Dear Prime Minister

Please accept my congratulations on your resounding victory. The people of India have risen above caste, religion and all divisive groupings to elect you to lead our Nation. Some follow your ideological views but there are others who voted you in because we believed that you would be able to make us regain our pride which had taken a hit amidst the scams and corrupt ways that seem to have become our hallmark.

You have a huge task ahead of you, a task made onerous because of the immense trust people from across the board have reposed in you. Many believe you will become a conjurer of miracles and have high hope in you, hopes that you will be expected to fulfill. It is not an easy task and I pray God will be with you.

I am a humble senior citizen whose heart beats for India and has always done so. Nationalist parents tend to instil this love in their children, particularly children who are born and who grow up away for the Motherland. My father’s dying words to me were: don’t lose faith in India. That was in 1992 and believe me Prime Minister it has not been easy to hold on to that faith.

You have many challenges ahead of you and I am no expert in matters such as economy, finance or other complex issues. I only see with my heart and react the same way. For the past 15 years I have been working with underprivileged children in slums. Today I want to be their voice and try and reach out to you.

Every time we talk of India we take pride in the fact that we have one of the youngest population. One often hears about higher education and the need to create more IITs and IIMs. Sadly we never hear anything about primary education which is now the Constitutional Right of every child born in this land. This is the reality as one just has to step out of one’s house even in our capital city to come across a child begging or working. Mr Prime Minister no child can aspire to enter the portal of an IIM without getting primary education. In today’s India there are millions of children struggling to get a primary education. You will agree that a young demography holds no meaning if young India does not have education and access to sound vocational skills. A recent UNICEF report states that 80 million children don’t complete the entire cycle of elementary education, close to 8 million are out of school. This is a matter of utter shame. Even when children go to school, and I am not taking of schools in remote areas but the country’s capital, they are packed in classrooms where more than 100 children study in spaces made for 40. How can they learn Mr Prime Minister. Our country has failed in providing the very basic education to its children and children cannot wait as they grow by the day and soon it is too late for them. As I humble citizen who has seen the potential of these children over the past 15 years, I urge you to give primary education the place it has in the economy of any country wanting to compete with the best.

Education should not be privatised. There was a time when almost every child went to a Government school and went on to hold the highest offices. We need that Golden Age to come back. Government cannot abdicate its responsibility in this sector. Privatisation is not the answer. Should you go that way, then education will never reach the poorest of the poor and unless we reach them, our country cannot change.

Look at Delhi. It is replete with State and Municipal schools but not only are they overcrowded but they often run in ramshackle buildings and even tents with sometimes no desks! These are often single storied barracks and should be transformed into multi storied schools imparting quality education. More so it is sad that our capital city cannot provide morning school to all its children and so boys go to school in the afternoon, a time not conducive to learning. I do hope you will look at this as though children have no vote, they have hope in you, Sir.

There is one more reality that makes me hang my head in shame every day and that is the spectre of malnutrition and the fact that even today, as you celebrate your big victory, 5000 between the age of 0 and 5 will die quietly in the India you now lead. I urge you to look at this sad and shameful reality and do something. There are some programmes that could have made a difference had they been properly implemented and not hijacked by wily people. ICDS which should monitor children from age 0 to 6 has failed. Had it worked any Indian under 35 should not have been malnourished. You just need to step into one of the Anganwadis in this city to see what a sham and cruel joke they are: a damp hole, a broken weighing machine and a disinterested caretaker is what what will greet you. As for nutrition, as that is what these creches are meant to give, what the kids get is again a handful of puffed rice and gram and that too not everyday!

Mr Prime Minister we cannot have children dying everyday; we cannot have millions of children out of school.

I hope you will hear the voice of the voiceless.

A citizen of India

A few weeks ago we got a huge shock. One of our most important funders informed us that come September they would be reducing their seizable contribution by half! The reason: India was now considered an unsafe place for tourists and as our monies was dependent on the numbers visiting India, there was no option unless a miracle happened. If no miracle then we would have to make a Sophie’s choice and be compelled to close one of more of our centres.

In my wisdom I put everything on hold praying for a miracle or if not that, at least for an epiphany to save my children. It is sad that when anything goes wrong in the country it is always the voiceless children who pay for it. I remember that when India imploded its bomb in 1998, when I had just decided to start project why, many of my friends who run organisations helping the deprived saw their funding cut overnight. Now how does cutting the funds that help an autistic child or a slum kid help make a statement against the policy of a country?  Beats me.

I agree that when a foreign tourist is raped the people in her country would become ballistic and I also understand the negative reaction that will ensue. I also understand the anger we saw when the young woman was brutally raped and assaulted in December 2012 in Delhi. I can also understand the demand to see the perpetrators hang! But sadly hanging a perpetrator, making stringent laws, and all other such solutions cannot and will not stop rape or abuse as statistics have showed. Rapes have not stopped. Rape and sexual abuse is a hydra headed monster whose multiple heads will keep growing again and again unless we are able to find a way to cut its 8 mortal heads and bury his 9th immortal one. But first one has to identify all these heads and work out the right strategy.

Last week a group of journalists from the country of the women who has raped recently came on what is known as a ‘fam’ ( familiarisation)  tour. These are organised by the Government or by the tourism and hospitality sector  to showcase a country/place. The group also wished to visit one of our centres. I met with one of the members and a friend for lunch a few hours prior to their meeting with a honcho at the Tourism Ministry. She suggested I accompany them but I refused knowing I would not be able to keep my mouth shot at the lame excuses and statistics I knew would be thrown at them. I was not wrong. That is exactly what happened. The pompous official took great pride in telling them that India ranked 19th in women’s safety in the G20 list. I guess he must have also spouted out figures to prove his point. I guess there has to be an official view that defends the indefensible!

That was his job and I presume he must have given himself a pat on the back.

The next day the group was visiting us and would want to know my take on the situation. Actually it is this visit that compelled me to put a bit of order in my head and come up with something that I hoped would sound coherent. Before I go on, I wish to say that these views are mine alone and are based on what I have seen and experienced in the past decade and a half and on common sense if such thing exists.

What today manifests itself in rape, sexual assault and targeting of women in varied ways is indeed a hydra headed monster that has several different heads. It all begins with gender inequality and the sad truth that girls are not wanted from the moment they are conceived. This is unfortunately not a feeling solely perpetrated by the male gender, but more by the female one starting with the mother-in-law and so on to the point when the mother itself resents the arrival of a girl child. The seasons are many but I think the main reason is the financial burden of the marriage and if by any twist of fate the roles got reversed, I wonder if it would be boys who would find themselves at the receiving end. Whatever the reason a girl in India is considered to be in the custody of her natural family as her real home is that of her husband’s. This notion is present in the folklore of the land and is the subject of many songs and even film scripts.

In homes today, including middle class ones, one can witness the fact that girls and boys are treated differently in the choice of schools and education opportunities and in poorer homes even in the food given. At a very young age boys realise that they ate ‘superior’ to their girl siblings and often a 12 year old may be found admonishing his older sister on what he thinks is inappropriate behaviour: talking or laughing loud, looking out of the window etc. The mother, instead of scolding the son will simply laugh it off. This is happening even today. I myself was shocked to hear that whereas the number of boys in a class in Government schools was around 40, the number of girls in equivalent classes was often above 100. The reason is simple. Boys are sent to public schools which are considered better than state run ones. These schools charge fees that the parents happily pay for their sons. The daughters are sent to the State school which is free. That is one aspect of the problem that needs to be addressed.

You will think that this has no relevance to crime rates but please bear with me.

We now need to move to another reality altogether. I am talking of a new class of metropolis dwellers that has grown by quantum leaps in the past 20 to 30 years. This is the migrant population either brought by contractors to meet construction labour needs – this has also happened in western countries – or families of have left their villages in search of a better future for their children. These are mostly illiterate families with strict traditions that they adhere to. Today children of these families have grown up with their own dreams and aspirations which clash with their parent’s traditional views. These young people have urban aspirations that are fed by what they see on TV as a television is a must in the humblest of homes and with the advent of credit facilities, people living in slums are able to acquire most of what their kids want.

The TV serials and Bollywood films of today are very different from the films of yore years that extolled values like family and traditions. Today’s movies are highly westernised and seed impossible dreams in the young minds that watch them. A new social group has emerged in cities and with poor quality education, few skills and little employment these youngsters are rudderless. They fall easy prey to drug mafias, gambling dens and political and religious groups always on the prowl for easy fodder.

Early marriage was and still is the preferred solution for raging hormones but the young people fed on TV viewing and urban realities resist these. Even the law has raised the minimum marriage age. Sex education is practically non existent in State run schools. The chapter on human reproduction barely addressed the biological process but does not touch on gender issues. Sex is never spoken of at home and these children have no mentors to go to. They are left on their own and the heady cocktail of partial knowledge, drugs and alcohol, misplaced conception of the position of a male vis-à-vis a female is a recipe for disaster. Another head to our monster!

Another reality that we do not take in consideration is also the change in the social profile of the western woman. Over the past years the colonial attitude that people of my age had to bear when a hippy with dreadlocks was attended to before you in a shop or restaurant has gone. With the emergence of a new super rich class in India who is always on the prowl for new ways of spending their money, one is witnessing the emergence of a new market for young girls from western countries.   Today it is fashionable to have a western lady shower flowers on your guests at the wedding of your son or daughter or even serve at a cocktail. Event planners do offer this service. And we all know about the IPL cheerleaders.

This has brought about a change in perception in the Indian mind one that can have unfortunate ramifications more so because unlike Europe, Indian men are not used to being refused. Blame it on their mothers!

I am sure there are many more reasons but these can at least put us in the right direction. So where is the solution if there is one.

The only thing that comes too my mind that can address the hydra headed monster is EDUCATION! I know it is not magical pill or panacea. I also know that it not a quick fix but will take time and patience but the only way to address all the issues at hand is education that begins at an early age at home and then in schools.

I cannot begin to imagine how many little girls and boys could be spared child sexual abuse if they were taught the notion of good touch/bad touch at home and taught to say no. How many women who not have to suffer the indignity of being told that they are incapable of producing sons, if the X Y chromosome story was told. How many youngsters would learn age appropriate sexual behaviour and   thus handle their teenage responsibly. The list is endless.

The question is how does one make this happen in a patriarchal society, with religious fanatics and politicians who are on the prowl to annihilate any reasonable programme.

Maybe what we need to ask for to counter rape is not the death penalty but healthy sexual education in schools and perhaps tourist guidebooks should include some information about the social realities of India and advised their clients on appropriate dressing and above all dealing with the opposite gender.

This could be a beginning.

I have borrowed the title of this post from an article that appeared recently in the New York Times: What’s So Scary about Smart Girls and chose to illustrate it with a picture of the 1936-1937 batch of girls from Benares Hindu University. One of them is my mother who fought every odd possible to accede to education at a time when girls rarely went to school. She managed not only to finish school but to go to BHU as a resident and then go on to get a PHD. She was able to do that because she had to formidable allies: her paternal grandmother and her mother and browbeat her father. That was 80 years ago.

Things have not changed as girl’s education is still not fully accepted. So it makes you wonder what is it that makes people – parents, religious authorities, political entities – scared of educated women. Let me quote some parts of the article I mentioned above which are quote pertinent. The author says: Why are fanatics so terrified of girls’ education? Because there’s no force more powerful to transform a society. The greatest threat to extremism isn’t drones firing missiles, but girls reading books. The article suggests that educating girls can change demography and quotes a study that found that for each additional year of primary school, a girl has 0.26 fewer children. So if we want to reduce the youth bulge a decade from now, educate girls today. The article has interesting findings and goes on to say educating girls doubles the formal labor force. It boosts the economy, raising living standards and promoting a virtuous cycle of development. Asia’s economic boom was built by educating girls and moving them from the villages to far more productive work in the cities.

However what really caught my attention was when he states that to fight militancy, we invest overwhelmingly in the military toolbox but not so much in the education toolbox that has a far better record at defeating militancy. This is something I have been repeating for the past decade and a half over and over again. Education and education alone can transform society.

I have been on the receiving end many times. I must confess that the first time I was thrown out of a park by a posse of little politicos simply because I was teaching a bunch of slum kids under a tree, I was dumbfounded. How could teaching children be a danger to anyone. But as time went on I realised how dangerous it could be to those who wanted society to remain static as it suited everyone’s dubious agendas. As time went I understood why the pass percentage was kept at an abysmal 33% as it would ensure that the child was unable to accede to higher education, why State run schools are poorly run and cannot meet the growing demands, why the Right To Education has absurd flaws. Education can rock their boat forever.

I was recently informed that one of our funding partners would be curtailing the size of their donation. The reason was that India was no longer Incredible and thus westerners were shunning it. I guess we are talking of rapes and women safety. I felt terribly sad as it should have been the other way round as helping those who are trying to educate underprivileged children would ensure a safer India. But this is no quick fix solution. It is a long haul but the openly way we can see the change we want provided our patriarchal society, our wily politicians, our corrupt officials allow this to happen.

This afternoon I caught bits and pieces of one of the last election pitches of the star candidate of the ruling political party. This party has been in power for almost 6 decades. However to me the substance of the speech was 6 decades to late. Actually I was reading an interesting book while the TV was own in the background. Most of the time it was the annoying drone one has been forced to get used to. Thank heavens the election saga was under 60 days or as science has proven this jarring and ear splitting campaign could have become a habit we may have found ourselves missing one the show was over. Anyway let us get back to the point in question. As a real member of the second sex, to borrow Simone de Beauvoir’s expression, I am good at multi-tasking, a skill honed to almost perfection during my booth simultaneous interpretation days when I often found myself listening to and then translating some technical speech while writing my postcards! So while I was engrossed in a fascinating book on the Defence of Food, my ears perked up to the content of the speech where the candidate was speaking about heart surgeries a subject dear to my heart – excuse the pun! I snapped my book shut and was all ears. The candidate in question was I guess enumerating the ‘perks’ people would get were his party voted to power again. He was talking about having met ‘mothers’ who came to him as their children had been diagnosed and needed open heart surgery which he estimated at costing 4 to 500 000 Rupees. I have been looking for a transcript of the speech but did not find it. He went on to say that if they came into power the Government would pay for these costly surgeries. I could not but help smile as one does not have to be a rocket scientist to know that the funds will never reach true beneficiaries but get lost in transit and the child in question, who to quote his words has 2 years to live, would certainly die.

I could not help but go back to 2006 when a man hobbling on a stick entered my office with a sheaf of papers in his hand and utter despair in his eyes. He had knocked at every door possible to help him get the money required for his son’s heart surgery. Every door had been banged at his face though in a country where reservation is made a panacea for all ills he came under more than one category: OBC and handicapped. I could not remain a mute spectator. His son was operated upon and is today a smart young lad in class XII. Since we have repaired more than 20 broken hearts and the cost is nowhere near 500 000 but 100 000 max! I felt sad for the thousands of simple souls listening to the words being thrown at them and trusting what was being said as I knew that they were just words and nothing else.

