitment towards setting up planet why, a place for such children as they grow into disturbing adults.
Why is it that time and again challenged children are treated in cruel and callous ways?
For us at pwhy the special section is by far the happiest and most rewarding experience. It is a motley crew of 20 children and adults who come from different worlds but become one as they enter their little world.
Manu who you see in the picture was once begging on the streets in spite of having a family. people use to deride him and kids pelted stones at him. Today he has friends and is slowly learning to be independent.
It did not take much to achieve this. What was needed was the will to do so. At the pwhy special section children learn to read and write, to dance and play; they learn cooking, basic stitching, and have a host of other activities but above all they learn to laugh and be happy and reclaim a hijacked childhood.
You can share some of these joyful moments by clicking on the pictures below.
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the art of giving
Xabi and Marie are two simple village folk from a small village of the Basque country in France. They are not young and have homes and families. Marie is a dancer and Xabi a farmer . Some time back I got a very touching email from them which is simply said they were coming to India and wanted to spend some happy moments with our kids.
They arrived a few days back and found their way to us. It was their first visit to India and they felt that they wanted to give a little of their time, their talent and their love to less privileged children before embarking on their discovery of India.
For the past few days they have been teaching dance, and games to our special kids, and our creche children and then make the journey to Khader to spend some time at our women centre. There they play and dance with the kids and have even worked out a business deal in the spirit of fair trade: they would like to take the jewels we make as well as simple clothes that our ladies would stitch back to their village and hope to get us orders.
Xabi and Marie radiate warmth and all our children have taken to them. The reason is that in spite of language and other barriers they have opened their hearts and shared their love in abundance and in the true spirit of giving!
I am in UKG
We have been busy getting admissions for the new centre and of course children are a plenty. After asking the names and age of each kid we ask whether they are in school, and the class they are in.
We were astonished at the number of children who said: I am in UKG. Many of them are seven and even older. Now UKG is not a class in municipal and government schools. These children are in small private schools which still have up to 3 years of pre-primary classes even though the education department has reduced them to one!
To many of us an extra school year does not matter as the children get sound foundations but for little girls like the ones in the picture it is a matter of great concern. Normally these girls are withdrawn out of school by 16 as that is when they are often married. If thew were in class I or II they would have a better chance of finishing their schooling and obtaining a certificate.
A quick perusal of their books showed that what they were learning was akin to what is taught in class I or even II in municipal primary schools. The reason why private schools have more classes is evident: extra fees and the reason why poor parents send their wards to such schools is also obvious: better teaching.
Yet we feel that these bright children should get a better chance at finishing their studies so we plan to convene a parents meeting and convince them to get their children admitted to the government school in class II next March. We hope they understand.
I know what it is…
Children never cease to amaze me as they always come up with the most unexpected statements.
On the day of the opening of the women centre, the children perused the whole place and even the toilets. One of the toilet has a western toilet seat something they had never seen. This led to much excitement as more children were called to examine the strange object.
There were giggles and much cogitation as they peered at the unknown thingamajig. After some time came the Eureka moment: I know what it is said one of the older boys: a small well!
After the initial amused reaction, I realised that it was the best analogy he could have made!
impromptu inauguration
Monday 15th October dawned as a crisp bright day. One that was to be very special. We were opening the Kamala Centre for women and children. It did not quite turn out the way we had planned as painters and plumbers had not finished their work and hence no guests were called.
But we did have our very special inauguration with the children and a friend. There were flowers, brightly painted doors and even a sign board. There were biscuits and toffees and the traditional coconut not to forget the welcome cups of tea.
Many children wore their idis, the new clothes they had got the previous day for Eid. Some even donned jewellery borrowed from their moms. Everyone looked special: Nico and jhunnu in their lovelysarees and the kids in their sparkling outfits. A big picture of Kamala was set out and a lamp lit by her grandchild Shamika. The moment was perfect.
The children then settled on the brand new mats and every one’s name was registered. Then it was performance time as each child, even the tiniest stood up and sang a song, or recited a rhyme. There were film songs, patriotic songs and even religious ones. It was a joy to see the little faces eager and happy, coming together as one notwithstanding their creed or caste or state of origin.
