Medical tourism of another kind
This morning a neighbour of Mehajabi came by. Actually he was the man who had first brought her to us. He had come to collect the precious receipts that would ensure that the child was operated. After collecting the two pieces of paper and listening to the instructions, he lingered on for a while, hesitant to say what he wanted to.
I asked him what the mater was and he said shoved some medical papers in my hand and mumbled some inaudible words. This is his story..
Two years ago he lived in a village in Bihar where he eked a living as a daily wage labourer. He has a tiny plot of land and a little house. Life would have carried on were it not for his wife’s sudden loss of hearing. Local medical facilities being non-existent, he decided to come to Delhi in the hope of getting his wife cured. In Delhi he rented a tiny hovel and started his life as a daily wage labourer in earnest. He also set out get his wife treated but soon discovered that each day spent at the government hospital was one without work and the treatment was taking forever as he was sent from pillar to post.
After some time the comings and goings got the better of the little family as there were four children that needed to be carted each time and the loss of income was too much to bear. The wife too took on a job and life went on. But the ear ailment worsened. The wife’s employer decided to ‘help’ and sent the wife to a local specialist. She paid part of the treatment but then left for another city. The wife was ‘operated’ upon and given a huge prescription of expensive medicines. Part of the doctor’s bill still needed to be paid and the man borrowed and paid the same. But no money was left for the medication and the wife never went back to the doctor.
This was two weeks ago, and the man was at his wit’s end as infection had set in, the landlord not been paid and the family in danger of being homeless. He had come to ask for help.
A quick glance at the medical papers he carried showed that they did not even state what kind of surgery had been performed. We took him to our local doctor who referred him to a ENT specialist and we will try and ensure that she gets treated.
There must be many like this family who come to the city and get caught in an infernal spiral. They leave their roots and home to seek better medical help but soon find themselves worse they were in a inhospitable big city that is ready to devour them. As they try to survive, they sink deeper into debt. Some turn to alcohol, others gamble, and still others take their frustration out on their helpless families.
Welcome to the world of medical tourism of another kind.
a room with a view…
This morning I went to Mehajabi’s home. I had thought that seven years had inured be to most things but I was in for a surprise.
I must confess that I have been haunted by Mehajabi’s mom’s face since the time I laid eyes on her and I decided to accompany Rani on as she set out for her customary visit to the home of any child that needs heart surgery. This is to ensure that the child will have proper care after the delicate surgery.
Mehajabi lives in a remote enclave behind the Jamia Milia University. We left our three wheeler on the main road that runs along the river and set out on foot through a maze of lanes guided by her gentle father. Though the lanes seemed clean, we were soon hit by swarms of flies. After a long walk we reached a tiny lane where a set of rooms stood in a row, Mehajabi’s
was the last one in the row. It was a tiny room where we were greeted by Mehajabi’s and her mother. Her brother played on the floor. A bed was the only piece of furniture. Clothes hung on a string attached to the wall and all the other belongings lay around.
We soon discovered that eleven persons lived in that tiny room. Mejabi’s grandparents, parents, two aunts and her 4 siblings. As we sat on the bed Rani nudged my elbow pointing at the door. It took me a few seconds to realise what she was showing me. The door opened on the wall that was a dirty orange colour that was the result of years of spitting pan (betel leaf). It was what this young woman had to stare at day after day as she went about doing her daily chores!
It was her room with a view.
Thankfully we were distracted by a chirping sound and looked down to see 8 to 10 chicks, some brightly coloured in pinks and greens. Mehajabi’s mom told us that she had got them for the children to play with as she could not afford toys. What hit me was that there was no anger, no resentment no bitterness; it was their life and they lived it in the best way they could. The young couple had shifted to the parents home when the little girl’s illness was detected as from that moment on all that mattered was her well being. The whole family had come together to ward off the crisis.