There were many promises made in this speech, promised that as I said were 6 decades too late. Education was also promised. Education that is now a Fundamental Right for every child born in this country. Then my question is: what happened to the children who beg at red lights or work in tea stalls. The promises were lofty and years too late. The Act that came after almost 60 years or 3 generations and is totally flawed. Maybe what politicians needed to promise in Election 2014 was a simple engagement to ensure that all past social policies and programmes would be implemented in their true spirit. We do not need new ones; it is they who need new ones to garner their pockets. Have you ever asked yourself where the 2%  on education levied each time we eat out and pay our taxes. One would have thought that our taxes went to education and social programmes. An interesting article debates the issue. It says: What could be more important for our country than spending on basic education, public health and basic infrastructure? Whatever the government spends on these heads must be fully financed from its primary revenues. In other words, these subjects should have the first claim on the government’s resources. Whatever might be our politics or ideology, no one can deny that these should be our priorities, and after we have adequately provided for these, we should spend on other things. Why then does the government charge a cess for education and another cess on higher education? This seems to suggest that the fundamental priorities of the government are not concerned with improving the lot of the poor, the needy and the citizenry as a whole, but something else. So the question is what is that something else?

To this I would like to add that its time we asked where does the money go! More so because the Right to Education Bill is so drafted that it will never reach the poorest of the poor. Instead of using all the money levied in taxes and ceases to upgrade existing schools to a level which would even attract the middle class to them, as was the case many years ago when the plethora of public schools we have now did not exist, the State chose to come up with its absurd notions. The Bill has been criticised by many as it chose to ignore quality altogether. Today in Delhi, there are in certain schools more than 100 children in a class. Forget all else. 100 kids cannot learn anything in 35 minute periods. To address the notion of quality the State rushed to its favourite cure-all: reservation. Hence 25% of seats in all private schools would be reserved for ‘poor’ children. All private schools means school as diverse as a local school and the uber rich school. The State simply abdicated its constitutional obligation towards providing education. And of course there is more: the right to education covers children from age 6 to 14. Ha Ha! What happens after that is any body’s guess. And not to forget that the pass percentage remains a paltry 33% when colleges require 90%+ for securing admission. So if the child had no dropped out along the way, his chances at gaining higher education at a reasonable rate is limited to open universities, even colleges or correspondence courses.

Back to the speech. The candidate stated that a farmer’s son could dream big and become a pilot and that his Government would ensure this. My humble question is that to become anything  s/he needs basic education and you have not been able to provide that even with ceases and more ceases. So how does he become a pilot. Stop bartering false dreams. Clean up your act first!

And talking of deja vu it has been more than a decade that we have been cleaning your act, albeit with a handful of kids, and though we still do not have a pilot, we have amongst our alumni an international ramp model who was born on a roadside! Talk of dreams. Not to forget the now thousands of kids who have completed their studies honourably and hold good jobs and have broken the cycle of poverty and acceded to the middle class. This was also what was promised to millions in the speech.

The said speech was 60 years too late and so were your promises. The only I got out of it was that I was on the right path. I just hope that I can continue to do so. There are too many dreams to be salvaged and fulfilled.

RG and my team

An article in a leading weekly bought back memories long forgotten and if that was not enough to jog the memory hard another article did the needful: making me decide to share one part if my life I had chosen to keep to myself for my own reasons. But it seems to be open season as books are being published with gay abandon about the very years of India’s history that I am about to write about. Some of you may know about what I could call my brush with the political world. Being an interpreter and conference administrator I was called to service conferences of all kind and thus came into contact with the establishment and for personalities. This is not meant to be my life story but let me simply say that a series of occurrences led me to via many conferences and even the Asian Games to be called upon one evening after the Congress had lost the 1989 elections by Rajiv Gandhi who requested I come to see him at Race Course Road asap. I think I was with him in less than an hour that included a drive from South Delhi and the lengthy security procedure. I had only met him briefly after the elections results and did not quite know what to say but he put me at ease, and with his charming smile told me he needed my help. I need to tell you that prior to this day, I had been engaged in making a data base of Congress workers with my team and hence I guess my administrative capabilities were known to him. Anyway he asked me to follow him and took me to a huge room that was filled from floor to veiling with unopened letters. The simply asked me if I would handle this. It was a challenge I could not refuse. The pile contained letters form Heads of State as well as from humble workers, Xmas and New year greetings as we were in December and much more.

I told him I would get back to him with a plan. Though I knew I would give my time pro bono, I also realised that I would need a team, computers and much more and thus would have to come up with a monthly budget. The next day I had some clear ideas and was all set to share them with RG, but was surprised to find a posse of politicians, some who today are big shots, waiting for me. They said they would be giving me instructions about how to manage the Congress President’s (CP as everyone seem to love acronyms) correspondence. A red light started flashing in my mind. This is was bad news but anyway I would give them a patient hearing. It took me a minute to know that I would not do what they wanted as the first sentence they came up with was: you have to answer all letters written by senior Congressmen and then the coup de grace you will only answer letters written on good quality paper and never to answer nasty letters. I nodded as expected and was just waiting for a chance to leave these men and their ideas and storm into the CP’s office and lay some ground rules.

RG must have known that there was something wrong as I entered his room. Being who I am I told him to find someone else for the task as the conditions his people had set were not acceptable. He asked me to calm down and tell him what happened. I explained that for me his correspondence was a unique occasion to build a PR exercise that would help him regain the trust of many and hence letters by Congressmen on beautiful paper was the lowest priority while the nasty letters were top priority! He smiled and said he agreed 100% and that it would be my way. I felt smug but also knew I had made a whole set of new enemies! I also knew that every letter would be answered no matter what.

We worked out a great system  were not only did we answer all letters but also initiated our own on festivals, birthdays etc. So imagine my surprise when I read an article entitled pre-paid connection that begins with these words: Namaskar! This is your MP speaking. I wish you a very happy birthday and apologise for not being able to attend your celebrations. But I will try to meet you the next time I visit the locality,” says a voice message by Election Awaaz, a Gurgaon-based political consultancy firm… “If you are the voter who gets a personalised call like this, how would you feel? Wouldn’t you vote for the MP?” asks J.P. Singh, founder of Election Awaaz. 

I guess this is how the hundreds of thousands of people from across the land felt when they got an unexpected letter from RG, more so those who had sent vitriolic letters and probably never expected then to be answered. I remember one person who wrote back saying something like: I still do not agree with your views but was consider you a true gentleman!

I guess my team and I were an avant garde political consultancy firm. Makes one feel quite good. Our task was herculean as we had to open thousands of letters each day, categorise them, read them and answer them. Our rudimentary computer and its floppy disk was a help but nothing compared to the software one has today. And then the letters had to be folded, put in an envelope, the envelope glued and then stamped and posted. No SEND button! It was a great learning experience particularly as one understood how political parties worked and how it was not for the likes of me.

In 1991 elections were called and I suggested that we write a nice and positive letter to everyone on our data base. I made a draft and submitted it for approval. Imagine my horror when my letter was rejected and a new draft sent to me which was arrogant and supercilious, the exact opposite of the image we had built over the months. I was up in arms again and sent a rather hard note to CP telling me that I would not be party to the draft he had sent and would resign if forced to do so as I could not do anything that I know would harm him. He sent me a short note stating: your draft OK! Sadly things did not turn out as we would have hoped.

So imagine my surprise again when I read these words in the article mentioned at the beginning of this post: In a new book out this week, My Years with Rajiv and Sonia, Rajiv Gandhi’s aide, former Union home secretary R.D. Pradhan, quotes the late prime minister saying in 1991 that he did not want a negative campaign. His advisers Rajiv Desai, Sam Pitroda, Suman Dubey and Prannoy Roy wanted Rajiv Gandhi to be confrontational. Roy, writes Pradhan, wanted a campaign that would “shock and wake up” voters. Rajiv was adamant, and said no.

Hey that is my story! And I still stand by it.

Seeing what goes in the name of electioneering today makes me gag and run a mile. Where have all the gentlemen gone!

Amidst all the inane news about election 2014 that has turned out to be a circus of the absurd with Chandni is 3, weighs 3.7 kilos. This tiny soul lives in our capital city, a city where famous for its gargantuan parties and its brazen and unabashed habit of throwing food be it at wedding parties or what I call religious feeding frenzies. Just a stone throw away from such wasteful nosh-ups, lives a little girl who his 3 year old and has the weight of a new born. She should have weighed at least 10 kilos. The article quotes the finding of an NGO who ‘mapped’ the children of a single block of a slum resettlement colony and found that one in every five kids who had their heights and weights measured was malnourished and one in nine had “severe acute malnourishment.” Of these, six children were in such a condition that NGO workers took them to a hospital. Chandni is one of them. Does this gives you goose bumps or it is just a news item that you will simply forget once you have closed the newspaper and finished your cup of tea. Such news gives me sleepless nights and finds me seething in anger at our politicians and administrators who fill their pockets with impunity and alacrity. Such news makes me mad at the likes of me who are not even willing to share a coin to help such children. I say this with confidence and full responsibility as I have knocked at so many doors and had them slammed at my face. But no matter what, I will continue writing about it as this is my brand of activism that costs nothing but a few extra grey hairs and lines on my face.
senseless debates on pointless topics like toffees and semantics, today’s newspaper brings us a news item that should make us hand our heads in shame. The article is entitled:

I have quoted these statistics ad nauseum but here they are again in caps this time: IN INDIA FIVE THOUSAND (5000) CHILDREN UNDER SIX DIE EVERYDAY OF MALNUTRITION, THAT IS 1.82 MILLION A YEAR, 208 AN HOUR, 3.4 EVERY MINUTE.

Does this still live you cold.

Here is more. Malnutrition under the age of 5 has severe and life long consequences, should you be lucky enough not to be part of the 5000/day! Here is what Wikepedia says: Malnutrition increases the risk of infection and infectious disease, and moderate malnutrition weakens every part of the immune system. For example, it is a major risk factor in the onset of active tuberculosis. Protein and energy malnutrition and deficiencies of specific micronutrients (including iron, zinc, and vitamins) increase susceptibility to infection. In communities or areas that lack access to safe drinking water, these additional health risks present a critical problem. Lower energy and impaired function of the brain also represent the downward spiral of malnutrition as victims are less able to perform the tasks they need to in order to acquire food, earn an income, or gain an education. Need I say more? By the way do you know what Marasmus and Kwashiorkor mean? They are form of malnutrition.

The bottom line is that you cannot make up for the lost years. Were you to take over a severely malnourished child aged 5 and give him the best nutrition possible, the harm would be done. The very fair and almost blond kids and protruding bellies that beg at traffic lights suffer from Kwashiorkor! It may already be too late for them.

But let us get back to Chandni and her story. Had things run in our country, things like the ICDS (Integrated Child Development Scheme ), remember, the programme that was set up in 1985 and meant to monitor all the children of India through Aganwadis (creches), then Chandni would not have been malnourished. But as is said in the article “Many of the children found to be malnourished are enrolled with aanganwadis,” says Pardarshita co-founder Rajiv Kumar, “Their growth should have been monitored and they should have got some nutrition from there.” Aanganwadis are responsible for the delivery of the Integrated Child Development Scheme (ICDS)-the only one reaching out to children under six years of age. Chandni’s father, Pramod, a security guard, says none of his five children have ever been weighed at the aanganwadi they go to and they “sometimes get some khichdi.” Get the picture again. You may ask why these aganwadis do not work?

I guess you know the answer. The money is largely siphoned off and a semblance of creche set up. The caretaker is often the local politicos nominee, the room is a dark dank hole with nothing to attack a kid, a broken weighing machine lies in a corner gathering dust, a vague meal is given sporadically.

Little Chandni cannot sit up. She has 4 other siblings and her father a rickshaw puller cannot sit with her in hospital while she is cared for. Her mother needs to look after her other kids, some who attend school. It is heart wrenching to see that in spite of the terrible conditions they live in, they know that education spells hope! Shame on us and on our rulers!

Chandni’s father wants a disability certificate for her, but d**** everyone, Chandni is not disabled and should not have been in this condition if things worked in this country of ours.

Imagine how many Chandnis there are in our city.

ICDS alone cannot help but at least can raise the red flag in time. To combat malnutrition you need clean drinking water, clem surroundings, sanitation and adequate nutrition. Chandni’s father earns 6000 rupees. 2000 rupees go in rent. How can you live in 1000 rupees a week!

To end this post let me draw your attention to another news item in the same paper. Our incumbent PM will not have to pay for water or electricity when he moves too his new house after elections.

This is India!

Today I would like to give you a glimpse of how the other half lives! The images of the over the top house I visited a few days back compelled me to browse the bazillion photographs taken over the last 14 years. They all are from across the divide. What I was looking for was snapshots of homes as well as slums themselves to give you an idea of what goes on behind our iron curtain and to show you how people beat all odds and don’t just survive, but live with dignity and courage.

The question I often asked myself is whether the right to shelter, that is not enshrined in our Constitution is an act of omission, or whether those who framed this perfect peace of legislature believed that it was implicit in the other rights like equality or simply the right to LIFE! The supreme court has debated the question ad infinitum and though it has ruled in favour of a right to housing in some cases, it has failed in others. It is a fact that millions of people are still living in sub-human conditions on pavements, in squatter settlements, bastis, jhuggies or unauthorised slums and are under constant threat of being evicted or even smoked out as happened recently in Delhi. 700 homes were gutted and the question that arises now is the one about ownership of the land on which these homes were erected. It seems far more complex than one could imagine and a true political and administrative nexus at play. The story goes something like this: the camp had 1200 tenements that were ‘owned’ by slumlords and ‘rented’ out with rents ranging from 1500 to 2500 rupees per month. The land it seems ‘belongs’ to the DDA (Delhi Development Authority) as confirmed by an NGO activist.

Today the slum dwellers have decided to take things in their own hands. They want to build their own homes. One of them gives the real picture of their predicament: The thekedars gave us nothing. They became so greedy that the area where four jhuggis stood some years back now holds at least six. There were no toilets either. We had realized that the land does not belong to them but this fire has given us the chance to set things straight. After realizing what we are up to, the thekedars have been threatening us with rape and murder. We have complained to the police. One wishes then success but even if you are an optimist one wonders how they will beat the system.

Talking of system, there is another story in the same paper that illustrates spot on how politicians deal with such situations and how empty their electoral promises are. Good to know in the election times. The article is entitled Slum families wait for flats. In 2009 slum dwellers of Bhawar Singh Camp were present at the inauguration of a redevelopment scheme for them with the promise of  a flat with two rooms, a kitchen, a washroom and access to elevator. It is one of the PPP (private public partnership) whereby a certain amount of the land was to be for homes for the poor and the rest could be exploited by the developer. A brochure was distributed and I guess a plaque put up. Lakhs were spent on the inauguration party.

2014 and nothing has happened. An RTI filed by another activist revealed that no building can ever come up on this land as it is part of the Ridge and Reserve forest area. Voila! Nonetheless the same Minister who inaugurated the foundation ceremony was back asking for votes. When quizzed on the subject you can guess what his answer was that it will be his first priority as soon as he is back in power! I have watched this cat and mouse game in every election – municipal, assembly and parliamentary – over 3 decades now. The promise is always the same and it is also never fulfilled. The people wait just like Becket’s protagonists in Waiting for Godot.