Then it was lesson time as our dear friend Shankar who had come all the way from remote Gurgaon spoke about trees and nature gently guiding his rapt audience to the need to save and protect the environment. The children sat in silence, drinking in his words and asking questions that he lovingly answered.
It was soon time to go as much stilt needed to be done, but the children did not want to leave. They lingered on till one gently told them that school time was over.
Do click on the images below to share some Kodak moments of a perfect day.
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women centre – sneak preview
I do not know whether we will meet the October 15th deadline. Nevertheless there is a palpable sense of excitement in the air. Painters, plumbers, electricians and masons fight for space and are trying to finish their work.
The ladies are running helter skelter ensuring that nothing gets lost or broken with all the moving. Tempers are sometimes frayed and D our coordinator and lone man remains cool and always finds the right word to soothe the sulks and huffs.
In the midst of this frenzy are the children who have adopted us and the space they consider theirs. They come without fail and are loathe to leave. I guess their deadline passed long ago as for them we should have already been operational!
Women drop by too; by curiosity or just to share a moment. They are thrilled that soon the children will stop hanging around and be occupied. Some want a job, other want to learn a skill. But all are happy to have us there.
A single mother came by. Her husband left five years back for greener pastures in Bombay leaving her pregnant and alone. For us it was a great moment as she vindicated the spirit of the women’s centre.
Somehow it seemed that even before the centre actually opened its gates, it had taken off on its own driven by an ethereal energy emanating from the heavens above.
when are you opening the school
When are you opening the school is the question I am asked by eager children every time I visit our about to open women centre.
It is amazing and touching how children break all barriers and adopt you without any misgivings and with complete trust.
In a week from now I hope we will be able to open our centre and start the first activities that have been spelt out for us: a creche for small children and various activities for the older ones.
There is another question, albeit a more hesitant ones, that is asked often obliquely by adults. It is normally the women who come by and ask for a job for their husbands or some work for themselves. The reason that permeates these queries is always the same: lack of money to survive in a ruthless and heartless city. The men often have temporary jobs a formula perfected by employers to beat the wage laws. The women who may have worked in fields in their villages, are not geared to work in urban realities where the work they could get would not be socially acceptable. So they eek out a living as best they can.
This then becomes the moot point for our work at the women’s centre: empower the women to take on a larger role in their lives and break out of the stifling time warp in which they are locked. It is a challenge and one that will not be easy as once again we will have to face the wall of traditions and mores. Underprivileged urban women have to reinvent themselves and move beyond the stranglehold of what I have often called the government job syndrome. Something each migrant to India’s capital city seems to suffer from.
Falling off the edge
Some of you may remember the story of a desperate mother of 8 children who lived on the edge. I guess everyone has her breaking point as last week she just took off abandoning her children. The humiliation and despair had reached the point of no return.
Her children are today left alone, the elder ones having become surrogate parents in the span of an instant. The philandering father occasionally drops in and leaves a few food items.
The younger ones come to our creche and when it is time to go home, they ask in their tiny voices whether they can not just stay back. The situation at home is pathetic: when we last visited the older boy (barely 8) had fallen asleep while the rice boiled and burnt.
Today we will try and work out a solution for thee poor kids who are suffering for no fault of theirs. But no long term solution can be sought without the accord of the father. As a first step we will try and get all the kids to the centre so that they can at least have one hot meal a day and medical care as some of them are sick. Then we will try and find a long term option.
Many questions come to mind each begging for an answer hard to come by. But what stands out is the harsh fact that children often or rather always bear the brunt of mistakes made by adults.
in the name of a mother
It is the time of the year when in India we are meant to remember the dears ones that have left us and gone to another world. Normally people feed the poor or give alms; some have elaborate pujas (religious ceremonies). For a few years after the death of my parents I too made such offerings till the day I decided to break the mould and honour my parents in a different way. That is when project why began or rather the Trust in my father’s name.
Somehow mama got forgotten: papa had always been the flamboyant one as mama perfected the art of being almost invisible.
But life has its own ways and for the past few months my world has been filled by a plethora of incredible women and their lives that led to the setting up of the why women centre. Somehow it seemed destined that I dedicate this centre to Kamala who was an incredible woman who today dares me to jump without a parachute and see whether I have the wings to fly.