I was overwhelmed with a multitude of thoughts that sought answers I did not have. I felt anger, sadness and total helplessness and yet I also felt humbled by the courage and dignity I saw. After a few minutes we got up to leave but were asked to stay on. I had forgotten that this was India, a land where guests are always welcome and honoured. After a few minutes Mehajabi’s father came back with a bottle of Pepsi and two plastic cups. As I held on to my cup, I realised that what I had been offered was steeped in emotions I cannot describe, and was far more than a simple fizzy drink. I drank my cup to the last drop as that was the only befitting thing to do.
By that time little Mehajabi had adopted me and was busy playing with my face. She had walked into my heart just as her mother had. We left in silence humbled and moved by that experience. As we reached the three wheeler were Hare Ram our driver waited, I saw some whispering between the father and son-in-law. The young man was sent to the corner juice man and a glass of juice was brought for Hare Ram, who was also a guest.
After all this was India, the real one that many have forgotten.
click here to see mehajabi’s room with a view
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both sides now – the sustainability factor
How to sustain project why is a question that has been haunting me for some time now, I guess time waits for no one and the writing is on the wall! It is a question many have raised, some gently others even brutally. I must confess that I spend many hours thinking about valid options and reviewing past mistakes.
The list of ideas that did not work is daunting: we made candles, jewels, painted T shirts, pots and more of the same and sold them at charity bazaars. We gathered pongamia seeds from he numerous trees around, milled oil and made soaps; we made eco-friendly shopping bags; we even made chocolates but soon saw that none of these could ever bring us the funds required to run pwhy.
And as each idea failed, lessons were learnt. It became clear that we could not match the competition. Moreover the complex legislations related to some products like soaps and food items were wrought with red tape. And finally marketing any product required huge investment. The final blow was the sealing laws that put an end to any small business idea we may have had.
We had to find a minimum or no investment and high return option. That is when I stumbled upon the idea of the one -rupee-a day option. It seemed such a doable one as one thought that it would not be difficult to convince people to part with such a tiny sum. One become bold enough to believe that even the community would part with that tiny amount. But reality struck soon enough as one laboured on. People did not come forward. Or those who did, just did it once and forgot. And yet like you hold on to a special child, this option never left me though it did not bring the desired result.
Slowly planet why came to seed. And yet it again looked doable provided one found the funds to set it up. Many have warmed up to the idea but the investment is huge.
As I write these words I am reminded of the lyrics of a Neil Diamond song:
I’ve looked at life from both sides now
From win and lose and still somehow
It’s life’s illusions I recall.
I really don’t know life at all.
Somehow the sustainability options of planet why are two sides of a spectrum: either we find a huge number of people and ask them to part with a tiny amout of money over a long period of time, or we find a huge amout of money and create our own way of finding money.
Tht is the dilemena one faces!
bahar tak to ajao…
Utpal came home for a few hours on Sunday. It was the last Sunday of the month and normally one should have made the trip to his school and shared his lunch of beans and rice but the extreme heat made me change plans and have him come over instead.
We spent the morning preparing his favourite food and bought all the goodies he likes and is not allowed in school: the fizzy drinks, the spicy chips as well as a lot of fruit. Some of his toys were brought down from the attic and the cooler was switched on. The excitement was palpable as we all waited for him.
he came by at 1pm and at first stood shyly but moments later he was his adorable self and reclaimed his proprietary rights. He opened the fridge and took out some oranges. Son the house come alive with his laughter and endless prattle. All his extended family was there and he played to the gallery ensuring that no one felt left out.
The day flew by and soon it was time to leave. His face did fall a little and my heart missed several beats as it does each time I have to let my popples go. The proverbial coward, my pace slacked a little as he started to leave the house. He looked at me with his huge melting eyes and said : bahar tak too ajaho ( at least come till the gate).
I did sheepishly and with moist eyes…
a dream come true
Sapna, a real dream come true..
She come to us almost five years ago and f you drop by this page, this is part of what you will read:
She is four, has delayed milestones, as she cannot walk or talk. She came to us about two months ago. Listening to her story left us all stunned beyond words. Sapna’s father does not work. He is supposedly unwell, but spends his time gambling and abusing his wife. Sapna’s grandmother has a small tea stall, and Sapna’s mom, Bimla, spends her day washing the dirty utensils. At the end of the day, she gets some food, not always enough to feed Sapna and her small brother, let alone herself! We soon discovered that much of Sapna’s delayed milestones were due to malnutrition and neglect. Sapna joined the early education programme, and with the help of Gaelle, our physio-therapist volunteer, she has slowly started catching up.