Some years back I had met an activist who is also an urban planner. She is the author of a fascinating book entitled Slumming India. In her opinion the root cause of urban slumming lies not in urban poverty but in urban greed. Her views may be radical but are nevertheless true and I urge you to read this interview of hers. I will just reproduce part of her answer to the question why is India becoming one huge slum: This is happening because of the moral bankruptcy facing our intellectuals, activists and celebrities. They are allowing our cities to die rather than taking steps to the contrary. To cite a few examples, if sprawling farmhouses for a handful are allowed to occupy prime space, then the poor will be forced to huddle in huts, as there is just so much urban land to go around. If fancy malls, used by a few, are allowed to occupy a lot of space, then shops catering to the needs of the majority will come up on the roadside. If only a few industrial houses are given prime sites, then smaller factories needing propinquity to ancillary establishments will come up in residential areas. Get the picture.

Before I continue, I would like to share a few pictures of the slums where we work and our children stay. The conditions are abysmal and shameful. But as I said people live with all the dignity they can muster.

The street where Babli lives

You cook outside

Home is where mom’s feed their kids with love

Imagine if there was a fire

She goes to school and does her homework in one of these shanties

Proud of my home and my TV

Slums are tucked away in any space available

You can barely stand in this one

A nostalgic picture of the Lohar Camp now destroyed.

You will not believe it but residents of all the homes in the pictures above have voter’s ID Card, Adhaar Cards, Ration Cards and all other identifications that make them a citizen of the city. Yet they continue to live in abysmal conditions. Sadly, they are not ready to see the way as they are prisoners of a feudal mindset that makes them believe blindly in the promises of wily and greedy politicians.

After meeting Ms Verma and getting convinced by her views, I requested her to come and talk to the residents of the slums we worked in. We had a workshop but what Ms Verma wanted them to do was a far cry from what they have been doing for ever. She wanted them to take on the next politician who came to their door soliciting votes and claimed s/he would ‘regularise’ the slum in question. She also wanted them to tell her/him that they knew their tenement was illegal but also knew that there was land earmarked for them etc. You get the picture. It all ended there and they still wait for Godot. How could they give up their feudal past.

So now the moot question is whether right to housing is a fundamental right. As it was not stated clearly in the list of fundamental rights by those who framed our Constitution, it was left to the State and the Courts to decide on a case per case issue. And this has been going on forever. In the article I mentioned earlier it seems that there are sufficient loopholes in the law that despite the existence of such rights, the state can still get away with not providing its citizens their fundamental human rights.   Whereas in some cases the Courts decide in favour of the citizen and in the 1990s the Supreme Court reiterated the right to adequate housing as a distinct constitutional obligation of the state, both under the right to life and under Article 19(1)(e), which guarantees the right of every citizen to reside and settle in any part of the country. But in 2000 the same court rules that ‘…displacement of the tribals and other persons would not per se result in the violation of their fundamental or other rights…’ Confusing to say the least.

Today the Supreme Court has pronounced 2 judgements in matters related to housing. In the first case that relates to what is known as the Campa Cola housing Society case, it dismissed the appeal of the residents and have directed them to vacate the premisses by May 31st. Residents were duped by builders who built more flats than sanctioned. In 2002 these extra flats, numbering 100, were declared illegal and the residents were served demolition notice. They knocked at every door possible but to no avail. They have lost their homes for no fault of theirs.

The second judgement concerns a High Courtorder directing demolition of two 40-floor towers in Noida. The Supreme Court has agreed to examine agreed to examine real estate major Supertech Ltd’s plea against the Allahabad high court’s order directing demolition of two 40-floor towers in Noida and ordered the company not to sell or transfer flats in the buildings. One wonders what the final verdict will be.

Housing is the perfect playing ground for politicians and business men. In the bargain the poor suffer as there is no safety net for them and no one wants to give up  land which is the proverbial hen that lays golden eggs.

The question we need to ask is whether shelter is a fundamental right. It is a right that has been recognised internationally. It is time we did so for the sake of our pavement dwellers, tribals, slum dwellers etc as they cannot depend on interpretations of a law that has too many loopholes. As is highlighted in the article quoted above the right to adequate housing an important component of the right to live with dignity, but also therefore an obvious component of the right to equality.

Till housing is not recognised as a fundamental right, how can any social or economical rights be fulfilled. I hope our new Government looks at this crucial issue.

Yesterday I went to a party, yes me the recluse put on her best clothes and best face and accompanied the husband to the engagement party of a golfing buddy of his, the same person whose house I visited a while back and  wished I had sunglasses on to protect me from the glare of the artefacts on display. It was the most over the top house I had ever seen. Yesterday was the daughter’s engagement and one pair of sun glasses would not have been enough. I also discovered that there was a fountain modelled on the Trevi one in Rome spurting precious water at the entrance of the house. I guess I missed it the last time as it was not on. Anyway, everything is Italian in this house. It was, by Delhi standards a small party but everything on offer was uber special. My best clothes paled in front of the glitter and dazzle of the ladies, but somehow it made me stand out. I have always liked that! The guest list was a mix of people who as usual did not know each other and I sat myself on an expensive sofa, hoping the colour of my outfit would not run on the pristine white and gold of the priceless seat. Music was playing through a piped system and there were flowers everywhere. There was an abundance of drinks, soft and hard,  but I settled with my all time favourite H2O. As the husband and I had eaten our vegan food before, we did not eat, but I feasted my eyes on the abundant vegetarian fare on offer with name cards stating what the dish was. I did a double take when I read: Yakitori in a martini glass! It was actually a vegetarian skewer sitting in an empty martini glass! Do a few pieces of vegetables on a skewer become a starred dish if placed in a swanky glass. Maybe they do.

We did not stay long as we were not planning to dine. On the way back, it took some time to get back to reality. After some silent moments, the husband and I shared thoughts about the evening and both of us wondered at the many ways the rich spend their money. If I had surplus money and no project why, I really wonder how I would spent it. I have been blessed from the time I was born to a surfeit of everything and am more than satiated. True there have been times, like now perhaps, where a few extra pennies would be welcome to patch up some cracks in the wall, but what the hell, the cracks have their own story to tell and life is good with them, but I really do not know what I would do were I to win a lottery and not be allowed to use it on project why.

As we reached the traffic light close to home, it turned red and within no time a young girl maybe 7 or so with a baby at her hip knocked at the car window. It must have been well past 9pm. The work day had not ended for these two children of India. That knock was felt deep in the gut by both of us as the husband worded what we both felt: why does this not outrage us?

I ask you that question again: why do we not get outraged when we see children begging! The we here is a collective one. It is me, you and above all the people who are supposed to make and implement decisions, programmes and even Constitutional Rights. Remember the Constitution that everyone quotes and which has a Preamble where WE, the People of India resolve to give all its citizens social, economic and political justice and equality of status and opportunity! Does the child that begs at the red light have equality of status and social justice. And by the way that child also has a right to free and equitable education! Let us forget for a moment about all the other goodies that are sought in her/his name and that we diligently pay for in the form of taxes and ceases. Let me remind you that Delhi has a 2% cess on Primary Education that you pay each time your kid has a hamburger at Mc Donald’s. Where does this money go? And how come the kid that begs at the red light not go to an anganwadi as stipulated by the ICDS that has been in force circa 1975 and according to which every child born in this country has a right to nutrition, immunisation and even  proper psychological, physical and social development! And the programme is still very much on the anvil as recruitments for the said programme are on going. So how come these kids are not part of this programme.

I refuse to believe that politicians, government officials and supposedly responsible citizens do not travel along the roads of the capital and do not encounter such children. How come no one sees them and wonders why they have fallen off the safety net we all pay for. Why does this not outrage everyone and compels us to do something. True they are not our kids and not vote banks so why care.

Not one of the candidates in on going elections speaks about beggar children, malnutrition deaths @ 5000 a day or hunger and yet they exist. No one talks about the abysmal condition of habitat for the poor even in the wake of a recent fire that engulfed 700 homes last week in the country’s capital. Millions continue to live in squalor quietly servicing the rich who enjoy their yakitoris in martini glasses.

The two Indias are not divided but live side by side. The problem is that one of the sides has blinkers on their eyes and refuses to acknowledge the existence of the other.

M died yesterday. Another victim of the dreaded crab. Another unsuspecting victim of the medical system that feeds on the patient’s trust and panders false hope. M was not even forty, a mother of 4 children the youngest being just 2. I have known M for almost a decade. A feisty woman with a quick temper that could flare at any moment, M was a survivor, a survivor at any cost. When pwhy was just in its infancy and I still naive, she came to me asking for a job. Upon hearing that she had finished school, I suggested she join the team as a primary teacher.

Two years ago, when she was at the end of her fourth pregnancy – in her case she had 3 sons and wanted a girl – she told me about a suspicious lump in her breast. At that time I was not as knowledgeable as I am now, but still I gave her some advise on nutrition and also asked her to meet my Tibetan doctor which she did. But how can a stem of innocuous pills given after a mere checking of the pulse compete with scanners and toxic potions administered in nuclear war like environment. And though I had entreated her to continue taking her pills even if she opted for conventional therapies, I guess the pills must be still lying in the corner of her home.

I know that M and her husband must have been every angry with my adverse reactions to conventional medicine and my pleas to stop eating meat – M belongs to a community where pork is a must – and eat seasonal vegetables and fruit. Meat in their community is a sign of abundance and wealth, and her I was asking them to take it off their table. I know they never did.

A few days after our ‘chat’, M informed me that they had found a cancer hospital – private of course – that was offering a 100 000 package deal that she was convinced would cure her. I tried again to tell about the way cancer operates and that cure in conventional terms is just five years + one day, but the look on her face made me stop my spiel. She had been seduced and fallen hook, line and sinker for the treatment on offer. She was operated upon and given radio and chemo therapy and suffered all the terrible side effects it entailed, but also lymphedema of one arm which resulted in one of her arms being swollen and practically non functional.

I presume that hospitals do not counsel patients sufficiently and in spite of her swollen arm M though she was cured. I guess the follow up protocol was not followed and the cancer spread rapidly and by the time they realised that she was ill again it was too late.

I felt so sad and helpless and angry when I heard about her death. With the knowledge I have today, I feel confident that had she listened to me, she would have not relapsed so early, but then a person who tells you to eat certain things and give up others becomes non-grata forever.

In the case of people like M, who have no medical insurance and little money, alternative therapies should be an option. Yet they are not. Often such persons feel that we are denying them something we have benefitted from for ages and that they have toiled for and just accessed. Though it makes me sad, I can well understand where they come from. Imagine being told by one form the other side of the divide that you should not opt for swanky machines and expensive drugs but become vegan, chew some cannabis seeds or eat a few apricot seeds. It is humiliating and infuriating I agree. So you watch someone you know die because you could not beat the system whilst retaining the dignity of the other.

This is the power of modern medicine, the stranglehold of the big pharma companies, the result of the millions in marketing a treatment that does not always work, or certainly does not work on its own. I truly wish NGOs dealing with cancer would also propagate the truth about alternative options to the weaker communities. It would make all the difference between life and death.

Cancer is a word, not a sentence!

May M rest in peace and may her children be safe.

I am quite baffled by these elections as I do not think most of us know what we truly want. Early this year the capital of our country took a bold step and decided to vote for a new political party in spite of its being in its infancy. What was remarkable is that the support cut across caste, religion and social strata. I guess the reason was that they positioned themselves as a part that would fight corruption at all levels. Hence the overwhelming support they got form the poorer sections of society was understandable. But I was surprised at the kind of people who told we they were voting AAP: the  owner of a upmarket store, my doctor, my old friend known to be a long time supporter of a political party and so on. It seemed that everyone was fed up with the existing political system and wanted change. People believed in them and gave them their trust. The mood was euphoric. Everyone truly felt that the humble broom would transform into a magic wand at the stroke of midnight and solve all problems. One can understand the elation of the poor who saw dreamt of free water and cheap electricity and the hope of the perennially extended hand of the policemen vanish, but what about us who voted with alacrity, did we stop to ponder before believing?

What happened next is for all to see. Sleeping with the enemy to acquire power. Was it hubris or falling into a well honed trap? Perhaps a bit of both as power is the most potent drug on earth and when it comes so close, few if any can resist it and though they did not expect it, how could they resist. I guess we who casted our vote in favour of this new party, never felt they would come to power. It was a surprise for all. The wise thing would have been to desist from power and have another election that would have given a more definitive result.

The 49 days saw change that unfortunately was forgotten when the party demitted office. Few remember the audit of state run schools and hospitals of the simple fact that corruption at the lower end was contained. But we cannot cry over spilled milk. The reality is that an error of judgement at that time had brought a loss of faith in this party.

What we all forget is that this was a young party pitched against well oiled machines. We also forget that it was a movement that became a political party by force majeure and was perhaps not ready. An excellent article analyses the future of AAP and is worth reading. The author asks: The most important question facing the party is an existential one. It must define again, for its own self as to what role it seeks for itself in politics. Is it a third force challenging the Congress and the BJP or is it the second front challenging all politics? Does it seek power as an instrument of change or does it act as a political conscience keeper for the system as a whole? I believe most of us wanted it to be a political conscience keeper for the system in the first place. Once it had the structure, cadre and experience, then it could have pitched for power. Today it is at the verge of self destruction. The author feels it is important that the AAP experiment continue for it injects a vital element that has been missing in Indian politics. The AAP is attempting to redefine the very idea of democracy by making it a more participative practice. And just for that we must not write it off as such opportunities come once in a lifetime. One should not let it die.

The results are a mere two weeks or so away. Once the campaigning frenzy has died and the numbers are out, the party must do a sincere and honest evaluation of its journey and reinvent itself. Should they fail to do so, then they might just become a line in future history books.

The din of the elections is getting unbearable! More so because every day we are assaulted with speeches that sound more life a verbal warfare between individuals that often reach levels that are unacceptable. One would have hoped to hear about visions and plans for the future; about education and health as these are the foundations of any society; about employment and price rise; in a sod about how would things be better for us were to vote for one or the other candidate on the list. But what we are coerced into hearing/reading is personal and below the belt jibes about individuals or abhorrent remarks about communities. I do not care whether a man is married or not. That is his personal life and should remain so. You may remember that the world came to know about the existence of the love child of a President at his funeral and no one cared. Quite the opposite people were touched that all his loved ones were there.

Elections should be about what matters. It should not turn into a free for all where decency and basic courtesy are cast to the wind. I wonder if people really believe that these kind of shenanigans cut ice with anyone. Washing dirty laundry in public, slandering one another, bringing in family and personal relationships is in poor taste.

I am a little concerned about the hubris that seems to have permeated one and all. The nomination filing roadshow of one of then star candidates was quite something. It seemed worthy of Bollywood with a heart wrenching script, pomp and colour, and all the needed props. There was a dangerous frenzy in the whole show that reminded me of some of the worst event of past history where individuals were glorified and deified. It seems that one man has the magic wand that will solve all problems. This is what many think and to me this may just be this person Achille’s heel. If he wins, imagine the victory parade!

What is done is done and cannot be undone. We want to know about the future. How will each one address the matters that concern us as individuals and as a country. How long will we have to hang our heads in shame when we hear about children dying by the minute, rapes occurring each day or when we are asked the question is India safe!

I am also sick and tired hearing about models: the Gujarat model, the toffee model, the son-in-law model and God know what else may still come our way. Some want us to believe that Gujarat is a Shangri La within India and were its model to be projected on the whole country all our problems will vanish. Others want us to believe that this is not the case at all and the reality is quite the opposite and has the worst social indices. I as a normal being am uncomfortable with both views.