The why women centre is my offering to a very special mother.
women in charge
Amidst friendly quipping about choice of room and placement of things interspersed with exclamations of delight and horror so typical of women notwithstanding their age, the final shifting to our new premises was completed yesterday.
Things settled and work began in earnest this under the oft exasperated eye of Dharmendra the sole man and coordinator of the project. Fans were bought and fixed, plumber and electrician called and long ‘to do’ lists made.
A persusal of the pictures in the picture gallery vindicate the initial reaction of the women now in charge of their lives but the potential is great and a few coat of paint and some repairs are all that is required to make this a very special centre.
Unconcerned by appearance a bunch of eager eyed kids arrived soon after wanting to know what was going on. When we told them that this would be a children centre they broke into huge smiles asking us when they could start coming. And in true pwhy style my answer was: now! The now was maybe a tad Pollyannaish but I know that in a day or so a simple mat and few books and toys will be sufficient to begin classes.
There are many creases that still need to be ironed, but it was heartwarming to see that even in this new place the children had adopted us and that was all we needed to know that this centre will be another blessed one.
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a prayer for an princess
V is a beautiful autistic girl. I knew her when she was just a child some 8 years ago when her shrill voice used to echo in my home when she and her parents came visiting. Her repetitive blabber and her endearing ways touched many a heart and I use to call her princess.
Then life took its turn and we lost touch though I often remembered the lovely child.
Yesterday her father called out of the blue and gave us the shocking news that V had a tumour and was to be operated upon this week. What was heart rendering was the love of this father, as he sat and leafed through the yellowed pages of his diary looking for the numbers of all those who at one time or another had touched V’s life. His message was simple: pray for her!
V’a parent’s are extraordinary. Both their children are autistic but they never let that come in the way of their love and pride. A beacon for all parents who have special children.
social entreprise, sustainability and the funding saga
It has been 8 years since pwhy began and it has been 8 years since I have spent almost every waking moment worrying about funding and devising ways to meet the monthly requirement to keep project why alive.
Right from day one I knew that we had to one day become self sustainable though one did not quite know how this would be achieved. Along the way we tried out a plethora of ideas, each one seeming to be at the some time or the other the right one! We embarked on many ideas from pots and bags to bio diesel plant nurseries via chocolates. But each though successfully implemented never met the required target of sustainability.
And as each idea failed, the saga of funding became more demanding as demands increased each day. It became a real challenge to find the required amount and it was anever ending race that I still run. Some time back, one struck upon the idea of hospitality as a possible sustainability option and though the idea was daunting, it seemed to be one that refused to go away, no matter which way we looked at it.
As luck would have it, a volunteer came by project why last month and was to become a catalyst in our quest for sustainability. Barbara was not only a dynamic volunter but turned out to be the pioneer of social entreprise in the UK. As we got to know each other better and shared thoughts and dreams, she introduced me to the idea of social enterprise and showed me how our idea of planet why fitted within it. It was heartwarming to feel that one was one the right rack and that panet why was actually a social enterprise.
This of course strengthened our resolve to see that planet why becomes a reality.
tender minds
The recent court decision to compress pre-primary classes – aka nursery and KG – into one year seems bewildering. True that they have raised the nursery age to 4 but knowing the pressure a child has to deal with once in class I, one year of preparation seems very insufficient.
At pwhy we have been running a pre-school unit for over 7 years with children between the age of 1 to 5. Initially the whole class was held in a big room with out desks and chairs and children were taught through play and creative means. However we soon realised that the transition to a government school class I was difficult as the tiny tots found themselves in an alien world when faced with desks, chairs and blackboards. That is why we began our prep class where children are taught pre-primary skills in an informal and easy way.
Informal play schools or groups do not prepare children for what awaits them in schools and one year is too little to prepare for this whole new experience. The module of nursery and KG seemed a good way to slowly break in the child, without having her or him lose its creativity.
The Indian school system is one that puts undue pressure on young minds and the mark based system that ensues promotes unhealthy competition. It is heartwarming to see that pre school education is now being debated in courts, but one hopes that the interest of tender minds remains the centre point of all debate and decisions.
a new journey begins
The recent demolition of the Lohar basti is a harbinger of days to come. We have, over the past five years, witnessed many a demolition drive of this very basti. Bulldozers came, tenements were brought down, but each time they were rebuilt as money changed hands and eyes turned away. But this time was to be the right one as no one was allowed to rebuild their destroyed homes and in spite of the fact that the families doggedly remained in situ for two days, braving rain and sun, they ultimately realised the inevitable fact that after thirty years they were once again homeless.