Since Sapna has learnt to walk, talk a little, make friends, play, interact and much more. And though we know that she will never lead a normal life, each achievement of hers is cause for celebration.
Imagine my surprise when while downloading the day’s pictures to my camera I found this one. sapna having a whale of a time on the trampoline. To many it may seem innocuous as any 10 year old should be able to jump on a trampoline. But in sapna’s case it is nothing short of a miracle..
I do not even want to begin to imagine what her life would have been had she not come to phwy – thanks to utpal’s mom – . Sapna has never been liked by her father or her grandmother for whom sh is an impediment. Her mom does love her as mom’s do but can do scant else. In a land where social support is nonexistent her life seems doomed as she grows into a young woman.
It is for the likes of Sapna that planet why becomes imperative as it would giver her a fulfilling life tailored to her needs. That is why I know it will happen one day..
four point five and dropping…
Four point five and dropping. This is no winter temperature chart but little Anil’s weight.
He underwent close heart surgery for the placement of a pulmonary artery (PA) Band till more surgery could be done when he was older and stronger.
Anil is 15 months old and his weight was 7 kilos before surgery. After the placement of his PA band something seemed to have gone wrong as his ribs looks displaced and his breathing awkward. Moreover he had given up food and is losing weight at a frightening pace. His mother has tried every trick in the book but to little or no avail.
The doctors at the Institute have washed their hands off by telling the young mother that his loss of appetite was not their concern.
All this makes us wonder whether something went terribly wrong and no one is taking responsibility.
With the terrible heat wave in the city dehydration lurks at every corner and Anil’s home is a tiny airless room with a tin roof!
We have asked Anil’s mom to bring him to the creche in the day and will try and feed him so that he starts putting on some weight and once again appeal to the god of lesser beings to guide us in the right direction.
If you read this post do send a prayer.
a senseless death – he was twenty one
Was it only a year ago that I wrote about my worst fears in a post I entitled plastic fantastic lover. I have been watching in helpless horror the gleaming bikes and big cars that landed in the darkest lanes of the slums around us, courtesy a pyramid sales company promising an El Dorado t any one who joined them. I have watched with extreme sadness young people falling prey one after the other to this hoax, many leaving their studies midway, many our very own students. I have screamed myself hoarse trying to guard them from the pitfalls I could see. I have prayed hard for them to fall before it is too late. But the enemy was too formidable and the lollies to attractive.
Day after day more bikes, more cars, more white shirts and blank pants, more frenzy, more euphoria. The voices of reason were silenced and many even gloated at all that had been achieved.
I just sat silent wondering when the pyramid would crash, I sat silent asking myself how did one pick the pieces of broken dreams and shattered hope, how did one clean up after the storm has passed. My worst case scenario was huge debts leading to despair. And though the idea had seeded in my mind, nothing could prepare me for the news I heard this morning: one of the young kids had taken is own life this morning as he could not face the creditors knocking at his door and had no one to turn to for help. He was twenty one.
And as the story unfolded, all apprehensions and fears stood validated. Many young boys and girls were faced with huge debts. The dreams of early days now lay jaded. The careless freedom had taken its toll as many girls lost their way in a world they could not master. Some of the ring leaders were faced with lawsuits and had gone in hiding. Reality had caught up with these misguided children who had no one to turn to.
My mind went back to the innumerable posts I had written about my fears. My mind went back to some hate mails I got where young people lauded the work of MLM. I kept some of them and paste one here as it was sent to me without editing :
myself ebizzer amit
ebiz.com (p) ltd
The power of right decision
ebiz become the best network marketing company of the world by touching millions of people around the world by essential komputer eduction, quality produts and service at vrey reasonble and offardable costs, to help them achieve financial freedom.
I have nothing to say as these words spek for themselves. I just hope and pray that no other life will have to be lost.