I was comforted when I read an article entitled Gujarat- Its Smelly, Its Dusty , Its Poor. Its India. It is worth a read. It shows you that  if  you keep your eyes, ears (and nose) open, Gujarat is just another   smelly, congested, dusty, inept  Indian state stuck firmly to India’s side to its West.

What we need is a model for India. Wonder who will give us that.

Sometimes all it takes to put a big smile on my face is browsing through my almost ten thousands pictures of project why spanning the fourteen past years of my life and finding the one that will lift the cloud of the moment. It can just be a happy face, a tender memory, a funny incident or simply be reason enough for a good pat on my back!

These pictures were taken by a young photographer who posted them on FB – God bless FB – and were snapshots I have never seen. I just could not help smiling and grinning like the proverbial Cheshire cat. It is true that I see these kids, but not as often as I would like in recent times, put I always prompt a hurried and harried: say good morning to Ma’am by the teachers and dutifully the children rise and chorus a rehearsed and droning Good Morning Maaaa’m. Some smiles, but their smiles seem contrived, others – the new ones- look frankly scared. As I am always short of time I beat a hasty retreat.

I sometimes wish I could be a fly on the wall to share real moments with my 1000 kids. As things stand today this seems a pipe dream. But maybe, if I can conjure the miracle of ensuring sufficient funds for pwhy and am still not too old and creaky, I will spend my last days on earth with these kids.

When I ask my staff to get photographs because I need them, they dutifully do so. But not being professionals, again the pictures seem stage managed.

So it is pure delight when a kind photographers offers to offer his/her time and gifts me these precious snapshots and the smiles that go with them.

Thank you Aditya.

Respected Prime Minister,

I chose to write to you today as we still do not know who you will be, though the guesses are few, but somehow writing to a yet anonymous person is easier for me. Let me too remain anonymous though I can tell you that I am a child, who remain anonymous and voiceless. I was born in this city and live in a small shanty house with my family of 6. Our room is so tiny that after fitting one bed there is no place to move but my mother does everything to make it feel like home. Like many others from our village, my parents came to the big city to look for a better life, if not for themselves, at least for their children. They thought that in the big city their children could be educated and have a better chance in life. My parents are illiterate. My father is a daily wager and my mother looks after me and my siblings. 

My home has a tin roof and one small fan but at night we barely fight in it. There are mosquitoes as our slum is tucked away in between factories and a dirty drain goes by it, and we spent many sleepless nights. Last year my brother got malaria and as there is only one quack in our area, he did not treat him right and by the time we rushed to the hospital which is faraway, it was too late for him.
The house is lower than the road so when it rains the room gets flooded. My mother had to fight every day to get enough water and we have to go to the toilet in the open. But at least I can walk and run not like my friend Radha who has a bone disease and walks on her hand. Her house too is very small and when her little brother walks over her, he limbs get broken. In the 12 years of her life she has had more than 50 fractures. Were her house big, this would not have happened. So I guess I am lucky. On my way to school, I see little children begging and looking at them, I feel I should stop complaining. But Sir, do you see them too, and if you do, why don’y you do anything for them?

I do go to school but Sir, how can you study in a class of 80 children and learn anything. My parents cannot afford private tuition and the teachers do not teach us anything. I am lucky because I go to a project before school and they teach me, but my friends move from class to class without learning. I know a boy who is in class VII and cannot even read. I am told that every child has a right to free and quality education so Sir how come I do not get my right. But then at least I go to school. What about the child that begs at the street light. Do you ever look at her when you stop at a light but I forgot big people like you do not stop at lights, you just whizz through. Maybe you should stop at lights and see these children.

I know there have been many schemes to help the poor as we are called, though I do not consider myself as poor as I am better than the beggar child, but they do not reach us. We do not have the papers needed and my parents do not know how to get all that is required to get some cheaper food. You see you need to know people or pay money and we have neither. There are days when my father does not get work and we go to sleep hungry. My mother makes us drink some chilli water and then we have to drink more water and somehow our stomach gets filled. And this goes for every programme that is made for the ‘poor’. The ones who really deserve it remain invisible and anonymous. The reservation you made in good schools for 25% of ‘poor’ children will never reach us.  Wily people become ‘poor’ as they know how to get papers and their children study in these good schools. I see all the nice buses that pass by as I walk to my school which is very far from my slum.

When we sing patriotic songs at school and salute the flag, I do feel proud of being Indian even though my life looks miserable. But what if I told you that my mother always smiles and tells us that there will be better times and I Sir, am determined to beat the odds whatever they may be. I will make my dreams come true.

But Sir, when you come to power, will you give a thought to us invisible people who are part of this society and give it our best, even if we remain unseen. 

I hope you do. Maybe you could just start by stopping at a red light and looking deep into the eyes of the little girl who will knock at your window. And if you, open the eyes of your heart.

A child of India

These elections have been a reality show in the true sense of the word, unscripted and immensely entertaining. One of the surprises it sprung was the toffee model, where one of the contestant alluded to his opponent having sold land for one rupee, the price of a toffee. All this is jest and bantering but I  would like to share a real fact which would make anyone cry ion despair.

I have recently written about the sports programme the husband would like to initiate for the 2500 children of the nearby Government school. I do not know if he will succeed or not this is one mean obstacle race that may even need at the doors of Justice! I just hope it works

I simply want to share a thought that come to my mind this morning. The school has an annual sports budget of eight thousand rupees for 2500 kids: that is 3.20 rupees per kid per year or 0.26 rupee or 26 paise per child per month. Not even the price of a toffee. Wonder who makes these absurd budgets.

I have recently sent a link to a series of incredible pictures about incredible India! I posted them on my Facebook page, but if you have not seen them please do take a few minutes and treat yourself to something unique. These pictures exemplify all that is great about our wonderful country: its ability to beat all odds, no matter how challenging they may be. Who would have ever thought of perching an iron on two books and boiling your milk. This happens only in India. You may smirk or snigger and say that it was all done for the camera. Maybe so. But I would like to differ as I have been privy over the past 14 years of how the other India, the one forgotten by politicians and crony capitalists, the one mentioned in speeches and made promises to, promises that are never kept but that make good fodder for lining pockets, the one that has learnt to survive in spite of everything and survive with a smile. That is the real India shining, the one that we have all conveniently forgotten.

I am no economist, politician, administrator, decision maker and anything of this kind. I marvel at having been able to create and sustain project why in spite of my total lack of skills. Come on I cannot even manage my house budget. I guess in the case of pwhy someone up there holds the strings and makes me move in the right direction. But even I can see that all the empty speeches and models that one has been/is hearing will never solve all the problems of India.

Over the years I have despaired at the slow death of all the street vendors and hawkers. Once upon a time their cries were part of your day-to-day life. You did not have to step out of your home to mend a shoe, get your silver chain repaired, give your clothes for ironing, buy your bread and eggs, your vegetables and fruits and so on not to forget ice creams, chaat, and more. And then slowly they became rarer, their cries slowly disappearing just like the call of the birds. The rich suddenly decided that letting all these hawkers in their colonies posed a ‘danger’ to their safety. And gates were erected, and certain hawkers given access while others were rejected. Don’t ask me why. I have no answer. I thought we lived in a free country where every citizen could roam wherever he wished. I watch with sadness and anger the rising of swanky gated communities where even lifts are segregated. I wonder which lift a maid takes when she is with the child she cares for. I guess the one for the haves! I must stop as all this makes me mad.

We all know that one of the big problem the country is facing is undoubtedly that of employment. And in my humble opinion unless small enterprises is not given its rightful place, we will never be able to solve the employment issue of over a billion people. I wonder what our young Prime Ministerial aspirant means when he states over and over again: The poor need a launch pad to progress. A poor man cannot eat roads and We want more people involved in the process of nation-building.

One agrees in principle but then a few kilos of grain doled out or a few days a work under some maladministered schemes are not the answer. On the other hand new industries, new malls, big retail outlets etc will only give jobs to those with the right skills. Remember how irritated we get when we have a poor girl or boy answering our call to some call centre or the other and not understanding our English. Next time be a little indulgent. But even with these new promised avenues, there will be still millions who will fall between the cracks: the ones who are not educated, who are to old, who do not have the skills required. But what they have is priceless: a will to survive, sound common sense and an ability to create employment for themselves. No I am not joking. I have seen these kind of people day in and day out and have marvelled at their ingenuity. They are spot on and respond to the market forces far better than you and I, without the need of market studies and the likes of them. I will give you a few examples: when a recruitment examination is on you will have one or two bright larks spreading a sheet outside the venue and selling guide books! If the number of people from a particular community or region settle in sufficient numbers in a place you have people who set up road eateries catering to their local preferences and when their festivals come you have hawkers selling all that is needed. That is what I call enterprise!

But these entrepreneurs are hounded by the police and the administration and have to pay hefty bribes  simply to earn their living. I do not know what I would do were my road side tailor – the successor of the erstwhile veranda tailors of our grandmothers – or my ironing lady who has been ironing our clothes since before I got married and whose hair has greys along with mine, removed. I would feel orphaned!

Everyone wants to empower people but they want to do it their way. Please do build your roads and industries but leave space for people to find their solutions and facilitate these enterprises by giving them space and recognition. They create jobs and care for their families. This is true empowerment and true inventiveness.

In my previous post, I had written about the state of sports in the Government school next to our home and the quasi impossibility of doing ‘anything’ to make things better because of the absurd red tape that exists in our country. In short should you want to improve things and offer free help you will be shown the door and even run the risk of getting sued for trespass!

The state of the school grounds is abysmal and no child can play anything without the risk of being hurt. Teams exist on paper and the authorities wait endlessly for the file too move and for the right department to be finally, if ever, chosen to do the simple task of levelling the ground.

Sports are part of the curriculum. There is a sports teacher and a weekly period assigned to the subject.

You cannot imagine in your wildest dream the annual  budget allocation for sports for 2500 children. Hold your breath! It is 8000 Rupees per year, and no I have not missed out a zero, EIGHT THOUSAND RUPEES or 132 US$ or 95 Euros! That is 3.3 rupees per year per child. Need I say more.

I would love to know what our aspiring politicians intend to do about this. Oops I forgot, children are not vote banks!

Today I write an India Story. The reason why I entitle this blog so is that this little story reflects how things work in our beloved land. In an earlier blog I had mentioned how the husband was all excited about starting a sports project in the neighbourhood and how thrilled I was at his finding a project that I truly felt/feel will give him a new lease of life. His first visit to the school went on well as I was told by him. According to him, the Principal was amenable to Ranjan’s ideas and Ranjan who is quite a greenhorn at dealing with the likes of the Principal thought all was hunky dory. Any reasonable person would feel that way. Why should anyone in their right mind refuse free help for their children. Ranjan was ready to make a state of the art facility for the 2500 kids of the school and that too for free. But darling, this is India, and things do not quite work like that. Before he ventured too far in the wrong direction, I knew I had to intervene. You see he had gone to see the Principal of the school with one of my coordinators and must have spoken in an English the poor man could barely comprehend and as things go in India, the man must have nodded along and been lost. For Ranjan it was all spot on and he was busy calling people who would help in his project.

It took me two days to convince Ranjan to make one more trip to the school, this time with me. The ploy I used was that people like the Principal needed a bit of PR or else they would think that one had forgotten them. The real reason was that I wanted to make the Principal talk and state the real picture. The man was all smiles and very welcoming and called his PT teacher to join the talk. It did not take me a minute to have them say that they could do nothing without written permission from the top, whatever the top was. This was still quite incomprehensible to Ranjan as, like any sane person, he could not accept the fact that a Principal could not allow someone to do good for his children for FREE. Ultimately we had to cross the Ts ad dot the Is. The problem was that should the Principal give his permission the powers that be would come down on him and ask him what he got out of the deal and how much money he made. This was a shock to Ranjan but as I said this is India.

The PT teacher then told us that a well wisher had tried to do the same and the then Principal had agreed but sometime later when the activities were well under way they had to be stopped and not only was the Principal called to task and transferred, a case was instituted against the poor man for trespassing on Government land!  Ranjan was shocked and I was relieved. And there is more: the school has been trying to get the grounds levelled for months now but the file is stuck somewhere as no one seems to know which agency will do that: the PWD says it is the Horticultural Department who says they only plant grass and so on and so forth. In the mean time, and this is heart wrenching and infuriating, the children cannot partake in any sorting activity though we were told the school has a cricket team, a hockey team, a kabbadi team, a football team and so on. This is what we do to our children.

Ranjan is determined to beat the system and I know is anyone can it is my man! I want him to because I know that this project will do him immense good. I just hope and pray it happens. I know how hard it is and how you have to dig your heels and not give up.

Sports is an integral part of a sound education system. We have our own India story to tell. The picture you see was taken circa 2004 when we organised our own Sports Day. As you see most of the kids do not have shoes! The ground is uneven and only determined and motivated kids would accept to run in such conditions. The ground is part of a building complex that once housed the Labour Court and then lay unused and empty. Sometimes it became a wedding venue. We even had two of our Annual Days in the hall of the building which must have been the court room. Still naive and credulous I had made a project report to transform the place into a community centre with all kind of activities sports being one of them. Of course the file is still lost in transit but what happened was something else. One fine day the place was spruced up and we were told some swanky NGO was moving in. A board was erected that stated that the NGO did everything under the sun that could get UN and other funding. For a few days it housed destitute women that were poorly treated but even that stopped and the building does again once all funds had been collected. Needless to say the NGO belonged to the progeny of a very important person. Today the building lies unused and children have nowhere to play.

These elections look more and more like the Mad hatter’s Tea Party with toffees and balloons. This is what elections have come too. Toffees and Balloons and a tea party! This is what it has come down to: slandering and more slandering. And let us not forget the sprinkling’s of ‘off with their heads’!  We are really in wonderland or rather its very antonym: dread sea! The whole show is absurd. They are now even borrowing catchy lines from popular TV ads to make their point! I wonder what we can expect next.

Though I agree with one of the star campaigners that these elections are or should be for the heart of India, my take is somewhat different.

In the past decade or so I have seen, felt, fallen in love and embraced the heart of India. The heart of India is the slum kid who smiles, the little child who begs at a red light, the millions who survive despite every politician and do so with rare dignity and courage. Th heart of India is the desperate mother who ferrets rat holes to ensure that she does not have to once again lull a her hungry child to sleep, it is the mother who sprinkles large amount of chillies on the family’s only meal to ensure that they drink so much water that next meal can be skipped. The heart of India is the young boy whose eyes glinted with joy when I told him this morning that maybe we would be starting sports activities in on the neglected grounds of his school, the heart of India lies in the vegetable vendor calls out in my street in the sweltering heat or the bone chilling cold. The heart of India lies in the millions who find ingenious ways to earn a living even if it means being hounded by cops and officials who claim their right on part of his meagre earnings. The heart of India lies in the woman who sits at her door step late in the evening waiting for her man to come back with the day’s earnings and hoping he will not stop by the watering hole; the heart of India lies in my little Radha who sleeps in a hole with her brittle bones hoping that she will survive one more day without a fracture. I could go on but I guess you get the picture.