Demolitions and sealing drives have become commonplace as one has seen over the years and each til date end in some sort of reprieve or the other. However the raising of the Lohar basti proves that the writing is an the all and that sooner or later many of the slums we work in will face the bulldozer.
With the raising of the Lohar basti we have lost one primary centre and we too feel somewhat orphaned though we knew this day would dawn and I had tried to prepare ourselves for it, albeit unconvincingly. But life has to go on and we need to remember that there many children who still need us.
So once again we had to make a course correction and as luck would have we were still on the lookout for a place for our women’s home. So instead of finding a place to house a creche and activities for women, we have decided to also include a primary outreach. We have been able to find a place in Madanpur Khader, a village in South Delhi near a slum resettlement colony and will be opening a new centre there very soon.
So a new journey begins and with it new challenges. But we will miss our Lohar children and their free spirit.
will it; won’t it
The will it; won’t it game that has now been played for years at end came to a final closure for the Lohar camp next to the Kalkaji bus depot. Yesterday the small basti of thirty odd tenements was finally raised to the ground to make way for the much awaited metro.
This basti has been in existence for over thirty years and has withstood many a demolition drive, as each time a few hard earned rupees bought the inabitants the right to rebuild their ramshackle homes. Whereas other slums managed to once again get a one year reprieve from demolition as a pre-election sop, this basti did not as the metro is part of the 2010 target when our capital city needs to shine for the much heralded sports fiesta.
What was destroyed yesterday was not just thirty rickety structures but the hopes and dreams of over 200 souls. This basti has tiny babies, school going children, men and women who earn their living within the area and old people who wait for another morrow. Like all nomadic tribes they too were promised permanent homes after India acceded to Independence and they gave up their roaming lives in the hope of seeing that pledge fulfilled. These 1000 odd families have been residents of Delhi for more than 50 years and though millions who came after them are today settled, they still live on the edges of roads and amidst the fumes of the growing vehicle population.
Thanks to greedy and wily politicians they have got ration cards and voter’s identity cards and their illegal structures even had a postal address making them true citizens of the capital. But yesterday their tiny vote bank was outweighed by larger interests and they were left to fend for themselves in a city that had suddenly become hostile.
They will survive I know it, as nomadic tribes have a spirit of their own but this little unit will now be probably be scattered across town and we will lose the lovely children who we taught for over 7 years now. And learn they did as tow of our most committed teachers – sanjay and Vicky – are from this very basti! Wonder whether they will still be able to come to pwhy.
The destruction of the Lohar basti of Kalkaji brings forth once again the burning issue of habitat for the poor. There is seems to be no real policy in this matter and ad hocism reigns. One has seen the multitude of recent scams where land for slum dwellers has been hijacked with impunity by mafia type operations. Slums that have been in existence for decades due to corrupt minions now face the danger of being demolished but there seems to be no alternative offered. Just short reprieves doled out to meet political agendas.
One wonders how it will it all end.
All one can say today is that we will miss our Lohar friends.
more heart matters
In her bright school uniform and sporting a sparkling smile she looks just line another school girl. However if you look at her again you see her little chest rising at an unnatural pace and realise that she can barely breathe. She has a hole in her heart and was what is know as a blue baby at birth.
Her father drives a rickshaw he does not own and drinks most of what he earns. She has two siblings and after paying the whopping 800 Rs for a tiny room there is not much left to eat. A visit to a nearby private hospital resulted to the family being told that a huge sum of money would be needed to repair the congenital defect. For this little family the road ended.
Soni dropped by pwhy one hot afternoon and somehow we all fell under her spell. Once again the God of small things had wowen his magic as some visitors from another world were also there. The impossible became possible as they decided to help Soni and sponsor her surgery.
There is still a long way to go, but we know that this little girl will have a future.
a breath of fresh air
It was once again time to make the one hour car journey to Utpal’s school for his PTM. And in spite of this being the nth time, the excitement was palpable.
