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!

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!

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! 

A court ruled recently yesterday that “Even if you keep your hand on the shoulder of a woman, it is for the lady to comment on the nature of the touch, whether it was friendly, brotherly or fatherly, in other words only a girl can decide the nature of the touch. This judgement comes as a huge relief as finally the protectors of law have understood the ‘good touch, bad touch’ we women often speak of and which is far too often rebuffed by men as a figment of our imagination. We women experience this time and again when the touch of a man who maybe part of our social circle or work environment or even part of our family sends a chill down our spine and makes us recoil in disgust. And it is wrong to believe that that this ability comes with experience. Far from that. Even a little child can feel the difference between good and bad touch. 

In India and I guess the world over children are abused relentlessly by people they know, people who are respected within their families, neighbours and others. These children know when the pat or the hug is good and when it is bad. But when they muster the courage to tell this to someone they trust, they are again brushed aside with an outraged reference to some absurd notion like family honour! 

Please remember that when a child summons up the courage to tell you about such an incident, it is because she trusts you implicitly and playing her down is condemning her to consequences that can destroy her whole life. Yes even a pat can be abuse if it is perceives as such. The reaction is intuitive and instinctive. Predators lurk at every corner and do not have horns! They look just like us and sometimes are people you trust. 

The statistics are terrifying. It is time we all took up the cudgels against this terrible crime.

The dot you do not see on the picture, is our planet Earth viewed from the Martian sky. It is a beautiful reminder of who we truly are and takes care of any hubris we may be tempted to fall into. This is all 7 billion of us viewed from the heavens above. Makes one feel tiny doesn’t it?

Maybe it is not hubris we should aim for, but its opposite Sophrosyne which is the virtue of  healthy-mindedness and from there self-control or moderation guided by knowledge and balance. Sophrosyne is a Greek Goddess considered to be one of the good spirit that escaped Pandora’s box. She is the spirit of  moderation, self-control, temperance, restraint, and discretion. Whereas we humans have embraced Hubris with great haste, few of us even know of Sophrosyne.

If we accept that we are the dot you do not see, then we are forced to abandon Hubris and seek Sophrosyne and remember that we are an infinitesimal part of a Universe we have no control on. All we can aspire to is temperance and self control. But sadly that is not the case around us.

If you look around, you see only hubris.

What would you call the politician who had everything on a platter should he have followed the precepts of Sophrosyne and moved with temperance and self control. But he wants to conquer Rome in a day!

What do you call the politicians who rush and pass bills to garner vote banks if not hubristic. No one cares about the outcome as long as one can get back in power. We have had quite a few of these lately. In today’s world no one is willing to wait. They want it all and they want it now!

Some want statues of themselves, others aim for the tallest one in the world. One who dreams of the top cuts a huge birthday cake in the shape of the Parliament House. Is it not hubris.

And that is not all, to garner more brownie points bills that have lain gathering dusts for years at an end and not been passed, are passed through Ordinances, there validity a mere months if they are not ratified by Parliament. Who cares. Elections are now and vote banks need to be seduced now!

Our politicians are great followers of hubris. More so if it gets them in power and what ensues.

And everything has conjured to make this possible. When we started our lives Ranjan and I, we had a scooter, no TV and very little in the bank. Things came slowly and steadily as we worked towards getting them. It was the BC days – before credit – and you had to live within your means. Now with you can get anything you want. You are even solicited to do so as is proved by the number of calls you get offering you loans and credit cards. Moderation, self-control, temperance, restraint, and discretion are all thrown out of the window.

Hubris breeds impatience. Hubris coaxes illusions of grandeur. And we all fall for it. I guess I did too when I thought I could build Planet Why and let myself be swayed by an impossible dream. And is it not hubris that makes me want to see Project Why live beyond me. Why can I not just accept the maxim: The King is dead, long live the kind.

It is time I took a serious look at the dot you cannot see and tempered my life. It is time I embraced Sophrosyne and accepted that it is not I, but someone greater that controls our lives and thus decideds what happens next. I simply need to follow. Only then will doors open!