Why should I not be enraged when one of the aspiring PM candidate whose party has been in power for the best part of Independent India, states in a speech after more than 6 decades: Our top three priorities after the elections are “free medicines and free hospitalisation by law, a roof for everyone, and pension to all senior citizens. Does it take 60+ years to realise that everyone needs a roof on their heads and access to basic health care not to forget schools. What the hell were you doing till now.

 I have being watching  a TV programme called Election Yatra, were reporters visit remote areas and interview ordinary people and politicians and ask them to share their views. Yesterday they visited Uttar Pradesh. Should you wish to watch it here is the link. I was shocked to find out about a village that in its late found wisdom has decided not to vote this time. The reason is that every aspiring candidate from any and every party promised them a road and never fulfilled their promise. They actually never came back. This time NO ONE has visited this remote and lost village. You may wonder why a simple road is so crucial. Let me enlighten you. During the rains, the mud road – if one may call it so – gets flooded and the village turns into an island. Children cannot go to school and in an emergency you cannot reach the hospital in time. Two people from the same family died last year as they could not reach help in time. So this time first ROAD then VOTE. Maybe the real meaning of democracy is finally filtering down. The village is called Nada and the district is Etawah. The story is some 8 minutes into the programme. I forgot too mention that the village has a hand water pump that never functioned.

To me it is shocking that the constituencies of the top politicians look the most neglected. One would have expected the opposite and thought they would be models of development. I am at a total loss to find out the reason for the neglect. I am talking of constituencies who have diligently voted one family back for years. I hope they too get the message this time.

The probable winning candidate for the top post of the country has till now scared me. I know the country needs a kind of a  dictator but a benign one and I am a little weary of how power may alter all good intentions. I was however comforted to hear in his latest interview that he will not be vindictive. On cleaning politics this is what he said: What is the solution? That political parties do not give tickets to such people? But frankly, such a situation is not feasible just now. I am determined that candidates, MPs from whichever party, including the BJP, against who cases are already lodged, I will request the Supreme Court to dispose of their cases within a year’s time. So that if they are guilty, they go to jail and vacate the seat for a non-criminal. Makes sense and I hope that he will stand by his words and do just that.

I would like to know though what he will do to ensure that every child has access to quality education we as a country would not have to bear the shame of watching 5000 children die everyday of malnutrition.

And hove all, what he will do for what I call the heart of India.

I am one happy biddy today. Utpal alias Popples is up in the mountains on a school trip. It is a one week trip with rock climbing, rope climbing, trekking, sleeping in tents and even in a three star hotel! He told me about staying in a hotel when he called one day asking for new inner wear and socks and felt the old ones would blot do. he is becoming quite a little man.

I am over the moon. Of course like the old worrying and dotty Maam’ji enquired about the details over and over but yesterday night he called me all excited and told me about his day and his sitting around a campfire and having snacks! And then he would be sleeping in a tent. He had rope climbed, just like in movies he told me, and also climbed rocks. I hope someone is taking pictures.

This is the first time Utpal has been in a big bus, seen mountains, slept in a tent, sat around a bonfire and had fun. God bless him always.

Watching what one could truly call the biggest reality show on the planet a.k.a the Elections leaves me bewildered and saddened. No matter which way you look at it, it all seems wrong as no one is willing to address the real questions that plague our country: malnutrition, education, health and most of all the poor. One of the candidates for what may be called a 5* constituency as it has returned a Prime Minister and now has an aspiring one in the fray, stated that no development is  visible and the people feel betrayed. Logic would make us believe that a high profile constituency should be made a model for development, but this is not the case. Here, just like everywhere else, you see the candidate once in 5 years and hear promises forgotten before the dust of his departing cavalcade has settled.

For the past weeks we have been ‘treated’ to a script worthy of the best soap opera script writer as is proved by the twists and turns in the plot. Beats the Hunger Games. You have the case of the forgotten wife and her reappearance after half a century, the episode where you are told that boys are boys and can rape with impunity, followed by the one who prescribes death for anyone who has had consensual relationships outside marriage reminding me of the Bob Dylan lyrics: every body must get stoned! What about the slaps, punches, ink and egg throwing? The slandering matches are priceless and often absurd. It almost seems like all our aspiring Parliamentarians are simply interested in oneupmanship of the wrong kind. And what about the advertising campaign: the posters, the songs, the TV clips, the caps and God knows what else. Even the simple and normally pleasing act of reading your morning newspaper has become polluted by the aggressive PR campaign on each and every page. And then the TV debates, the India wants to know, the can I get a minute to answer. These prolonged and seemingly never ending elections makes one want to hibernate. I miss the days when elections were wrapped up in a day and then the results took two days of viewing Hindi films on TV with news flashes in between. Those were happy days!

But what truly upsets me is the lack of connect between this election soap and reality. Having spend almost a decade and a half in the field, for want of another word, I have seen reality. I am not talking of faraway villages or disturbed tribal belts but of slums in the nation’s capital city, just a stone’s throw away from where we live our privileged life. I recently visited the house of the husband’s acquaintance and have no words to describe it. Let me simply say I wished I had sunglasses on to protect me from the glare. Every item in  the house comes from Italy or some other hallowed land and the only words in my lexicon to describe the place is gaudy, over the top and nauseating. More so as the family lives most of the year abroad. Now for the show stopper that says it all. The house is replete with surveillance cameras right down to the kitchen and viewed from the master bedroom.

Barely 2 km away little Radha – the girl in the picture -, her brittle bones and her family of five live in a sunken dark hole that can barely hold a bed. This is how most of the pwhy children live. And what is galling is that in every election political parties promise them regularisation of their homes if they vote them in. Needless to say this saga has been going on for decades. I would like to ask these politicians if they can live one day in these conditions. Need I say more. This is India.

So what went wrong. A recent article aptly entitled Decolonisation of the Mind make interesting reading. The article begins with these words: Mirror, mirror on the wall, who is the least independent of us all? Or, to put it in more familiar terms, Macaulay ke asli aulad kaun hain (Who are Macaulay’s real children)? To find out read the article as somewhat we all stand guilty. Homosexuality is still a crime, we still have or had till recent days criminal tribes and our Penal Code relies on anachronistic Victorian values and legislation. And yet no political party has the b**** to change things. Both our minds and our politics remain in thrall to colonialism. The article shows us what the parties in the fray stand for. It is scary, particularly if you have your heart in the right place.

Who will bell the cat?

I will end by simply quoting the concluding words of the said article: Now is a good time to reflect on the colonial racism which infects mainstream India’s view of Adivasis as primitive savages who can be deprived of land and livelihood with impunity. Dalit and Adivasi perspectives should not be footnotes to envisioning a decolonised India free of hunger, disease, environmental degradation and deprivation: they should be central to it. Only then will we have a truly independent country with no family resemblances to the late Lord Macaulay’s vision.

Once again the Supreme Court has stayed all nursery admissions in Delhi and once again little children are paying for the total inefficiency of the administration. It makes us shudder at the kind of state machinery we have. They are not even able to get their act together to ensure the first step of the Right to Education Act: nursery admissions.

When the Act was promulgated I knew that it would encounter huge obstacles as it just did not make sense. The state takes full responsibility of providing free and equitable education to ALL children in India and this can only be done if they make ALL state run schools centre of excellence or they let keep the status quo: poorly government schools and a vast spectrum of private schools from modest to uber rich with their criteria and rules of admission and management. Mixing the two is a recipe for disaster as is the case now.

Many lauded the absurd solution of reserving 20% seats in every private school for underprivileged kids and the equally absurd points system for nursery admission which they heralded as their solution to the neighbourhood school option. The implementation has been a total failure as we all know. On the one hand it is not the poor who have availed of the reservation but the middle class who though able to afford the fees, have instead manufactured all the needed documents and pushed their children in. The main problem is the fact that good schools are not available in every area and that state run schools that proliferate the city are abysmal.

When the husband, who got his epiphany after casting his vote in the government school and taking a walk on the immense but neglected grounds, went to meet the school Principal and offer to run sports activities in the school, he pointed out the cobwebs and broken windows to the Principal. The Principal told him that all cleaning staff was contracted and thus he did not have any hold on them. This is yet another example of the again much lauded Public Private Partnership where huge amounts find their way in greedy pockets and the work remains undone. Why is the Government always abdicating its responsibilities.

For the Right to Education to truly become a Right for every child born in India, then the State has to assume its responsibility and set up quality schools at walking distance. I have always been an advocate of the State run neighbourhood school imparting quality education and where any child from the said neighbourhood can study. State run schools should not be of poor quality and hence an option only for the poorest children. Sadly that is the case and yet there was a time when State run schools imparted quality education. The proof lies in the biodatas of many who are today in high posts across the board.

True we need to deal with the present social barriers where the so called ‘rich’ would shudder at the thought of sending their progeny to a State run school and have her share her school bench with the maid’s daughter. But that is what school is all about: a level playing ground where all children learn together. I am sure that if all State run schools were of the quality of the State run Central schools, many of us would have no problem sending our kids there.

Next time my home two schools share a common wall. One is a secondary state run school – the one the husband visited and the other is a known Public school one of many across the city. The former has a pathetic building with some classes mere barracks and humongous but neglected grounds. The other has a swanky building but hardly any place to play. The logic is simple: the later being a commercial enterprise will try and stuff in as many classes as possible as every student is a source of income and follows market forces. The demand is far higher than the supply as is well proved by the numbers of Public schools mushrooming in our city.

Now let us talk admission. The points system for nursery admission was established to counter what was perceived as the high handedness of certain schools who set up their own criteria and even demanded large donations. The idea was to to simplify and fine tune the criteria of admissions to nursery in private schools and do away with interviews both of parents and children which was undoubtedly unfair. But we not forget one crucial recommendation of the committee set up for this purpose:it said the concept of neighbourhood school would slowly gain momentum in the capital and would set an example for the rest of the country. “If we can help the government schools improve their quality, then our vision will get a great impetus”.

As always we do things in half measures. The point system began to be followed and amended along the way with regular intervention of PILs and subsequent court orders. The absurdity of the whole system is now evident as nursery school admissions which should have ended by now as school resumes on April 1st, has not even begun as groups of parents risk to the Courts to defend their rights.   What will happen is a mystery. The other measure that needed attention: namely improvement of the government schools was lost in translation.

We have just learnt or rather been reminded of the fact that the most favoured contender to the top job in India is married. This is what he declared in his poll affidavit in Vadodara. A hasty explanation was proffered by his elder brother   who stated that the marriage was forced on Modi by his parents when he was a teenager in keeping with the old orthodox tradition of fixing marriages between children and that it was never consummated as Modi walked out of the marriage soon after it was solemnised. What is worrying is that he has left the field for “spouse” blank in four Assembly polls. Of late, he has also flaunted his single status at rallies, saying that he was single and had no one to be corrupt for.

In an interview earlier this year she claims he is still her husband and wishes him well. She never married again.

Another ‘leader’ declared yesterday that boys make mistakes and hence should not be ‘hanged’ for rapes they commit. His statement is nothing short of outrageous :Boys and girls ….later they had differences, and the girl went and gave a statement that I have been raped. And then the poor fellows, three of them have been sentenced to death. Should rape cases lead to hanging? They are boys, they make mistakes. Two or three have been given the death sentence in Mumbai. We will try and change such laws…we will also ensure punishment of those who report false cases. 

Boys make mistakes you see. They get married and then decide to lead the life of dedication to nation minus wife so in a land where a woman once married, even if she is a child, and discarded does not have a second chance at making a home. Today’s headline is proof of this fact as the lady in question never get marries and if that was not enough she still does penance for the success of her ‘husband’. She  has given up eating rice for some months now as a penance to see Modi as PM. And if that was not enough she gave up wearing footwear for four months seeking PM candidature for her husband. To our politicians she must be the ideal woman, the kind lauded in our epics or portrayed in the all time Bollywood block buster Mother India!

I am sure there may still be women like that but in today’s India there are women like us who claim equal rights in every which way. And we need politicians who can represent such women and accept and respect the laws that protect women.

Rape can not be brushed aside as a boy’s slip up pr boo-boo. Rape is the vilest form of assault against a woman and scars the survivor for life. For that matter any form of abuse leaves life long scars and should be punished by law. Rape can never be mistake. I wonder if the said politician would feel the same should anyone dear to him be raped. He belongs to the party where one of his Minister moved heaven and earth when his buffaloes went missing. What would he do if someone raped his kin. Would he simply say boys and boys…

One voted without quite knowing what the views of parties were on matters that are important to us. One party released its manifesto on the day voting began. This year one simply tried to work out in one’s head the best option possible. Time will tell us if we did right.

Ranjan and I just voted. For Ranjan it was the first time as for years his name was not on the voter’s list but this time it was, as it seems to be part of God’s plan for R’s recovery. Coming to the vote, I did not get the epiphany I so wanted. I simply voted for what I felt was the best option. Only time will tell if I did the right thing. Ranjan, on the other hand had his plan and voted accordingly. So you may be wondering why this post is entitled: An epiphany and a prayer answered. Bear with me as all this is rather convoluted and has to be explained as logically as possible. I will give it my best try!

The polling booth was in the secondary school next door, a school we all pass each time we leave or come back home. Most of us never look at it let alone see it with our eyes, seeing with the heart is a pipe dream. The school is not the one our kids go to and at best we get irritated by the students who crowd the road when school is out and slow us down. But today was different, not so for me, as after 14 years of working with children who come from such schools and hearing their horror stories, I am almost inured as I expect the worse. However Ranjan has never entered a Government school and was more than horrified at what he saw. For the uninitiated it is just about everything: desks that are broken with shards that can hurt the child sitting at it and that are so narrow that they would that one cannot place a note book let alone a register straight across it, filthy walls with peeling paint, ceilings that are falling apart or in some classes asbestos sheets that must be hell in summer. I could go on but I guess you get the picture.

Ranjan was truly appalled and decided to walk through the school and as he walked around I could see him opening the eyes of his heart. He was amazed at the sheer size of what is called the playground but where no child plays as it is not maintained and filled with stones. However Ranjan the sportsman saw the possibility of innumerable hockey and football fields and even a cricket ground. That is when he had his epiphany: let us do something. This was further reinforced when we found out from the guard that this was a one shift school and thus all this lovely space that should be filled with children playing lay empty from 1.30 pm onwards. On the way back Ranjan and I talked about what could be done and to every caveat I put forward based on my experience of 14 years, he had an answer ready and was willing to go to the highest authority if need be. His idea is to begin sports activities for the kids by making proper grounds and giving proper coaching. So that was the epiphany bit.

Now you may wonder what the prayer is all about. That is where I come in. When I was totally broken after the death of my parents and had sunk into a dark depression that lasted years, it is project why that lifted me again and gave me a second lease of life. I have been wrecking my brain for a project for Ranjan that would give him what pwhy gave me: a reason to live and more than that a way to give back something to those who are less privileged.

God works wonders. I will beat the iron while it is hot and take Ranjan to meet the Principal – hope this one is not too much of a sourpuss – and set the ball rolling. Who knows? By this summer itself we may have kids playing football in the grounds that lie empty waiting for children to run on it.

So help me God.

Voting is tomorrow and I still do not know who I will vote for. I have been trying to hear between the lines all the screaming debates that have invaded our homes in the past months/weeks. I have been scouring magazines and the net for articles that would help me decide. I have talked to friends and mere acquaintances and even unknown people. Every one had a different point of view.