To be a girl…
Modigliani could have painted her. Were she a few inches taller she could have walked the ramp. But little Mahajabi’s mom was born in a poor Muslim family in India a land where little girls are not welcome, a land where they are often done away with, a land where they just go missing.
Their fate if they do survive is no bed of roses. Mahajabi’s mom does not even know her age but seems barely out of her teens, but unlike her peers in well to do homes or other lands, she looks used and abused. She has five children the eldest 5 and the youngest 10 months. She must have been married at a time when girls are normally carefree and got pregnant soon after. Since, her life has been spent being pregnant and breastfeeding while caring for her ever growing family. In her world any form of birth control is sinful and blasphemous. As long as her body is capable of bearing children she will continue doing so. She has no choice. Hers is a life devoid of rights; just a string of duties defined by traditions and mores made and defined by men.
Her husband is a daily wage labourer and barely earns enough for his family. Mahajabi’s heart condition has come as a bolt from the blue and thrown the family out of gear. And yet she is a mother and cannot remain silent so she has moved in with her parents till the child is attended to and healed. With a courage and determination well beyond her years, this woman who does not know her own age, requested her neighbour to accompany her to the hospital as the child was sick. She had dropped by to ask us for some proof she could show the doctors who had earlier refused to attend to the child as they must have thought that this poor family could never gather the required 60 000 Rs.
But they were unaware of the power of a mother’s prayers and the ways of the God of Lesser beings who is beyond religion and faith. Mahajabi will have her operation and will be given a chance to live.
But as one watched them leave, one wondered how long would little girls have to wait before they were given their rightful place in society.
a note of gratitude
I met Mallika on the net a year or so ago. It was a time when we were desperate for funds and I use to knock at every id or site in the hope of getting some help. A common net friend connected us and as luck would have it she came to Delhi and we met.
The next day she came by to visit project why with her parents and her two daughters. It was a blessed moment and since they have supported us in more ways than one.
That was time her first book had been published and even though I was past the age of young motherhood I tried to find a copy of 100 promises, thinking it would be a way of getting to know Mallika better. I must confess that I was utterly surprised by the wisdom and sagacity that permeated this tender book and found myself reading it with intense pleasure, regretting that in our days such books did not exist. Dr Spock or Laurence Pernoud was what we read as we went on learning to be and making innumerable and iretreivable mistakes.
More than a book on motherhood, it was a reflection on life itself and a celebration of the often neglected link between a mother and a child. I saw my mistakes and shortcomings andadmired wondered the depth of understanding of this young mother. Many of the promises were shared with my teachers as maybe I was lucky to have been given a second chance with the project why children. And of all the promises the one that touched me the most was: I will hold you, but never hold on to you.
Imagine my surprise an delight when I received a mail from Mallika where she introduces her new book 100 questions from my child and writes: For this book, I am donating a portion of my proceeds to ProjectWhy, an organization in New Delhi that provides educational programs for underprivileged children.
What makes this gesture special is that project why is about trying to find answers to the innumerable questions that come up when looks at the plight of the children of India. I am sure that once again it will guide me in finding the right answer.
Thank you Mallika.
a precious heart
Her name means beautiful and Mahajavi is undoubtedly beautiful. She is just under one. She was born with a hole in her heart that needs fixing.
The youngest of 5 kids – though her mom looks like a kid herself – she has a right to live a full life but cannot unless her heart is fixed.
You guessed right, Mahajavi is our new inmate at heartfix hotel and we hope to be to fix her heart.
This is how she landed at project why.
Mahajavi is related to the two men who came by my home to do some work last week, probably part of a large plan of the God of Lesser Beings. An answer to a young mother’s prayer or a reminder that in our land every little girl has a right to live? Who knows.
In Delhi little girls are precious even if many do not know it as yet. I read some chilling figures in a recent publication: 25 000 girls go missing every year in this very city. hence it is a matter of celebration that a poor family with 5 children is fighting for little Mahajavi. Before we met them, they had made innumerable visits to the All India Institute of Medical Sciences and done what they could. It is divine justice that they found us. Now the ball is in our court and the game has to be won.