Yesterday we had the Kikiristan Fanfare come play for our children. They were a merry band of 8 somewhat reminding me of Sergeant Pepper’s revisited. They played for our Okhla children and then for our very very Special children. The session with the Okhla  kids was great with the band members interacting with the children but what happened on the terrace of the special section was mind blowing and a one in a lifetime experience.

It all began with me asking Shalu whether she would dance with the band. I had no doubt that she would agree, as unlike us ‘normal’ people, special kids have no inhibitions. They simply follow their hearts. But nothing could have prepared me for what was to come.

I asked the band leader whether Shalu could dance with them and of course they agreed. Shalu went and took her place centre stage and broke into her dance. She danced with the band for over three minutes and to anyone who did not know the truth, it looked like a very well rehearsed bit and was mind blowing.

Shalu is incredible!

But that was not all. After the performance the children were invited to ‘try’ the instruments and it was heart warming how to see our little angels blow the big horn or try their hand at the drums. We were quite taken aback at Loveleen’s prowess at the drums and of course Munna trying to blow the horn was a unique moment.

The show was pure magic. The special kids and the French Fanfare: incredible project why.

My friend Saras runs a day care for disabled children and adults in Malaysia. Today she faces an eviction notice. The reason: two neighbours do not want the premisses to be used as a day care for special souls. My heart missed a beat when I heard this news as we too run a day care that is almost a clone to hers: in a residential area for children and adults between the age of 7 and 48. For them it is the only place where they can spend some hours being happy and accepted and loved and cared. It is the only place they can be who they are, and be appreciated for being who they are. In Saras’ case the applicants have suffered nuisance throughout the day from 8.30 am to 5pm, Monday to Friday as a result of intolerable noise made by the special children as well as their attendants and carers and nuisance of experiencing the uncomfortable sensation of seeing the disabilities and sufferings of all the special children, the whole day, day in day out.

I am speechless and do not know what to say to such people. My first thought would be to tell them that not to tempt the fates as a special child can be born in any family, even theirs. What world do they live in and how can seeing a special child be viewed as a nuisance. They are the most precious children in the world. Actually we are the ones who are truly disabled and challenged as we do not have the heart to accept anyone who is different. They open their hearts to each and everyone who has the guts and ability to look at them straight in their eyes. And once they accept you they never let you down as they know not what treachery or betrayal means. It is we, the so called abled who master these emotions.

I pray Saras can save her centre.

It is no mean task. I have battled many demons to keep our centre going and even then it is has not been easy. If things had happened as I wanted them to and had people reached out and opened their hearts and purses, then the little girl in this picture could have lived her life in dignity. Sadly, for want of funds, we had to shut our residential centre and were unable to raise the funds for our own building. Radha who suffers from brittle bone disease – osteogenis imperfecta – and lives in a dark damp hole with 7 other people, could have lived in a happy and safe place. For the past weeks she has not been able to come to our centre as our leg has festered and she may have to face amputation if gangrene sets in. It is too difficult and excruciatingly painful to take a bumpy auto rickshaw ride every day and be carried up three flight of stairs to our centre. We are helpless and can only bring her some support in her home, but can not fill it with sunlight or laughter.

All the very special souls who come to our day care, come from homes where they are not cared for and yes they are noisy, and yes they look different but they have come to this world the same way we have and are entitled to everything we have, if not more. But more than anything else, they need our love, our acceptance and our protection. They are the truly children of God and not being able to open our hearts to them in tantamount to shutting our door to God.

It is time we opened the doors of our hearts wide and unconditionally.

Saras we are with you in your fight.

For the past days I have been watching the shenanigans of our elected representatives with horror, sadness and shame. The democracy we hold so dear to our hearts and are so proud of looks like a joke when you see the behaviour of our august parliamentarians in the hallowed halls of parliament House. I am not going into the merits or demerits of any Bill in particular but simply highlighting how things happen. We all witnessed how our 49th state was created yesterday.You do not need to be a rocket scientist to understand the reasons for the rush in passing this Bill in an election year. Once again sleeping with the enemy was acceptable as every party wanted a share of the pie.