I recently received a link to an open letter to Modi, Rahul and   by Veer Das which quite sums up what I feel. It all bhakt up as he says in his own ignitable style! But vote we must and intelligently if possible in the present scenario as pressing the NOTA button gets you nowhere. So let me try and get some order in my thoughts and share with you some of the very unexpected views I have come across in the past few days. I was told that a person I know well and who has entry into the hallowed circle of the dynasty, is voting AAP and has asked his staff to do the same. Another lady whose wisdom I respect is doing the same and so his her staff. A sikh shopkeeper told me he would vote Congress as one of the other options scared him and the other would not be good for his business. I leave you to guess which is which. I just got a call urging me to vote BJP as if they did not come with all the numbers then we would have elections again and that was not good for stability. I guess everyone has their point but I am still confused.

For many years I voted Congress as that was the party whose ideology was closest to mine but then it got diluted, dictatorial and then simply greedy. Wonderful projects that never saw the light of day. I strongly believe even today that if 50% of all social programmes are implemented as they should, India would look healthy! My nana was a Congressman in the days when the Congress had one agenda: freedom from the British. It was undoubtedly a motley crew held together by one dream. When India did become independent many thought that the Congress as it was then should be disbanded as they had achieved what they set out to. My nana was one of them. Many attempts were made to make him agree to join the Government but he wouldn’t budge from his point of view. Later he would contest elections, municipal ones, but as an Independent candidate whose symbol was a pair of scales and won many times. It is believed that he did a lot for the city he made his home. Maybe people like him were right as history shows that the Congress has gone through several mutations. I did not vote in a couple of elections, being out of the country or again a tad lost. In 2004 when the option ‘refused to vote’ was possible, I exercised it. However I dot feel comfortable pressing the NOTA button this time.

This election is a whole new ball game. Early this year a new political party again with a one point agenda – end corruption – changed the equation and I voted for them in the Assembly Elections. We all know what happened next and how in my humble opinion, they were manipulated by political stalwarts and Humpty Dumpty had a great fall. They picked up the pieces but the harm was done. The husband is of the opinion that they should be given a few seats to act as watchdogs in Parliament.

A recent article on the necessity or rather the urgency of having a political alternative makes interesting reading. It ends by stating and no matter how regular, free and fair our elections, democracy cannot flourish without dissent. Many have criticised the fact that the AAP is contesting a large number of seats but as a friend quoting a political analyst said, it is the only way for this young Party with few resources to establish a pan Indian presence. Do read the article for a different point of view. Let me reproduce the first paras to tempt you into reading it:

In India at the time of a national election, it’s usually considered fair for politicians and political parties to make promises that everyone knows will not necessarily be kept; for electoral contestants to make claims, counter-claims and allegations that are exaggerated and sometimes completely preposterous; for ticket-seekers to switch parties and allegiances at the last minute depending on the patronage they receive or are denied; and in general, for language to be used loosely, excessively and rhetorically during campaigning. The usual rules about how we speak and what we mean are suspended for a few months, after which things once again return to normal. Odd as that sounds, the exceptional use of language is part of the routine of any big Indian election, and this is probably true in most other democracies as well.

But the 2014 Lok Sabha election in India appears to be unfolding in a way that distorts the use of campaign language as well as the language of election analysis more than usual. It is not just about exaggeration, false accusations and dithering, but rather about serious ideological about-turns and self-censorship on the part of many contestants as well as commentators.

I think we cannot but agree. This election has been the most strident one, a real cacophony.

I have still not made up my mind. I pray for an Epiphany!

In the past years I have come up with many bye lines for project why. Because it makes that little difference is the one that seems to have stuck! Where children dare to dream, however, is my all time favourite though it made a short appearance in our lives. To me it encompasses the spirit of project why in more ways than one as I believe that if a person like me can create something like project why then nothing is impossible. I remember the early days when we began our field project in the gypsy camp now razed to the ground, I told the children there that they had to dream big dreams, dreams bigger than they could imagine.

Sanjay circa 2002

Sanjay walking in Paris for AgnesB

 He dared to dream!
One young boy heard me loud and clear. It is Sanjay the boy in the orange shirt in the picture on the right. Today he is an international model who walks for designers in Paris and of course India. He dared to dream big and maybe things did not turn quite as he had at first imagined but his success story is remarkable to say the least! He even has a movie about his life aptly entitled Bollywood Boulevard! Before he hit success he spent some time as a primary teacher at project why!

Young Anita comes with her own success story. Today she proudly teaches primary and secondary classes at our Govindpuri and in the picture above is leading her brood to an outing at the Railway museum. Would you believe me if I told you that she was one of our first students in 2002 in our creche! But that is the reality. When she passed her class XII she came to us asking us for a job. She told us that she wanted to do a B Com from the Open University but that her parents who are very poor could not afford the fees. But that was not all. Being very conservative, her father would not allow hurt to work anywhere but at project why. You guessed right, she got her job like  a shot! This year she will finish her B Com. I do hope she does a B Ed as that would allow her to become a teacher in a good school as that was always a dram, even as a little girl: to be a teacher! We would have to let her go then as our salaries as paltry! I hope her father allows her to continue working and marries her to a man sensitive enough to understand her and help her fulfil her dreams.

It is amusing but whenever you ask one of the project why’s girls what she wants to be pat comes the answer: a teacher or a singer. I guess this is the only world they know: Project Why+Bollywood as even the poorest home’s prize possession is a TV. When Suzie, a young and motivated volunteer asked them this very question she got the same answer.

But Suzie is a feisty woman and thought she had to widen their horizons in her own inimitable style. I requested to give me a short summary in her own words and this is what she wrote: Well I wasn’t having any of it; I decided to put together a list of 11 famous women who achieved so much throughout History, from scientists to writers to politicians, and show the girls that there is more out there for them if they put their mind to it.

We learned about Joan of Arc, Marie Curie, Jane Goodall, Anne Frank; I asked the girls to read out to each other texts about all these women and their achievements, to ask each other questions about them; we spent three afternoons, learning about Sampat Pal Devi’s gang of Pink Saris; about Mathilde Anneke’s first newspaper dedicated to women; about the work of Mother Theresa in 133 countries; about Florence Nightingale and her revolution of the world of nursing; and about how JK Rowling thought up Harry Potter on a train to Manchester… 

We made a wall hanging, with photos of all of them in chronological order, ending with a banner that read “YOU COULD BE NEXT – We can all be scientists, activists, writers, if we get an education! 

It was an amazing project and I must admit it got me thinking. Maybe we needed to add something to our teaching to help children widen their horizons and confirmed beyond doubt my belief that with education you can DARE TO DREAM!

The girls love dancing and are mean dancers. Here is proof.

In my last post, I wondered as I reach what I call my twilight years and prepare for the next world where we all head one day, what I would tell the three extraordinary women I descend from when they ask me whether the land whose freedom they fought for had become what they had hoped for and whether all the sacrifices they had made had been worthwhile. And above all what would I say when these three feminists and women’s rights activists would enquire about the status of women in free India.

How can I tell them that we have let them down all the way and hijacked and destroyed all their dreams. Do I tell them who fought for women’s rights when scarcely any one did, that in free India women are abused by the minute; that little girls are raped, that no woman feels safe.

Do I tell them who went to sleep hungry so that there men could fight to free India by languishing in jail on never ending hunger strikes, that mothers have to ferret in rat holes for grains to feed their hungry children; that lullabies that women now sing extol the virtue of sleeping in spite of hunger pangs.

 Do I tell the one who was willing to live life as spinster rather than give give birth to a slave child, that 5000 children die everyday of malnutrition, that millions have no roofs on their heads. Do I tell the ones who fought hard so that their grandchild/daughter could get maximum education,  that all girls still do not go to school and if they do they learn nothing as schools do not teach. Do I tell them of children begging on the streets? Do I tell them of young women being killed because they dared to love? Do I tell them that girls foetuses are killed in the wombs and baby girls thrown in dustbins? And yet that is the reality after 60+ years of Independence, a celebration all these three women took part in. How do I tell them that we have crushed every dream they had and let them down in every way possible.

How do I tell these upright and honest to a fault women that today it is corruption that begets success; that every politician is only interested in acquiring wealth that has no end; that Parliament has become a fish market; that the rulers have divided us far more than those who colonised us; that religion is used to pursue revolting agendas. Do I tell them that India is hurting and crying. Do I tell them that India is not free.

And should they ask me what did I do, I have no great answer. Educate a few kids? It seems pitiful and makes me ashamed. I am part of who they were the picture above is proof of it. The baby in the her mom’s arms is me. This is no vague and far legacy that can be ignored. I am one of them and need prove that I have the right to be in the picture.

mama and me 1954 Peking

In just a week Delhi will vote. As a responsible citizen I will cast my vote. In the recent assembly elections I was elated to know that we had a new option that seemed, if nothing else, to be the much needed counterpoint to the kind of politics we have been subjected to in the past decades. Once upon a time I voted for a particular party because I believed in what they stood for. That was when there still was  a modicum of ideologies so there was a sort of choice and one stuck by it not realising the surreptitious changes that were happening till the rude awakening of realising that the two main parties had become strangely similar and ideologies had taken a back seat. It did not matter who you voted for the end result was the same: corruption, programmes that looked and sounded good but just remained that sounding good and were never implemented. In my wife, mother, professor, conference organiser days, voting was not a top priority. My world was so restricted that I had I guess lost the ability to see with my heart and look beyond the invisible and almost impregnable societal barriers.

Then I lost my parents and went through an inordinate and endless period of mourning that seemed to be a rather pusillanimous coping strategy with my new status of an orphan. I woke up six years later in a small slum lane and opened the eyes of my heart when I saw Manu. Life would never be the same as I had crossed the invisible walls. You may wonder what all this has to do with elections and voting. Well it is quite simple everything that one had heard, read, even believed in and of course never questioned revealed itself in its stark reality. In the words of the Bard something was rotten in the kingdom of.. India. In 2004 when one found out that as a voter one had the right not to vote, I exercised that right to show that I distrusted all candidates.

Today we have the NOTA button. One would think that I would press it with alacrity. But I won’t as it is no solution at all as it actually means nothing. My years in project why have been an eye opener in myriad of ways and have proved beyond doubt that the political parties have let down the people who deserved their attention and wit every year have been only interested in using every trick in the book to meet their vile agendas. To counter them it is time we did something. At least we women who are now known as the power of 49. It is time we exposed the games and machinations of those to whom we entrusted our country and dreams.

Today, more than ever before, I feel the pull and presence of the long lineage of women I descend from and the compelling to reminisce about them as they all played a part in women’s rights and India’s freedom.

 I only have second hand knowledge that I gathered at the feet of Kamala my mother. She spoke of her paternal grandmother who fought for rights within her very traditional home in Varanasi. The only sister of seven brothers she wanted all her brothers had and was willing to do everything in her power to get what she felt was her right. When she wanted to study only Christian teachers were available and the deal was that she had to bather from head to toe everyday after her lesson. Her study table and chair also had to be ‘bathed’! In those days women wore saris without bloused or petticoats but her teacher wore them so she threw a fit and got her blouse and petticoat. When she reached Varanasi as a bride in the heat of summer, her bare feet burnt like hell. Women did not wear shoes then but men did and her brothers who had accompanied her were walking in comfort. You can guess what happened. Madam got her shoes though the cobbler only knew how to make men’s shoes. She wore them with pride. This is also the woman who watched with pride her son burn all his clothes and leave his home with a heavily pregnant 15 year old wife to join the freedom movement. The young woman was my Nani, Lajjawati and the baby she carried was my mother Kamala.

Nani was the daughter of the official priest of the Maharaja of Jodhpur and had led an easy and happy childhood before she was married to a promising and handsome young man who was reading law and who was the son of a police officer in the British Police. They had a sprawling house in Varanasi and all the comforts. Barely a year after her marriage, her husband decide to leave everything to join the Freedom Struggle. This woman left her marital home with nothing but her husband’s chosen destiny that she embraced with joy. She lived years of want and struggle, battling, often alone as my Nana was frequently in jail, to survive without compromising the dignity of the family. When her children wondered what white drink their friends had – milk – she mixed flour and water and gave it to them. She bought the market leftover vegetables sold cheaper at night and the tiniest potatoes that a little girl had to painstakingly peel at night. As women were in purdah, it was the same little girl who rubbed turmeric and oil on her father’s and his companions’ bleeding backs a result of the merciless beatings they suffered at the hands of the British Police. These women were the unsung heroes of the freedom struggle.

The mother-in-law daughter-in-law duo was formidable feminists. They intuitively knew that education was the key to real freedom and above education of girls. Kamala my mother was enrolled in the first girls school that opened in Meerut and was roll no 1. The Raghunath Girls ‘School’ now an Inter College still exists. Ma was one of the five initial students mentioned. When she was in class VI, her father thought she had studied enough! But that was not the plan of his mother and wife. The battle for Ma’s education had begun. The tactics were borrowed from the unsuspecting father: hunger strikes! Ma would go on a supposed hunger strike though she was gorged at night by her supporters, and then the two battle axes would stand in front of my Nana with sad faces and in maudlin voices would say: Kamala has eaten nothing just as he was about to take his first bite. This happened over and over again and Ma finished school, went to Banaras Hindu University’s as a hosteler and do her BA, MA and LLB. Later in Prague she would complete a PHD.

When the issue of Ma’s marriage came up a deal was made with her father. She would not get married before India’s Independence. The reason was she preferred to live life as a spinster then give life to a slave child. She was 30+ when she got married and the free child is me. Thanks to these formidable women I was born with the proverbial silver spoon but also smothered with values and a love for the country that gave me life. When did I lose my way?

Today more than ever before I feel the weight of the legacy of these women who believed in equal rights for all genders, who were willing to give up everything, sleep hungry, wear ungainly clothes but never let their spirit die. How will I face them when we meet again and what will I tell them when I am asked how is the India we gave you.

I have no answer.

(to be continued)

From the instant I found the strength to look deep into Manu‘s eyes and made him part of my morrows, I took the irrevocable decision of making the dreams of others mine. From that moment there was no coming back. That was also the day I felt the weight of a Damocles’s sword hanging above my head. That was because to make these dreams come true I would have to depend on others till the day I could attain what is known as sustainability. I assure you that I tried everything under the sun to reach that sustainability but failed. The Damocles sword inched closer and closer.

In the past years there have been times when the sword has almost fallen but was stopped in time as some miracle occurred and we were able to carry on unscathed. But a mail that dropped in my box yesterday gave the final push granting me a short reprieve to put my house in order. In this case it means closing some of our centres. Easy peasy some would say. But not for me.

Today I am faced with a Sophie’s choice. I need to send one or more of my children to the slaughter house. The Cartesian in me would say: look at the figure that will be withdrawn, look at the costs of each centre, assess the value of each programme and do the maths. If I do that, then the axe falls on the tiniest ones: the creche. Why is is that these Cornelian dilemmas where one is obliged to choose between two courses of action either of which having a detrimental effect on ourselves or on someone near and dear to us always affect the ones who have no voice. I cannot begin to imagine how these tiny tots aged between 2 and 5 will feel when they are told one fine morning that the three wheeler will never come to fetch them again. What have they done to deserve this. They do not even have a voice to say what they feel. No more singing and dancing; no more picnics in the parks, no more cartoons on the big TV no more joy or laughter.