To some it may seem pointless to save such a life as they may wonder what her future would be. I chose to leave such souls to their wonderings. A simple glance at her eyes and at her young mother’s eyes is sufficient to know that Mahajavi’s life is as precious as any other little girl’s. As so her future only time will tell..
more project stats
A few posts back we shared some of our achievements with a sense of pride. Today I was given another set of statistics and once again one felt elated.
My mind travelled back almost 10 years when project why began, or rather when the organisation was set up. To me it was a question of paying back a debt but at that time the canvas was blank and our work could have taken on any direction. The first year was spent distributing nutrition to slum children and in the course of that year one set out biscuits in hand on a journey into an unknown world, or rather a world one had been conditioned to view in a particular way. With each biscuit came a lesson and a set of questions or ‘whys’.
The one why that disturbed me the most was: why do children drop out of school? Project why came as our answer to this question and one can say with a some satisfaction that since its inception children who have come our way have remained in school and performed well. This year again we have has our set of toppers in many classes.
The other why that was as disquieting was the alarming number of children in Delhi who are not in school – over 100 000 between the age of 7 and 13 – . So it has also been our effort to try and push children back into mainstream education. This is often a difficult task as one has to motivate parents and bully schools. This year again 6 children were admitted n class VI and 61 in different primary classes.
Cynics may think this is but a drop in he ocean and I agree, but drops create ripples. In a land has huge as ours the only way to be able to bring change is one child at a time, one day at a time and to believe that if one life is changed a real difference has been made.
holding on to dreams
Last week two men came to help us with some work at home. Like many others who eek their living on a day-to-day basis they were picked up from the chowk or road side where they sit from the early hours of the morning in the hope that someone would come by and give them work.
Both had lost their jobs in factories, as many do in Delhi, but had refused to lose hope. Over a cup of tea they shared their story in a dispassionate way. Hazari the elder of the two hails from Bihar and has five children. His wife does not work and it is his measly 3000 rs that keeps them going. All his children go to school and his elder daughter is in class IX. His dream is to ensure that she completes her XIIth.
Hazari belongs to one of the reserved classes but has no idea of what that simple appartenance can get him. He has never heard of reservation and has never availed of any of the sops doled out regularly. His day-to-day survival does not give him the luxury of taking time off to get the required papers ratifying his social or economic status. Yet Hazari refuses to give up his dreams for his children, the very reason he left his home to come to this soulless city.
It was poignant to see that this conversation was happening at the very time when heated debates on reservations are once again dividing the nation and the fate of the creamy layer is being veted. This man like many others in our land was just busy surviving and holding on to his dreams. He is already a winner as he has beaten many odds. In a city where children drop out with alarming regularity, his daughter has held on and made it to class IX.
As I mused on about this innocuous meeting, I came across a news item stating that an IIM alumni body had gone to the Supreme Court questioning the validity of a 56 year old caste-based reservation system. What caught my eye were two quotes of from Jawahar Lal Nehru. The first reminded us of his dream of a ” young and vibrant nation, free from the vices of caste and communal divide“. The other went on to state: ” I dislike any kind of reservation. more particularly in services. I react strongly against anything that leads to inefficiency and second rate standards. I want my country to be a first class country in everything. The moment we encourage the second rate we are lost“.
A mere glance at today’s India 60 years after freedom shows that Nehru’s vision has been long forgotten. The debate on the creamy layer is sufficient to show that the very purpose of reservation or affirmative action has been defeated. While the battle rages about the 27% OBC reservation in institutes of higher learning, 6 decades of Independence have not been able to enforce the right to primary education.
It stands to reason to believe that for any affirmative action to be honest, excellence has to begin at the very bottom of the ladder: ie in state run primary schools. Our tiny experience at pwhy has proved beyond doubt that children from underprivileged backgrounds can be stellar performers if given a little help. To cite just one example, Farzana a two times failure in class VII got 83 % at her Xth Boards. Sadly as debates go on, the state of municipal schools in India’s capital city seem to be getting worse by the minute. A mind boggling number of potential aspirants to higher learning drop out of schools because somewhere down the line each one of us has failed them.