To my simple mind, the very fact that there were so much dissent to this bill, would have meant that it should be looked at again and not passed in a hurry behind closed doors while a technical or tactical glitch kept the drama away from the very people whose government you are meant to be. Once rushed through the lower house, the higher house spent a ‘day’ discussing it before again passing it. What we saw was people shouting, holding placards, and shouting some more. One has to ensure that Parliamentarians have a good pair of lungs! But jokes apart it all seem well orchestrated: you will shout, you will try and speak, and the chair will intersperse it all with a dose of ‘please sit down’ and the ultimate ‘the house is adjourned for 10 minutes’ and the whole thing repeated over and over again till the time everyone wants to have his evening drink and meal. Then the show changes mode and you go on to pass the bill by what they call voice vote. The punch line then is either the ayes or the noes who have it, have it, have it and voila the fate of millions is decided. Yesterday there were many moments when MPs were busy laughing or talking and never said there ayes and noes. It was all prearranged.

One would have thought that Parliament is where people discuss and amend bills. Not at all. It is where politics is played at an astronomical cost paid by you and me. There are over 130 bills pending and one day to pass them.

There is one day left. I wonder how many bills will be passed today. Will the Disabilities Bill be passed or are the disabled people not a good vote bank, and what about the Narcotic Drugs and Psychotropic Substances Act to ease restrictions on use of opioids like morphine for pain management. Will it be passed or will the cancer patients be denied an easy death because our MPs are too busy garnering brownie points. 

Only time will tell.

circa 2013

2014

There has been a lot of talk on the importance of empowering women! One of our supposed PM candidate has been more than busy wooing women as suddenly the 49% of us seem to be good electoral fodder. India will not become a superpower if women aren’t given opportunities. We need equal representation for women at all levels to make them empowered he clamours for those willing to hear him. I again wonder why it has taken 6 decades to understand this, why bills linger for decades waiting to be discussed and passed. Let us not talk about rapes, rapists who sit in power, patriarchal kangaroo courts who dispose of lives of women they feel are custodians of their honour. And how can we forget women who lull their hungry children to sleep every night with promised they cannot keep. 

Forget about all this. Suddenly we the women of India have gained importance and are told that we must feel free and safe and wanted. I would love to know how this leader would achieve that and why no one felt the same way earlier. The 49% of us has been there from day one! So why did it take 66 years to realise that: India can’t be a superpower until we empower women. Wonder when that will happen.

Today I want to share with you two real stories of women’s empowerment that I have witnessed and even been a part of. When I decided to set up project why, I also decided to give a chance to those who were never given one and thus sourced my team from the very community project why was reaching out to. Many were women and each is a story of empowerment waiting to be told.

I will today tell you the story of two such women, though one of them was a baby when I first met her. I mean Rani and Kiran. Rani must have been about 15 or so way back in 2000 when we set foot on the street she lived in. A school drop out – not because of poor marks, Rani is Harvard Business School material – but because she was beaten for being late in paying her fees and her doting mother withdrew her from school. Rani had finished a nursing’s aide course and was waiting to get married as in her community girls are married at an early age. Though she lived in the shadow of a  very dominating mother who barely allowed her to speak, I could sense a feisty spirit that was raring to break free. Thankfully her mother liked me and accepted that Rani help me in my work and she thus ‘joined’ project why and was in charge of our nutrition programme where we distributed bananas and cookies to children. The way she set about her task from minute one showed that she was a born leader. That banana and cookie tray was her first step to empowerment. A decade later she was and still is heading a large part of project why. Along the way she finished school, got her Bachelor’s degree and I am told she will soon get her Masters. 

