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.
the sting that lost its bite
The latest sting school. operation turned out lost all its bite when the reporter in question was arrested. I am referring to the case of the school teacher accused of waylaying girls students in Delhi. Though the story had created furore and even rioting when aired, somehow it had not rung true and I had chosen not to comment on it though I often find myself reacting to stories about abuse of children.
Sting operations seem to be the flavour of the times and they have undoubtedly redressed many a tort and brought justice to some. And though one had even been at the origin of Ghaziabad girls operation, the silence that ensues such operation is sometimes too deafening to bear making us wonder as to the role the media can and should play in such cases.
It is true that in the past year of so the media has risen as a watchdog bringing to light many wrongs hitherto hidden. The power of images and the ability to edit and replay them brings stark realities into the very privacy of our homes making us react and one has seen people reaching out to others in gallant ways.
Sting operations have a role to play in waking up the slumbering conscience of a lethargic civil society and that is why one should not allow it to be hijacked to even personal vendettas or suit vested interests. If there are more such fake stings that we run the risk of having restrictive laws slammed on them.
Media has to be extremely cautious and conscious with such operations and not view them as a simple way to up their TRP rates. They also need to follow up and inform their audience on the outcome of each case. Only then can this powerful tool become an agent of change.
the baby factory
The baby factory that was exposed in another now famous sting operation looked like a horror movie. Young minor girls from poor states brought to Delhi and then made to produce babies that were then sold! The reason for this is two-fold: the abject poverty on one hand and the draconian adoption laws on the other. This makes a heady cocktail for greedy predators always looking for a quick buck.
The fabricated baby was thus sold for a mere 10 000 Rs. The new parents even got a birth certificate with their names as parents making the deal as perfect as possible. Wonder how much the poor natural mother got after every one had taken its pound of flesh. And wonder what becomes of her after she produced one or x babies.
So many questions come to mind when one hears about this terrible tale. But the ones that linger on are those that touch the girl. Motherhood is sacred to every woman, no matter how poor she is and no one has the right to rob or appropriate itself this experience . The nine months one carries a child in one’s womb establish a bond that is almost visceral. The young girl who set out on a journey of hope could not have imagined in her wildest nightmare that this is the price she would be asked to pay for a better life.
The perpetrators of such a crime should be punished in the most draconian way possible but knowing our legal system that will not be so.
the boy in the red shirt
I would like to share two small almost negligible incidents that happened yesterday.
While showing the project to a visitor we stopped by our tiny Govindpuri primary centre. The room was so tiny that some of us remained outside where a bunch of young lads sat loitering. One of them wearing a bright red shirt seemed to be their leader. I asked him what he did and the answer was almost thrown my way: I just hand around. I persisted in my queries and this was what transpired. This young boy – about 15 or so – had dropped out of school in class V because according to him there was no teaching as teachers did not bother to teach. He then got a job but left it as the pay was not regular, and now he was looking for another one, just any kind of job would do.
Later in the day I went to the Greater Kailash M block market looking for some hairpins and rubber bands, ware usually sold by enterprising young men on the pavement in front of the shops. I, of course, had forgotten about the recent cleaning drive that had ensured the disappearance of all such stalls that had been there for as long as one remembered, sometimes passing from father to sons one had seen grow. The once bustling market looked strangely devoid of its soul. Refusing to give up I walked along around the market, knowing in my heart that I would find the elusive ware I sought. And then, as I was almost about to give up, I saw one of the familiar faces tucked in a shop doorway with a few trinkets on the ground. I approached him and asked him if he had the things I needed. He smiled and asked me to wait a minute and dashed to his car parked across the street and fished out the things I sought. He told me that all stalls had been cleared but he hoped that things would change soon.
I had once written a post about a young boy selling guide books in front of an exam centre and marvelled at the spirit of enterprise displayed by young Indians. It is sad to see that the new sealing and other suddenly discovered laws are hitting at the livelihood of the poor. Young people like the boy in the red shirt who dropped out of school not because of lack of ability or desire but because of abysmal teaching could easily find employment in the very small shops or road eateries that will be soon closed.
I am one to respect laws. But laws have to be applied from day one and not be circumvented for years by shady means and then resurrected to suit newfound interests. One cannot forget that between the two time has elapsed and realities changed.