The IIM alumni effort is one in the right direction. It is time to define the validity of a reservation policy that seems to be doing more harm than good, as it is fracturing our society with impunity. Any affirmative action has to be time bound. Otherwise it will lead to impairing rather than helping. Alas, as long as such policies provide fodder to vested interest, solutions will be difficult to find.
the orphan and the one eyed child
I had heard the story of the the one-eyed child who lived in a small village and was the butt of cruel jokes and a sad laughing stock. His mother climbed a rocky hill on her knees to reach a shrine where it was said miracles happened. Sometime later her child lost his other eye and turned blind. At first she was unable to understand what had happened till slowly she realised that people had stopped making fun of her child and were often seen helping him and being kind to him.
This story has many explanations and many lessons to be learnt. But it came to my mind as I battled a real life situation today. We have been trying to find alternatives for Babli and Jeetu. Whereas many know Babli’s story, Jeetu belongs to times before one actually became a blogger. He lost his Mom when he was still a tiny baby. Now almost 8 he is tended for by a father who barley eeks a living. The father, like so many others, drinks and becomes abusive and violent. Last week he was seen threatening his son with a tyre that he was about to hurl on him when one of our staff members intervened.
Babli and Jeetu have parents but just in name as in either case these parents have scant time for their progeny. We were hoping to send them to karammarg but were told that a recent decision of their Board was to only take orphans.
Babli and Jeetu are not exceptions. There are many like them who though having parents live a life of abject neglect. They are left to their own devices. Jeetu does not even go to school in spite of all our efforts. Babli is a surrogate mother to her family. Her father even makes take care of the tobacco and cigarette cart he has while he is busy gambling. One year after her heart surgery she has not grown an inch or put on a pound. Having parents who do not care is worse than being orphaned as orphans are quite often taken care of by relatives and treated with kindness.
Jeetu and Babli are muck like the one eyed child, their lives worse than that of the child with no parents. Their homes situation is so hopeless that it becomes impossible to help them in situ. Their only hope is that their family – or what goes by that name – accepts to give them a better chance.
Sometimes decisions are taken in a hurry, one can only hope that they are not irreversible. It is the plight of children like them that made us seed planet why. If not for all the children at least for those who drop by our way.
gift unwrapped
Some of you may remember the very special gift I had sought this year for my b’day. Yesterday was unwrapping time as team project why gathered for a day long workshop and everyone read their essays ( for want of a better word). I must confess that I was really thrilled as everyone, even those who were illiterate had made the effort to produce a page.
When I began the workshop by asking each one to read what they had written I was met with a volley of giggles, exclamations and no ways! But I held on and soon everyone settled and one by one they read what they had written. Some in barely audible voices, some with theatrical aplomb, and some amidst giggles. I wish i had done this exercise before as those few paragraphs were a deep insight into each and everyone. Having known most of them for many years now, I could validate much of what I had till then just felt intuitively.
They had been asked to write about how the years in pwhy had transformed them, it at all, and why should anyone one ‘love’ them. Some felt is necessary to eulogise pwhy and ma’am. Others were bold enough to state that they should be loved for this or that reason. Some went back to their school days and their relationship with their own teachers. There were even one or two who delivered a passionate speech on the state of the country.
There were however some heartwarming and even poignant common threads: new found self confidence, ability to talk to foreigners, realisation that they could achieve what once seemed impossible. All in all it was a great experience and one that met my secret agenda: that of getting each one of them to take on the running of their own centre. I explained to them that i wanted each one of them to feel responsible for the work they were doing, to make its budget, to list its assets, to maintain daily accounts and above all to state its relevance.
There were raised eyebrows, incredulous looks and much whispering. But step one had been taken towards a change in roles and I knew that this was a great moment for all of us at pwhy.
(to be continued….)
sunshine smile
Whenever one feels low or a tad dejected a miracle drops by to lift one’s spirits in a nano second.