But that is not the real side of her journey to empowerment. The real side lies in her acquired ability and prowess to alter the destiny of her family and thus become a true agent of change. The young girl who once only wore the ungainly clothes her mother chose, has now convinced the same mother that wearing a pair of jeans or a skirt does not change who you are and that values do not depend on the way you dress. Rani’s deep beliefs are intact and she has shown that one can be ‘modern’ without giving up what is important. Rani has transformed the quality of life of her family and her aptitude in sifting out the good from the not good is remarkable. The child who once had to carry water from long distances and sleep on a mud floor, is now a savvy woman in charge of her destiny and the destiny of her family. A truly empowered woman who will walk the extra mile when needed and hold on to what she believes. 

The other ‘woman’ who got empowered along the way is Kiran. She was 1 day old when I first held her and is now a teenager. Thanks to the support of her aunt Rani who had understood that a good education was the real trampoline to a better life, she  was admitted in a good public school and is now in class VIII. She is a spirited teenager who knows her mind and has her head in the right place. Kiran is the little girl who spends her holidays teaching our challenged children,  some of whom she has known all her life. She had opinions and defends them when needed. 

These two young women are the proof that if given the right conditions and support, one can battle strangling patriarchy and unfair and unreasonable diktats. They are the kind of women who can turn India into the ‘superpower’ mentioned above. But there is caveat. These two young ladies could only begin their empowerment journey because they had moved from survival mode to risen from survival mode thanks to the hard work and determination of their mother and grandmother. They had the basic enabling environment that is the first stet to any empowerment: food, a roof on their heads, access to school, health and so on.

When politicians come up with highfalutin ideas about empowering women they forget that in India today millions of women are denied the very basic needs to survive. A mother who has to constantly worry about how to get one meal for her children even if that means ferreting for grains in a rat’s burrow, cannot begin to think of empowerment of any kind.Her life moves from one meal to another with an occasional thought about what story she would tell her child to lull him to sleep should she not be able to get anything to eat. This is a reality we cannot shy away from. I once again quote Ash in the Belly:  They scour the harvested fields of the landlords with brooms to garner the gleaning of the stray grains of wheat and paddy… they follow field rats to their burrows and are skilled in scrapping out the grains stolen and stored underground by the rodents…after each weekly market ends, they collect in their sari edges, grain  spilled inadvertently by traders or rotting waste vegetable… they even sift through cow dung for undigested grain. (Ash in the Belly page 6). Maybe the politicians who talk of women’s empowerment should read this book before they open their mouth.

The women of India are extraordinary beings who survive in circumstances beyond imagination. The first step to empowering them is to help them move out of the survival mode they are condemned to and give them the dignity they deserve. What will happen after will be nothing short of a miracle. Maybe that is what the 51% so fear!

1176 hours equals 49 days. 49 days is all it took for the new kid on the political block to be compelled to render its resignation. The jury of course is out. I watched with amusement how the satraps were quick to vituperate and denounce the move and try to muddy the waters. We all saw what happened in the Assembly as old foes got together to defeat a bill that was meant to reign in corruption. I am not going into the merits of the bill which I am sure is not perfect, but then do feel that the valour with which old adversaries stuck to each other speaks volumes. The way in which they pretended to be knights defending the Holy Grail of corruption was to say the least laughable. And their wanting us to believe that they were simply safeguarding modalities and procedures did not fool anyone. The bottom line was that none of the old political parties wanted a law that would target them. It was too uncomfortable to say the least. When the session ended they were quick to go on camera to show themselves in a good light.

With the resignation came the accusations. The incumbent government it was said had run away as it was unable to keep the promises it had made. This sounded preposterous. They had been in power for a mere 1000 hours as compared to the 66 years the people of this country had patiently and stoically given to the old and entrenched parties. 66 years in which no government had been able to give drinking water, 2 square meals and a roof to millions of people. And what about proper schools, health facilities, roads without potholes, electricity in other words all the things that are enshrined in the very Constitution every one was pretending to defend. I guess it is a case of selective choices. Where is the justice, equality, liberty and fraternity we the people gave to ourselves on the 26th November 1949. These words ring hollow when we see them in the reality that surrounds us. Liberty and equality is only for the chosen few. So to my mind it sounds ludicrous to expect anyone to deliver promises in a mere 1176 hours.