With little Kiran the true blue childhood pal, I had packed the proverbial bag of goodies that contained all that was not allowed: chips, fizzy drinks and chocolates. We set out early and go there just as the clock struck 11 and the gates were opened. As we hurried to the residential block I realised that my heart was beating a little faster.
Utpal dressed in his Sunday clothes waited at the bottom of the stairs for his parents. This time we were six: Kiran, Chanda, Dharmendra and Barbara and Cyril, two volunteers who had decided to come along, not forgetting the old maam’ji! Presentations were made and I was thrilled to hear the confident “fine thank you maa’m” to Barbara’s: how are you? Our little Utpal seemed all grown up as he set out to show his room and cupboard and introduce his Dolly ma’am.
The rest of the day passed in a tizzy. A metro ride, a shared pizza and then the now legendary lunch at the school where Utpal acted as the perfect host. But as the hour of departure approached I could see his tiny face crumble. He snuggled closer to me and said: you will stay awhile, won’t you?
We did, but soon it was time to say our goodbyes, and for the first time I saw Utpal holding on to the tears that were welling up in his eyes. I held on to mine and hugged him a little tighter as I whispered: see you next time.
As we travelled back none of us spoke, not wanting to break the spell Utpal had cast on all of us.
when the heart takes over
S decided to sell his kidney because life had become unberable after his business failed. It must have been a pondered decision and one that must have taken a lot of grit and determination. What happened next is what heroic tales are made of. When S realised that the person in need of a kidney was poorer than him, he simply donated it without a thought, as if that was the only valid option. In that pure moment of human compassion reason had no role to play; the heart simply took over. There was no time to think of the ifs and buts or of the consequences that might ensue.
In our day and age, where acts of charity are often proportionate to the benefits they accrue – be it tax benefits or public recognition – and have lost all spontaneity and selflessness S stands tall. Cynics may say that ultimately he did get recognition and kudos but the essence of the matter is that when S gifted his kidney, he did not know they would come by and if one reads his story he suffered much indignity before being honoured and applauded.
S’s story stands like a beacon for all those who still believe that in some matters the heart has to take over, something we at pwhy stand by.
full circle
It was almost three years ago that two women of substance set up our Okhla school. The school was set up in a garbage dump for all the right reasons and much of what we set out to do was achieved and somehow we felt that nothing would or could disturb the pattern we had set.
We were in for a rude shock as yesterday we were told that the local politician had dropped by and decreed that our ramshackle structure would be raised to the ground and that a new building would be built that would house a school bearing her name. It was almost as if the clock had turned back 5 years to that wintry day when our tent was destroyed in a Giri Nagar park with promises of another building.
We had come full circle once again.
The first reaction was undoubtedly anger, dismay and hurt. The thought of having to see our neatly organised class space with its mud murals brought to nought seemed outrageous. It seemed as all our efforts were in vain. But as the news seeped in and the initial shock subsided one came to realise that perhaps there was more in this situation that met the eye.
If three years of unabated struggle and dogged determination to carry on our teaching in spite of everything had made a politico want to create a space for children and run a school, then we had achieved the goal pwhy had set for itself: to make the community aware of the importance of education and children.
Many of our early supporters still wonder why we left Giri Nagar and sought other pastures. Our answer is simple: 7 years back Giri Nagar had no structure for children; today it boasts of 4 NGOs that run child related activities making us almost redundant and though our pride took a blow when we were ousted, the greater objective was achieved. I guess the same applies for Okhla if what we have been told is true. If what once was a garbage dump and a haven for drug peddles becomes a school with play grounds for children, we would be fair in giving ourselves a pat on the back.
As for us we will once again find a place where children roam the streets and start all over again.
a bonny bundle of joy
Prakash is a bonny four month old, a far cry from his elder brother Manoj who came to us almost two years back and reminded me of a garden gnome with his big head and emaciated body.
When we came to know that Manoj’s mom mas pregnant again, we set out to chart a road map for her and like many of the programmes started by pwhy, we launched our pregnant mother support programme on the spur of the moment. Our sine qua non requirement was that the programme was open only to mom’s who came our way and were in need of support.
Today when we look at little Prakash sleeping or playing in the lap of his content mother we feel once again vindicated.