The reason for this cut is that India is no more the flavour of the day. Rape cases and a negative international press has taken us off the tourism map. And of course there is donor fatigue. All this is understandable when you think with your head but when the heart jumps in then you are bound to say: what did these little kids do to deserve this.

I knew this day would come. I knew it from the moment I realised that Planet Why could never become a reality and that we would have to remain dependent on the generosity of others, a generosity that one cannot expect to be limitless. And yet these little children cost a bauble for many, less than a dinner in a starred restaurant.

Today I sit helpless and bewildered. Do I even have the right to pray for another miracle. Only time will tell. 

A few months ago, when a new party that promised to clean up our political system arrived upon, it sounded like a breath of fresh air. Sadly the air has become stale faster than one would have thought. It has become difficult if not impossible to defend this new kid on the block who now threatens to send media persons to jail if a probe found them guilty. It almost sounds like the Queen in Alice in Wonderland and her Off with their heads! Somehow this new political kid believes that chopping off heads will solve all India’s problems.

I began this blog a while back and then somehow stopped writing as I watched helplessly and with a tinge of sadness the shenanigans we are being treated to in this rather baffling election campaign.

A few months back the emergence of the AAP seemed God sent and we all went out to support them. They seemed like a breath of fresh air, an option we could honestly vote for. And more than that, we all felt, I certainly did, that they would provide a new force that could compel the well greased political parties to relook at themselves and clean their stables. The euphoria died too soon and we watched helplessly as hubris that seems to be in osmosis with power, hijacked the new face of Indian politics.

I wonder what brought this change? Dealing with corruption and ending it is no mean task and cannot be done in a day. It certainly cannot be done by sending every one to jail! Corruption has become second nature and almost a way of life. To root it out would necessitate finding the neck of this hydra headed monster whose numerous heads have to be killed one by one, till one finally gets at its vulnerable neck. Off with their heads is no panacea here.

For David to take on Goliath is a tough task that Goliath can only achieve with wisdom, restraint and above all cunning. as it is a matter of beating them in games they are masters at. In my humble opinion they fell into a well laid trap when they decided to form a Government without having the numbers and with the support of the very people they were seen to despise. In hindsight, they would have been better off not forming any government even if that meant another election. It was still honeymoon period and they would have come back with a bang. For the next 49 days I watched with woe the games the opponents played as they reeled out the rope that would ultimately hang them. They left a city that had entrusted its hopes rudderless. Promises made were forgotten and we will soon be paying the price as from April 1st – and this is no April Fool – our electricity bills will soar. I am now contemplating solar energy panels on my roof.

Has David been seduced by hubris. It looks like it as one watches the AAP story enfold. One cannot begin to imagine what their plan is. The sagacious way would have been to remain a counterpoint to other well entrenched political parties. A kind of pressure group that would have compelled them to mend their ways. A waiting time that would have helped them develop the ruses and stratagems needed to slay all the heads of the corruption and poor governance Hydra. The hurried jump into national politics seems very premature and leaves us voters perplexed to say the least.

So what are we going to do come election day. My heart still tells me to give them a chance as it maybe a long time before an alternative comes our way. True one is a little worried about their programmes and strategies and most of all their ability to run a country as vast and complex as India, but if would be refreshing, again in my humble opinion, to have them form a substantial pressure group within the hallowed halls of Parliament to ensure that Parliament works and bills are passed. One would hope that it would also give them time to learn.

If not they, then who? That is a big question. What we have seen in the last weeks is a real masterpiece of the theatre of of absurd. Can one hold on to ideologies anymore? The answer is no. Every day we see people from one party joining their bitter rivals. It is almost the flavour of election 2014. Winnability is the key word, sleeping with the enemy is kosher and sulking is a new entrant. You do not get a ticket, you sulk and either crossover the other side or stand as an independent. Anything to spoil the game. Over the past weeks one has not heard any politician spell out its vision for India. Will they build new schools, new hospitals. No one knows. At present everyone is busy pulling out the other and the dirty department tricks is in full swing.

Everyone had shouted loud and clear about denying tickets to ‘corrupt’ candidates. It seems that the word corruption is interpreted in a very different manner by politicians. It is not a matter of perception but a convoluted set of legalese that is nothing short of absurd. Many of the people contesting are corrupt and no jargon can whitewash them. Yet they have found tickets with all political parties. Winnability again! It is also carpe diem for all relatives: son, daughters, brothers and all else. If the father is suspect let the son get a ticket, it is all in the family.

Do political parties think that a few glib slogans, page long advertisements and extended and dramatic commercials on the idiot box suffice to convince voters who are fully aware of the day-to-day live drama behind the scenes? What it all looks like is a bunch of unruly kids fighting for a share of the pie.

The latest act in this absurd and unending play was the induction of the leader of a rabid religious party whose 3 minutes of fame came courtesy a shameful attack on young people in a pub. The man was accepted then refused by one party and if that was not enough, the rival party induced a member of the same gang to boot him out hours later. It almost seemed orchestrated.

I would like to believe that the Indian electorate has come of age. I hope it comes out to vote with sagacity. But the question remains: who do we vote for this time.

About a decade ago two beautiful children were born at about the same time, one somewhere in India and the other somewhere in the United States. One was a little boy and the other a little girl. One was named Ethan and the other Meher! No one would have ever thought that their paths would cross some day, as not only did thousands of miles across land and sea separate them but they belonged to very different worlds. You see in our time and age we put people in boxes often according to how rich and well off they are and if Ethan belonged to what one calls the privileged world, little Meher was from a very poor one. But there was someone, the one who lives upstairs, who was smiling as he had set a miracle in motion, a miracle that would take a decade to enfold.

The miracle in question could possibly have sprung because of a mistake – intended or inadvertent – that our man upstairs wanted to correct. Whilst Ethan’s life was set on course, Meher’s was not quite so. When she was just a baby her cot caught fire and she suffered terrible burns. Her face and head were badly burnt and her tiny fingers fused together. This meant she would never be able to lead a normal life and most of all never be able to hold a pencil. The doors of learning closed for her.

Ethan grew up and went to school but Meher played in the graveyard next to her home in the village and was made fun of by her peers because of her ungainly scars. That is when the man upstairs decided to set his miracle in motion. Meher was brought to Delhi and and the tiny hovel in which her family moved was located next to our centre. Her mother use to let Meher wander around and one day our coordinator saw her rummaging the garbage that lay around a sweet shop, looking for scraps to eat. Meher entered the project why world and life would never be the same.

A volunteer with a huge heart decided to take matters in hand. The rest is history. We all realised that the only salvation for this little girl was through education and the first thing to do was to give her her hands back. For that to happen her story had to be told and it was and somewhere thousands of miles away people got touched by her story and decided to make it theirs.

A series of corrective surgeries done by a kind doctor and lots of chess games made the miracle a reality. Meher could go to school and she did. Today she is in Class IV and top of her class. A few days ago I met Ethan for the first time. A beautiful picture landed on my screen. I was informed that this young man had been instrumental in collecting the funds for her school fees. I was moved to tears but not a surprised as one would have thought because I know that children see with their hearts instinctively till adults mess around with them. Blessed are those whose parents also see with their hearts.

Meher saw Ethan’s picture and wrote him a letter. I hope and pray that these two children meet some day. I know that they hold the key to many more miracles. Who said fairy tales do not exist.

Wednesday was Popples’s birthday. He is 12 now. How time flies. This was his first birthday in his new school and unlike his other school, birthdays are celebrated with style here. Something we did not know. Utpal had called me last week and given me a list of things he wanted me to bring: a cake baked by Shamika, fruit juices, sweets to give his pals and of course his present. What he forgot to tell us was that we had to reach before the day boarders left so that we could all celebrate together. I thought that we could only meet him after school hours. I was told that he was in tears as he wanted to take all his friends to the ‘party room’ he had ‘booked’. I felt like a rat and kicked myself hard. Next year I would be there an hour before time.

We reached as school was over so his day boarder friends were leaving. We had nevertheless ensured that he was given sweets to distribute. We finally got to see him and he stood out as in this school kids are allowed to wear home clothes on their birthdays. One more point to remember: next birthday I will make sure he gets new clothes to wear!

After a big hug he told us about the party room and the fact that he had to go and get the key and we should follow his pals who would guide us. We gathered all our wares and followed meekly. I was a little worried as I did not know if we had enough to eat but mercifully the school has a lovely canteen run by a set of resourceful ladies. Mamaji who had accompanied us was commandeered to go to the canteen and pick up whatever we could. The loot was 15 hot dogs and 14 patties all yum. The key and lady in charge were found and the room opened. It had a long table and many chairs and though the lights were dim, our enthusiasm made up for all the shortcomings. We were a merry band with Utpal the perfect host. His little pals were settled. They came not only from far corners of India but form Afghanistan and the Maldives. Quite an international gathering. The cake was brought out, candles lit and happy birthday sung with fervour. The cake was cut amidst song and laughter.

Then Utpal told me that they wanted to dance so we needed to go outside. We did and Utpal danced while Nawab, his Afghan pal sang. It was a memorable experience that brought tears to my eyes. Then everyone danced to the sound of a cell phone. We would have wanted to stay longer but could not and left the boys in a happy mood.

I was moved and happy. God bless my darling Popples.

Dear India Women, you are condemned to play second fiddle as your  biological and natural constraints preclude you from attaining certain goals. These words are not mine but those of our Air Chief who believes that these ‘constraints’ is what makes it impossible for us women become fighter pilots and go into combat mode. The reason is, and again it is not my opinion but his, that flying fighter planes is concerned, it’s a very challenging job. Women are by nature not physically suited for flying fighters for long hours, especially when they are pregnant or have other health problems. I must quickly state that this does not apply to women from the US, Russia, Turkey, Malaysia, Srilanka, Bangladesh et al. This is only for us Indian women. Are we biologically different to our sisters in other lands. 

This is absurd and ridiculous but so in sync with our patriarchal society. We are not even accorded with having the minimum amount of common sense to understand the demands of such jobs before we decide to go for them. No, like in all matters, a man will decide how we feel, how strong we are, what are our biological limitations and so on. And we must demurely accept their diktats. That is called PATRIARCHY and we women are bound to live under its tyranny.

Who are men to understand our biological and natural constraints. Does any man know what menstruation feels like, what menstrual cramps or labour pain are? An dear Air Chief if you think that a flying job is challenging than what would you say about the job that is thrust at us just because we are women. I mean housewife though I find the term derogatory and would prefer to call it home management. And what about motherhood when you become and are held responsible for a life you create, nurture and tend to till death does you part. Have you not, like so many fathers, quipped ‘your child’ when faced with a challenging situation. You are only there for the good times and strangely absent for the difficult ones. The wonderful job every woman has to fulfil is that of a cook, cleaner, wife, mother, partner, sexual gratifier, hostess, doctor, psychologist, teacher, finance manager, human resource manager and many more. Who do you run to when you have a problem at your work? Who do you go to when you feel insecure and inadequate? And you expect quite merrily that one woman, yes just one single woman does all that with a smile and with no room for error. Have you ever wondered who she runs to? I wish every man could walk into a woman shoes for just a day, maybe that would earn us their respect. Being a woman is challenging.

You take our multi-tasking for granted. We work without leave or absence even when we are ill and hurting. We cannot quit our job. How does one quit being a woman when you are reminded everyday that you just that a woman. I forgot to mention that above all that I have stated women are also working and contributing to the family kitty. So we too have a 9 to 5  job but cannot come and demand a meal or a cuppa when we come back tired after a hard day at work. So looks like our biological and natural constraints are not constraints after all but quite the opposite. We must be having helluva body and spirit to manage all that after all!

And no one lets us forget that we are a woman. Each time we step out of the house we are ogled at, pinched or abused in some way or the other. We may not by nature not physically suited for flying fighters but it seems we are good fodder for abuse, abuse of all kinds, insidious or open. We are also a good commodity to trade and of course rape material as we ‘invite’ rape by the way we dress, talk, look even if we are three and half year old. 

You think I am talking a load of c***.  Read this article about trafficking where women are sold, yes sold, to vegetable processing units @ 100 rs, a soap bar and a bottle of oil a month! That is what we are worth a soap bar and a bottle of oil and yet we survive and help others. That is what a woman is all about a survivor, no matter what you throw at her face.

I am proud of being a woman and if I were to be born again I would want to be a woman.

So you can keep your cockpit, ours is far more challenging!

My husband informed me yesterday that he has to go to Manipur next month. I was thrilled as this means that he is back to normal, or a new normal as they say, after a harrowing battle with lymphoma. My only worry was: what will he eat, as part of his recovery has been a well balanced and near organic diet. Last month he had visited Calcutta many times and after much thought we had zeroed in on fish as the best alternative for him. I know nothing about Manipuri food but what I know is that I am weary and suspicious about him eating food that has travelled miles and miles and food that has been subjected to a cold chain as we in India have still not fathomed the basic tenets of refrigeration and cold storage. I know how difficult is is for me to explain to my staff that one cannot defrost and re-frost with alacrity. Thus I decided to find out, bless be Google, what the locals in Manipur ate, feeling a tad ashamed at my near to nil knowledge of foods of the North East. I am glad this opportunity came by.

If you Google for foods from Manipur you are faced with exotic names you do not recognise: Ngari, Iromba, Chamfoot, Morok! A little further reading reveals what these are: fermented fish and lots of local herbs. Manipuris like their food spicy hot. The staple diet of Manipur consists of rice, large varieties of leafy vegetables (of both aquatic and terrestrial) and fishes. Manipuris typically raise vegetables in a kitchen garden and rear fishes in small ponds around their house. Since the vegetables are either grown at home or obtained from local markets the cuisines are very seasonal, each season having its own special vegetables and preparations. They hardly use any oil and the food is near organic.  It should be cause to celebrate only I do not see my husband eating fish with bones or vegetables that seemed simply boiled with herbs. I wish he did as it would be a perfect diet for him. Must try and find out a way out.

It is sad that we do not know anything about local cuisines around our land as these are the ones that are healthy and nutritious. Globalisation has ensured the slow death of local food. An interesting article in a magazine entitled the culture of eating right, unravels the richness of tribal cuisine in India, where over, hold your breath, 1582 food kinds were on display and 972 of them for uncultivated. Organic in its purest form! How silly we look with our limited grocery bag that looks pathetically the same week after week, month after month. The festival was a celebration of traditional food cultures linked to age-old farming practices that not only provide these tribes nutritional security, but also protects and conserves nature’s bounty.

This is real food security, one that has withstood the test of time and is in sharp contrast with the Food security the Government wants to dole out and that is limited to 5 paltry kilos of rice, wheat or millet. As a tribal rightly said: “We don’t need your food security system, the more ration shops you open in our villages, the more you force us to abandon our own food security system so painstakingly built by our forefathers.” I wish law makers understood this, but they are so high on hubris that they want to be God and Nature at the same time. Sadly it does not work that way. By taking away traditions, we are going against nature in a shameless way.