What endeared and still endears the likes of me to the new political party that briefly shone on the political firmament of our city is the fact that they sounded like a breath of fresh air and went against everything that we were forced to accept as the almost holy prerogative of those we had elected: from red beacon lights to unbearable arrogance with everything in between. The ‘mango’ party as it has contemptuously been called, was the exact opposite. True they were unable to ‘pass’ their pet bill and thus true to their words they resigned but not before exposing for those of us who are willing to see, the fact that sleeping with the enemy is totally acceptable when needed and that finally all political parties have similar agendas.

This post is neither an apologia nor an elegy. It is simply a statement of facts that one needs to remember. The din and noise that is being made to try and drown the little positives that have happened in the past 1176 hours should not blind us to what we have witnessed. For the first time we saw some kind of shelters put up for the homeless and even if they were just tents at least it was something. An audit was made of the existing schools’ resources something that activists had been clamouring for, hospitals were also inspected and remedial measures taken where possible. An anti corruption cell was set up and if nothing else, for the last 1176 hours the police harassed fewer people as was confirmed by the three wheeler drivers we employ.

An attempt to listen to the people was also made. True the weekly contact programme had to be abandoned for practical purposed but I am sure some other system would have been found. The idea of local committees to suggest how the money given to local leaders should be spent was a good one as we are all silent and mute spectators to the innumerable times perfectly good footpaths are destroyed and rebuilt for no reason at all if not the garnering of deep pockets. With time I am sure a via media would have been found and the money used in a sensible way that would benefit people. But therein lay the problem: all these changes were touching issues that would have hurt those used to make money. It was bad enough to have one’s red beacon lights taken away but basta! Let us not forget how quickly – in a matter of minutes – the Parliament passes a bill to increase their salaries and how bills that would better the lives of the disabled or women linger in Parliament for years at an end. Get the picture?

No one wants their comfortable boats to be rocked. There is a line that cannot be crossed. And the AAP was guilty of crossing the line.

It was refreshing to see a party that believed in transparency. It is time political parties were upfront with the source of their financing. The uber expensive PR campaigns we are witnessing – be it the lengthy TV and print advertisement or the state of the art tea parties – makes us wonder where the funds are coming from. And come to think of it the sight of a CM sleeping on the pavement touched many more people – I am referring to simple people – then the glitzy advertisements that punctuate any TV programme we see.

The Cassandras will come up with all sort of criticisms as days go by. The Pollyannas will hold on to the dream that they believe in. Somewhere in between the likes of us must decide whether we want change and if we do, whether we are willing to forgive mistakes and above all give time to anyone who is willing to walk an honest talk. If we are not, then we are doomed to the old ways for a long time to come.

If I told you that the future of this little girl is linked to the shenanigans of our political masters and the image people have of our country, you may think I am talking nonsense, but sadly that is the reality. It is always the innocent and the helpless that bear the brunt of the wrongdoings of others. India is slowly falling off the map of tourists and donors. The perception of India as an unsafe and unstable place is too big an adversary for this little challenged child. To be able to spend a few hours every day laughing, singing, dancing and learning with her friends is entirely dependent on our ability to keep our doors opened and run our day care for special children. Should we be unable to do, the world as she knows it crashes without a sound. This is also the reality of the 1000 children project why reaches out.

This morning I got a mail that very gently suggested that all is not well and that funds that we were a lifeline may dwindle sooner than we think. It would be untrue if I said that this came as a bolt out of the blue. Actually it was more like a Damocles sword that has been hovering over my head for long that gently fell. I know I have cried wolf many times in the past but each time an Angel appeared and set things right. This time I am not crying wolf.

Some may say that everything has an end and that one should accept this reality and bow to it. How can I! What have my innocent kids done to deserve such a fate. They have played by all the rules and even walked their extra mile. Not only have they passed each examination but have topped their class many times; they have come each and everyday come rain, hail, storm or unrelenting heat. They have done us proud in every way they could. They have proved time and again that they were worthy of our trust and love. How do I tell them that because India is no more the flavour of the day, you are neither. Should I have to do so, I would never be able to look at myself again. They never asked for me, I went to them to fulfil some need of mine. Now it is payback time for me.