This week’s miracle was a visit by little Anisha and her sunshine smile. All woes and bad thoughts were whisked away as she entered the room in her mother’s arms and greeted us with her dazzling smile. Was this the same child who just a few months back could barely breathe?
She regaled us with her new antics and one could not resist puling her now plump cheeks. Anisha who was barely surviving with numerous holes in her heart, was today alive! And we at pwhy granted ourselves the right to celebrate our sunshine girl.
project stats – budget 2006
Our new budget for 2007 – 2008 is on line. Normally a budget is not something you blog on. However project why has reached a stage where in a case of force majeure it has become necessary to review and reinvent.
The Damocles sword of the now (in)famous sealing laws hangs on our head. The not so elusive year 2010 is just round the corner and it would be foolish to think that slums will remain where they are. On the other hand the promise of building flats for slum dwellers in situ is at best only for a chosen few, if not a another political sop. The likelihood of slums being once again pushed to the edge of the city seems more like a reality waiting to happen.
Thinking that project why could remain as it is for years to come is unwise. The sensible option is to start planning for the future while keeping within the spirit of project why.
We now have 10 working modules in 7 locations. Our first step would be to empower the staff in each of these 10 module to take on their management. Hence we have asked them to prepare individual budgets and maintain daily accounts. We know that we will have to hold their hand for some time but in the ultimate analysis they will one day be able to handle their work independently and thus run their programmes in whatever location they find themwelves in. Pwhy then becomes the validating organisation that would seek funds. It would also have a training and monitoring role.
On the other hand we still have some children and adults that would need us on a lifelong basis. These are not those we sought but those that landed in our existence. Planet why is what we have considered as a viable option as it would also enable us to raise on our funds in the future. This is also a imperative as we cannot expect funders to support us for ever.
Budget 2006 includes a new programme that we have called community outreach. This was done as it was felt that education alone could not bring about the kind of change we dreamt of. Awareness on issues like RTI and environment (water, plastic menace etc) are important factors that need to be taught to both parents and children. Moreover the need for health and hygiene awareness needs also to be addressed. We are happy to share that after 7 gruelling years we have finally been accepted by the community and approached by local doctors and other community leaders for joint programmes. This is a major breakthrough in our effort to bridge the gap between various sections of the community. Moreove this programe will also try and address various social issues that plague the community.
2007 looks like being a year of transformation and remodeling. We are awre that it will throw up many new challenges but we hope to meet them with success.
admission woes
Some of you know Kiran. She has been part of pwhy since its very inception. She was actually born the day we began our work in Giri Nagar.
Kiran is a lovely child in more ways than one, and she is an extremely sensitive and humane person. Her favourite place at pwhy is the special section where she often spends time helping the teachers with their work and interacts with each and every child. The picture you see is when she lent her face for a make up class and sat a long time while Neha, Rinky and Shaheeda set to task.
Her family has always wanted the best for her and dreamt of putting her in a nice school. They were willing to pay a reasonable amount and had saved for it. When she was ready for class I they set about finding a school but soon found it was not so simple. Kiran had been to a playschool where she excelled but that was not enough. Tests ensued and the dreaded rejection that this intelligent child could not understand.
Her admission became a topic of daily conversations in her little home till the day one well wisher (or so called) stepped in and said he could get her a seat in a school. Kiran sat for the entrance test and got in. Her fees and other expenses – a whooping 15 K – were paid as everyone scrapped the barrel. Last week in her new uniform little Kiran set off to school. The same afternoon the well wisher – a true Shylock – asked his pound of flesh: 20 K commission!
Kiran’s story is shared here to underline a larger issue. What many do not realise is that this is the trend not the exception. More and more parents from what we like to call the underprivileged class are wanting to send their children to good schools. This is because the government run schools, particularly at the primary level are in an appalling state. Parents who are now second generation migrants to Delhi and respectable citizens with voting rights, are aware of this reality. The private schools or rather teaching shops that proliferate in slum areas have also been exposed as a costly and poor option. Parents want a good +2 school.
We have witnessed in the past years many parents from slums trying to get an admission for their children. This is often the case when one parent is educated. For many the search is futile and the child sent to a private unrecognised school, for others like Kiran things look possible till the hammer falls.