A single traditional plant has multiples uses and no waste. He is is just one example:  Kusum koli leaves are used for fodder, its fruits eaten raw, the plant is used as firewood and oil is extracted from the seeds. The seed oil serves as a mosquito repellent and also treats certain skin diseases. So you have food for humans and animals, fuel for cooking and medicine. There are hundreds of such examples. If you read the whole article you will understand what true Food security means. How can 5 kilos of rice replace what the forest gives. It is impossible to view food security without a proper understanding of our traditional food systems and feeling a sense of pride in them. The short cut and thoughtless approach aimed at gaining votes has to be abandoned. The fast food frenzy has to be denounced, the dangers of genetically modified food need to be assessed.

We need to imbibe the wonderful knowledge of tribal traditions and embrace them. 1582 kinds of foods cannot be shunned and cast away. We, and I include myself in the we, are quick to adopt and even champion foods coming from ancient traditions of other lands like quinoa and chia seeds and shitake mushrooms and pay exorbitant prices for them but unwilling to look at the foods of our own ancient traditions. What if I were to tell you that Kanglayen, a mushroom found in Manipur is shitake mushroom. I am sure that there is a cornucopia of super foods waiting to be discovered and I intend to do so.

What can be more organic than a meal of vegetables grown in your backyard and fish from your pond! And look at the picture above, each bowl is a different food. I wonder if the best 5* Michelin chef could conjure such a plate.

To be born in today’s India is no piece of cake. I have been watching with horror and sadness the terrible plight of parents whose are trying to get their children admitted in nursery classes in private schools this year. It is nothing short of a never ending nightmare both for what we may call ‘ordinary’ parents and those from humbler homes who want to avail of the 25% reservation in these classes. I remember when I first heard of this absurd solution to the stipulations of the Right to Education Act, I knew it would be more than a herculean task.

 A new court order has now stayed all procedures till March 24th following yet another petition challenging a previous order! The whole process looks like a play worthy of the best theatre of the absurd, a new version of Waiting for Godot with the protagonists being: an innocent toddler, harried parents and a clueless administration. Lots are drawn, then cancelled, to be drawn again with no one knowing which mother will knock at the courts of justice and break down in court following the results of the next draw. And as this saga goes on, the rule makers get tied in knots and more knots that would soon resemble an Arachnean web impossible to unravel.

One could watch all this with amused aloofness were it not for the thousands of children whose future lies in a little piece of paper in a box with all the odds stacked against it. How can a self respecting state, one who insists on being considered as a world power, not ensure access equitable education to all its children. In any supposedly civilised country a child should be able to get admission to a school it could walk to. That could be a reality if our Government decided once for all to model every school they run to the image of the central schools that are also run by them. The commercialisation of education is not a solution to Education for All. State run schools should be an option for every child, rich or poor. Sadly that is not the situation today and one does not have to be literate or ‘educated’ to understand that a child has a better chance in a school where there are 40 children in a class as compared to one that has 100+!

The 2014 – 2015 version of this absurd saga began in mid January. Guidelines on the (ill)famed 100 points system were issued. The new ‘neighbourhood’ criteria was extended from 6 to 8km! I thought neighbourhood was walking distance, but 8km would give you 70 points. Then there were points for siblings, girls and staff children, staff here being extended from parents to grandparents. 25% of the seats had to be reserved for disadvantaged children. Get the picture. Now in a country like India you can circumvent any issue so people get fake tenancy agreements and fake documents to avail of the 25% category. Slum parents are barely aware of this facility and even if they are, often do not have the documents needed. So it all looks like a joke.

But children cannot be treated with such contempt. Their future cannot be left to a draw of lots where there are 80 seats and 5000 applicants. And why are you disadvantaged if your a an only child, a first born or a boy!

It is time the law makers did something about education. Children cannot wait. With every day lost you jeopardize the future of an innocent child who remains helpless and lost.

Don’t lose faith in India were one of the last words my father said to me.Today I am finding it difficult to keep faith! It is no more a question of not losing faith but of not abandoning India. A quote from Racine’s play Phedra comes to mind: Tout m’afflige et me nuit, et conspire à me nuire, which translated would read: All afflicts and injures me, and conspires to my injury.
Phèdre, act I, scene III and would need to be reworded as: all afflicts and injures me and conspires to my losing faith. Every time you take a deep breath and try and try moving on that not losing faith journey you promised to travel to the very end, something hits you like a tons of brick. And that something flies at you from anywhere and everywhere. And it takes all your will power and effort and remembering the love you have for the one who set you and that journey to take another step and then another one. What you want to do is annihilate the reason, but you are not privy to the way Hydra is destroyed and you battle aimlessly with each head of the serpent as more and more grow relentlessly until the moment you feel that eliminating yourself might be easier, before you suddenly look desperately for a straw to latch on to and carry on.

It is even more frustrating when you know the way but also know that you can only do d**** all! I have given up news channels of late as I cannot bear the screeches and nonsensical bellows of politicians badgering their opponents and blowing their trumpets whilst 3 children die quietly very minute in a deafening silence. They die of malnutrition, poor health care and reasons that each of these aspiring Prime Ministers could solve if they had the heart to. I would not be able to stand in front of thousands and thousands of people I have let down and feed them dreams that never will never come true because no one wants them to.

I gall when those who have been in power for decades reel out their achievements without batting an eyelid. Come on do you wear visors when you step out of the comfort of the ivory towers you hide in or does one have to sell one’s soul, eyes, ears and all else to the devil when you don the mantle of politics? You do not have to leave the precinct of your city to see children begging, children working when they should be in school according to a legislation you voted with great fanfare. These kids are also Indians just like yours and have a right to free and quality education or is the street or a dark workshop the schools for children who live on the other side of an invisible but impregnable wall.

How do those who want to ‘rule’ courtesy the votes we give them not shudder at the 11 000 children that go missing every year. Do they not know that these children often become part of the sex trade. But true they are not your children but those of a nether world you only remember when you need a vote or a feel good sop that anyway does not reach anyone.

Parliament is made to legislate. It is not the market place it has been turned to. I wonder if these politicians realise that vulnerable people wait with bated breath of the very legislation that gather dust session after session while they squander tax money in playing to the gallery. The little boys in the picture are still waiting for the Disability Act that would have brought some relief in their lives.

I am sick of vote bank politics that entail aberrations like the (ill)famed kangaroos courts that order and execute death sentences should you dare love or dividing and dividing till there is nothing left to divide.

I would like to hear someone talk about education for all, about breaking the vertical glass barriers that separate us and them. I would someone to realise that it is education and education alone that can transform India and that means quality schools for every child, even the one that knocks at your car window each time you stop at a red light. We need to unite and not divide. We need schools to be level playing fields. We need my child and his child to study side by side.

It is easy to lose faith in India, but  more difficult to keep that faith. Yet one has.There is no option!

 Today is woman’s day. I do not know why we celebrate one day in 365 as woman’s day! Does that mean that all others are man’s day? However I have my own take on this. In India is ranked as the 4th most dangerous country for women. The ranking was done based on six risks:  health threats, sexual violence, non-sexual violence, cultural or religious factors, lack of access to resources and trafficking. Among the G 20 countries, it is the worst. As worshipers of Goddesses this should make our heads hang in shame, but we do not. So at least today, which is woman’s day, let us do just that: hang our heads in shame for every woman in our country who suffers in silence and dignity the horrors she is subjected to.

From the time she is conceived, she is unwanted. Often her life ends in the womb and she is thrown away in some gutter or becomes part of hospital waste. Maybe the ones who go that way are spared the abuses they would be subjected to had they seen the light of day.

Every day we are faced with some terrible statistics regarding women. We seem to have become so inured to them that we barely flinch. You see these statistics do not concern our daughter, sister or friend. They seem to belong to some nether world we are unconcerned with. Maybe today is the day we should at least show concern about these horrifying figures and dare to peep into that nether world.

There was a TV programme yesterday evening on a film yet to be released: Lakshmi. One of the reasons for its delayed release is the concerns by the Indian Censor Board on the film’s subject and the content. You see it deals with human trafficking and child prostitution! Subjects you do not talk about as they disturb everything we want held as true. But trafficking exists. 44 000 children are abducted every year and 11 000 remain untraced. Some fight and survive like the heroine of this film. Today we should salute such women.

During the programme an activist, herself a survivor, made a valid  point however disturbing. It is time we looked at the demand and not the supply of this heinous and abhorrent trade. As she said, it is not enough to save a few, as is done now, but to cut the demand. She revealed that she the youngest girl she had ‘saved’ was three and a half years old. Yes there are men, some maybe even closer than we think, who want three and a half years old. And as long as there is a demand, there must be a supply. As the activist rightly said it is time to name and shame those who indulge in such horrors. But it makes good business sense does it not. I ask you today on this women’s day to make a pledge to go and see this film. Maybe it will open the eyes of your heart.

None of the abuses a woman has to suffer can happen without the help and connivance of other women. I am not just talking about the Madames of the prostitution dens. In every home women are abused by other women in some way or the other: the mother who prefers her son to her daughter, the mother-in-law who makes the life of her daughter-in-law hell, the women who gang up in the name of some misplaced sense of honour and shield a perpetrator with impunity while a child suffers in total bewilderment. To these women I simply ask: what if the victim was born out of your womb? Today I ask all women to stand up for women against the men who abuse them and to give up the code of silence they abide by.

And is it not time to scream out loud and clear that a woman is not responsible for the gender of the child, that the seed – be it male or female – comes from the man, and thus put a stop to the pain suffered by all women who cannot bear sons. How can they. God did not give them that role.

We need to stop thinking of women as a commodity and accept them being so treated.

Please make it a point to go and see Lakshmi to honour all the invisible women that suffer because of our deafening silence.

So elections have been announced. Come to think of it we have been in election mode for quite some time. In the past weeks every time you switch on the idiot box, particularly in the day, you are likely to stumble upon some leader or the other addressing a rally in some part of the other of our country. The speeches, often delivered in screeching and strident voices courtesy I guess poor quality sound equipment are a cocktail of the same ingredients: bashing the adversary, enumerating one’s so called achievements, and wooing some section of society, normally the poor or some target group, though never quite spelling what they would do barring grandiose promises that one has heard ad nauseum.

I do not know what choices one really has. It seems that politics in India follow a similar cacophony no matter what your supposed ideologies are. Sleeping with the erstwhile enemy is common place. Pre election there is a torrid pre election alliance time which may or may not result in the sought marriage or engagement. The probability of a post election alliance does however remain on the back burner. And the alliances are of all shades and hues and follow now ideology whatsoever. The only common denominator is power!

Mudslinging, name calling and hitting below the belt is run-of-the-mill. It is all a game of oneupmanship. Blowing one’ s own bugle and badgering your opponent is the rule of the game. Then comes wooing the voter that includes a variety of gestures such as touching the feet of a poor elder, hugging or patting a child. Walking streets with a retinue of people hired at a daily wage, and a fanfare or drums playing forcefully while the candidate smiles with folded hands that unfold to wave at no one in particular is also an age long ‘tradition’. What is amusing is the sending of an advance party who hands out garlands to all and sundry so that they can ‘garland’ the candidate. It reminds you of yore days of kings and court jesters. Wonder if it cuts any ice with an electorate that is getting tired of these jaded ways.

Last time we voted for change, what we though was real change. But then the power bug I guess reared its ugly head and we as a city felt abandoned as our new heroes left us for greener pastures. Today we see them looking too much like the ones we were fed up with.

Yet we have to make a choice and to do sift the chaff from the wheat, if wheat there is. It is not easy to find one’s way under the din and clamour and work out what is best for us. It seems that creating the loudest vociferation is every one’s way of shielding their shortcomings and forcing us to lose our way. The recent happenings in Gujarat and the subsequent street fights are a good example of what I am trying to say. One party states it is trying to expose the claims of uber-development brandished by another. A member of the said party tries to explain the situation that ensued as best he can.

I do not know how many of us read an article by Mallika Sarabhai who in a quiet way gives us telling statistics about the development in this state that tell the real story.  She ends her article with these words:  But his model of development is Darwinian; the government will only support the fittest. Let the others perish. So, will the readers of this column see through this model of lies only if they belong to the 950 million poor, weak, unjustly treated? Is this the model for India?

What is happening is that we are all losing track of real issues and getting swayed by who shouts the loudest, who mesmerises the best, who dazzles the most, who promises the best sops. The real issues are forgotten and brushed under the carpet. The questions that need to be asked are lost in translation.  In a recent interview Delhi’s 49 days Chief Minister did make some very crucial points which again seemed to have been lost under his two coloured socks. He stressed that only quality education for all can usher the change we so want, and that it can only happen when all state run schools across the land impart equal and quality education. Unless that happens, nothing will change.

This is what the likes of me have been shouting forever.

Many thought I was mad when I was not jubilant at the passage of the Right to Education Bill and particularly at its absurd provision for compensating private schools for admission of children under the 25% quota which has been compared to school vouchers, whereby parents may “send” their children in any school, private or public. An Act that makes quality education a fundamental right of every child between the ages of 6 and 14 cannot truly come into effect if every school in the country state run or private is of equal quality! That is sadly not the case and we have schools that cover a large spectrum from abysmal to outrageously flamboyant. And though in theory every child can access the lavishest of schools, reality is quite the opposite.

First and foremost the poorest of the poor can never aspire to the 25% reservation as they are unaware of this option, often do not have the papers required and are not savvy to the tricks needed to get the required points to get their child admitted. The procedure is complex and keeping in mind the paucity of seats it is quite a nightmare to get your child in a good school. And that goes not only for the 25% poor kids but for any child in our city.

Nursery admissions are a theatre of the absurd. The logical option of the neighborhood school that would worked like a dream if state run schools were centres of excellence, has become a joke. The solution conjured was a point system and a lottery. Now the maximum points you can get is 100 and divided as follows: 70 points if you live within 8km (though I know of a child who was rejected though he lives within 3km), 20 points if you have a sibling, 5 points if you are an alumni, 5 for girls, 5 for employee children. There was a transfer point that has been quashed following an appeal in Court. hence the admissions process which was to be completed by February 28th is now to be redone and the new date is March 15th.

Now hold your breath: in some schools there are 2000 applicants for 20 seats! So parents have to admit children in many schools to hope for a seat. So in a land where quality education is a constitutional right, getting your child in school is an absolute nightmare.

Parents have to take days off from work to complete procedures, stand in unending queues, keep fingers and toes crossed when lots are drawn, bite their nails waiting for second lists and wonder what to do with their child if he has been rejected by all schools. And we are talking of toddlers. They may not be able to say what they feel but they hear everything, see their parent’s angst and process it in their own way. I am sure it disturbs and hurts them.

All this makes my blood boil. Admission to a school should be easy and joyful. It would be so if our state ran their schools in a proper way and gave up their reservation and quota addiction and their love for privatisation. All this means that a child born in the wrong family loses all his chances to accede to a bright future.

In a recent interview Arundhati Roy gives some startling figures that should make us think and I quote: To be eligible for the reservation policy, a Scheduled Caste person needs to have completed high school. Govern­ment figures say more than 70 per cent of Sche­duled Caste students drop out before they matriculate. Which means for even low-end government jobs only one in every four Dalits is eligible. I quote this not to defend reservation but to illustrate the fact that those in need do not get and cannot aspire to quality education at all.

It is time that someone did what is needed: make every state run school an enabling space for quality education!