I cannot put the clock back and change things. I cannot conjure from a non existent hat a super endowed being who would come and make things right. I cannot wallow about all the I should haves that I did not do. Hindsight is great but futile.

The miracle case scenario would be to find someone who would give us access to the interest of a corpus fund that s/he could withdraw should we fall out of line. Stop dreaming old biddy is what I find myself repeating.

So what do we do. Cut costs is what many would say. So help me out. Which of the 1000 do I axe: my babies in the creche ( I know that is what my reasonable team would suggest) but my heart breaks; the challenged ones, the primary, the secondary, Okhla, Khader and so on. Get the picture. It is more than Sophie’s choice.

I know that as hours pass, I will come out with some band aid solution, have I not always done so. But that is not enough as this day will dawn again and again till the time we find the sustainable solution, if there is one.

I never thought that at the ripe age of 60+ I would be writing a post on colour, I mean the colour of your skin. But in a country where tracking down the robbers and returning the buffaloes to a leading politician has become the top priority of a district police, everything is possible. Apologies for using this example for a post that deals with something as serious as racism, but this is simply to show where our priorities lie. However buffaloes are black and black is not beautiful.

The simple reality is that we are racists though we are not man or woman enough to admit it. Look at our matrimonial ads!

Being different is not easy. I grew up being different and having to fight for my place in the sun. As my parents were diplomatic nomads I was waltzed from country to country every three years. The colour of my skin was never the right one. And what was the worst was that my name which sounded like something out of this planet. As a child I was lucky to find friends who stood by me and made me feel wanted. It was only when I went to boarding school in Switzerland at the age of 15 or so that racism really hit me. My classmates much older than me and from rather rich homes disliked me for being a good student. They made fun of my name, my rather humbler clothes as theirs were branded and ostracized me. In a dining room that had tables for 8, no one sat at my table as I was the ‘noire’, the black one. At 15 it is not easy and I decided to pack up my bags and go home to Ankara where papa was posted.

Later, when I was on the marriage market I was again faced with all this black and white business. Everyone wanted a fair bride. I bore the brunt of some remarks about the colour of my skin and put and end to all this drama and happily found my husband. I know of a dark girl whose family was asked for a car as the girl was so dark! And we say we are not racist.

The incidents that have occurred lately in our capital city targeting Africans and people from the North East have not only touched a chord deep inside me but also saddened me and made me hang my head in shame. What endeared me to my religion as I was growing up in lands of different faiths was the feeling of tolerance I found every time I flung what I thought were trying questions to my parents. Whenever I asked if I could fast with my Muslim friends, go to church with my Christian ones or be part of Sabbath festivities with my Jewish pals, the answer was always a resounding yes and as this game continued I felt stronger in my belief. So when I came across the ugly side of the religion that I had accepted so unconditionally, I was lost. Sadly this sense of loss has deepened as intolerance and aberrations came my way relentlessly.

Today, when I saw that following the terrible death of a young Indian from Arunachal, students from the North East were demanding a law against racism, my heart broke without a sound. Is this the India our forefathers fought for, the India my father told me not to lose faith in shortly before he breathed his last? Is this where we have reached 66 years after Independence?

Our intolerance now seems the rule rather than the exception. The stories that have poured out after the cowardly attack in the middle of the night against young Africans are heart wrenching, more so because that is not who we are. It seems  we have become lulled into stupidity by our so called politicians who have forgotten the spirit of our constitution and decry diversity instead of celebrating it.

Before I carry on, a breaking news that again shows the pits to which we have descended. The buffaloes have been found and 3 cops have been punished for not having done their job promptly enough. This assumes a different proportion in the light of the fact when it comes to dealing with people, the police is to say the least incompetent.