The child is now in school. If the money is not paid there is a likelihood of her being poorly treated or even dismissed. If the racket is exposed then the child will be ill treated for sure and finding another school is almost impossible. Paying the money is not an option as not only does the family not have the resources, but they are reluctant to walk this road.
Kiran’s story is the story of many children in today’s reality. I am a die hard believer in the common school system where children from many walks of life will learn together. But the writing on the wall points in a different direction as one hears more disturbing trends on privatisation of schools. Many do not realise that it will ring the death knell for a large chunk of India’s young population.
snapshots – two Indians
Tow separate incidents occurred last week and somehow stayed in my mind. To many they would have gone unnoticed and yet they say so much about the India we chose to ignore.
It was election day. We have a new live-in maid at home. A middle aged lady who hails from Eastern UP. She went about her chores but I could feel she had something to say but did not quite know how as she had yet to discover our ways. Her restlessness was palpable so I ultimately asked her what the matter ways. In a hesitant voice she asked whether she could have some time off. The reason was that she wanted to exercise her franchise and vote. She finished her work and changed into a smart outfit slung a handbag on her arm and went off to accomplish her civic duty. Nothing and no one could take that away from her.
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Last Sunday was terribly hot. It was around noon and having a few errands to run I had to brave the heat. The usually empty road was filled with people and vehicles as some entrance examination was being held in the nearby government school. As I passed the school I saw a young man laying it out books on the pavement – actually the dust road -. The books were all sots of guides and help manuals that he was taking out from his canvas bag. In a short time aspirants started crowding around and a few sales were clinched. What an enterprising young man. I passed by that spot twice in the next few hours. The first time business was brisk. The next the man had disappeared as I guess a policeman must have come by and applied the sometimes seemingly absurd law. I felt a pang of sadness as I had wanted to talk to the young man. I hope he did make some profit.
Reinventing a future
Remember Babli? Yes the one whose heart was fixed with success but life was not. The little girl who wanted to be a police? Seems she needs us again as she of all the 12 children who have had heart surgeries is the one who has not grown an inch or put on a pound.
Babli is as neglected as she was before and though she does now go to school, she often misses pwhy on a pretext or another. The spirited little girl of yesterday is slowly turning into a listless child. We have tried for months now to counsel her parents but to no avail. Her father seems too busy playing cards and her mother too busy clocking overtime at the factory she works in.
What cannot forget the bright eyes filled with huge dreams that use to meet ours when she was in hospital, almost as if she knew that the operation was her way to transforming her life. As time passed on and she got better, the dreams seemed to fly away. I wonder if she too slowly realised that she was now confined into the well scripted role of an elder sibling.
It was time to act again. After much deliberation we have decided to convince her parents to send her to karam marg where she can go to school, play in the open with other children and make up for lost time.
We hope that her parents will agree.
when ruchi primps champa
Thursday afternoon is grooming and self-care time in the special section of project why. This is when the students are taught all about looking after themselves and even looking after each other.
Manu gets a vigorous pedicure courtesy Shalini Rinky tries her hand at making up Neha and Shaheeda gives Neetu a hand massage.
Each using her special ability in helping the other feel and look better. This week Ruchi, who suffers from a debilitating nervous condition often leads to uncontrollable tremors decided to style Champa’s unruly tresses.
To many this may seem trivial but to those who know the reality it was an extraordinary moment as for Ruchi to be able to wield a comb was nothing less than a momentous effort. And Champa’s patience was laudable.
These children never fail to move me. They come from different social ad economic backgrounds and would have never met, let alone interacted had they been what we call normal! The common denominator is that they are different in normal parlance. But when you are with them you can feel the bonding that transcends anything one could imagine.
From Manu who was a street beggar a few years ago to Rinky who comes from an educated middle class family, from Himashu barely 5 to Shalini now 31, they form a close knit group that spends a few hours each day laughing, fighting, learning, playing or in a word living!
What a beautiful example they are of how easy it is to forget differences and find a common ground. Maybe we should learn from them.