The reason why I am so angry at this intolerance towards people who are different is that I know this is not who we truly are. I would like to share a true life story with you. The story is about Stone, our very first volunteer who was from Uganda. It is true that it took a little time for the community to accept Stone, and it also true that some bad tongues did mention N and H words, but the children accepted him with open arms and as he marched the kids up and down the street, it did not take long for perplexed and even intolerant looks to turn into big broad and welcoming smiles. It was Stone who was the first to open his heart to Manu and to care for him when no one else did, notwithstanding the terrible state he sometimes was in, drenched in his own excrement. Stone would bathe him like you would your own child and never lose his smile. Over the few years he was with us, he not only taught the children but reached out to anyone who needed help. I was quite amused when one day, a woman known for her violence and foul ways slapped a passer by who had dared use the H word for Stone. The morning he left, the whole street was outside and even the most hardened souls were openly weeping. Stone was and African and he was black. As it taken 10 short little years to make us into intolerant wimps too scared to stand up for what is right.

Everything is now a mad scramble for vote banks. Students from the NE began a candle light vigil to seek justice for their murdered kin. Here was a cause to espouse in election times and all political parties jumped in the bandwagon: one aspiring PM screeched his take in a rally, the other chose to sit in with the students, whilst our new CM proposed to make his presence felt today. Where were all these people when a young woman was brutally raped last winter? Oops I guess rape victims are not vote banks to woo.

Will the young boy from Arunachal get justice. I wonder. Will people from the NE get the protection they have been promised is also a big question. Here again it is about changing mindsets and not win to vote banks. I was beside myself when yesterday the coordinator of our women centre told me that some kids were refusing to come to school today as it was Saraswati (Goddess of Learning) puja and they had been told that they were not to touch books and pencils. Now where did this come from and which vote bank does it woo.

Reservations, quotas and affirmative action have become the favoured weapons of our political class even if it goes against the very grain of the Unity and Diversity are kids dutifully learn in their schoolbooks. We are Indians last after being from a city within a state, a caste or sub caste within a religion and so on. And above all we remain stuck on our notion that black is lot beautiful.

The nursery admissions annual nightmare is on. It has had many avatars in the past years, each more ludicrous then the other. In a city where there are 4 tiny tots applying for 1 seat, the odds are really skewed against the poor souls. Over the past years nursery school admission procedures have gone through many mutations and avatars. Each time a problem arises due to the supply and demand situation, a Committee is promptly set and a new set of regulations are made making our children nothing short of guinea pigs. I remember a time when a young woman I knew burst into tears when she came to know she was pregnant. When asked, she answered amidst sobs: I cannot go through a school admission again! I do not blame her as getting your child admitted to school is a herculean task! To give you a taste of what it was 3 years ago in Mumbai, I simply suggest you read this link. This was the time when parents were submitted to a sort of Spanish inquisition. Here is a sampler:

Do you have a PC at home? Are you the carrier of a life threatening disease? How big is your house? What car do you drive? Do you have your tax returns in place? And most importantly, do you have a criminal record? The normal answer would be : this is none of your f****** business!! But beware the wrong answer would deny a place in school to your child.

When the parent’s interview’s were found to be outrageous, a new model was conjured and you had the points system and the possibility of your child being rejected by umpteen schools and the said system was elitist to say the least. Then there was the donation route which again left the humbler children out. All this whilst schools made money hand over fist as they charged greedily for admission forms and you had to fill up umpteen if you wanted to see your kid’s name on the hallowed list. More Committees with unclear terms of reference or should I say hidden agendas. Then came the quota wand! Oh how we love this word: QUOTA! It has been the preferred route of our political masters to muddy waters when they are in a soup. So over and above the points: siblings, gender, alumni, neighbourhood etc there was the management quota that at least protected those who had connections or moolah. It suited some interests.

By this time the debate on neighbourhood school versus 25% reservations for the poor was raging and the later won. Wonder why? Insidious privatisation of education was in full swing instead of the saner option which would have been to improve Government schools and make them a valid option for the the middle class. And therein lies the problem. Everything got lost in translation as inane regulations were drafted and Government schools left to decay. Let us not forget that most of our senior bureaucrats are G school alumni! So quota it was: 25% for the poor and underprivileged and then the point system. Now we all know that we Indian are masters at beating the system. I cannot begin to tell you how many fudged income certificates and tenancy agreement have been made to circumvent the problems. So be it the 25% quota or the neighbourhood points, most of them do not really have the real beneficiaries.

Last week, another bombshell: the scrapping of the management quota. Ouch. It hit where it hurts! And to answer the question our CEO quipped: “Schools are charitable societies and their motive should not be to earn profit. Why are Delhi schools resistant to being transparent? They should not have approached the High court.” I am a bit lost. Education should be run by the State and yet no one talks of revamping the G schools. Now in Delhi, there are Government schools everywhere, almost at walking distance and many have single storied sheds. They have huge grounds and ample space to grow. Instead they are falling apart. Why not look at them and make them the logical option to everyone, and those who have issues about their kids studying with the kids of their staff can built their own gated school. It is time the children of India learned together as it should be and schools became the level playing field. But who will bell the cat.

Till that day, all we will see is more parents harried, more kids suffering and quality education never reaching the child most in need. Let us not forget that parents are now empowered and that even illiterate aspire to a good school for their kids. Education is a a right our kids earned after 6 decades of Independence so please do not botch it for them.

 Today in America, a teacher spent extra time with a student who needed it and did her part to lift America’s graduation rate to its highest levels in more than three decades. This is the way the President Obama began his State of the Union speech. I must confess that I am not interested in American politics, have scant if not no knowledge of economics and other such matters but have admired President Obama’s oratory skills and found inspiration in his speeches. Today his opening words unleashed a torrent of thoughts I could barely control. It is almost the best example of brain mapping one could find and I hope I can put all of it in some coherent way in this post. Please forgive me for the heady cocktail of emotions that I am about to pour out.

(Before we go any further, I would like you to pay a little attention to the picture above. It was taken in our Govindpuri primary class and the teacher you see is Anita one of the first students of Project Why. She joined us when she was in class I and graduated school two years ago. She has been teaching for the past 3 years and is about to complete a Bachelor in Commerce from the Open University. Her father is a contractual worker in a factory and her mother is a housewife. She is an extremely dedicated teacher and has spent many extra hours helping students in need. She came to my mind when I heard Obama’s opening words.)

I heard bits and pieces of the speech as I was going about the morning routine. My mind kept going back to his opening words and suddenly it was like an epiphany that brought some kind of order to the disturbing, angry, sad, despairing and troubling thoughts that I have had in the past weeks as I helplessly watch the political circus and the aberrations that come my way when I flick on a news channel, open the morning paper or browse through a magazine. What you get is a dissonant variation on the same themes. Speeches that mean nothing, sycophancy that makes you gall, promises that are and cannot be kept, vigilantism that makes no sense, protests for to save egos, calls to anarchy, shouting matches on the idiot box, battles over whose statue should be higher, and on the other hand, kangaroo courts that have scant respect for the law of the land and condemn a woman to be gang raped for having loved, courts that uphold antediluvian laws that criminalise a whole section of society for their sexual preferences, bonded labour whose hands are chopped because they dared to speak, a 14 month old girl raped by her father’s friend, homeless dying of the cold in India’s capital city in spite of promises of shelter. The list is endless. Seems like everyone’s priorities are skewed and wrong. It is all about agendas and egos. I almost feel sorry for the desperation to make a statesman out of a reluctant soul because of some feudal and dynastic past we refuse to shed. In our land a beggar’s son has to be a beggar and a leader’s son a leader.

I am sick and tired of all the, moral policing. I was shocked to hear the spokesperson of a leading political party defend her party’s view on homosexuality, a view that reeked of false morality. I am sick of vote bank politics that accept denying basic human rights to people who hurt no one.

For the past weeks I have been wondering why I am so disturbed. It was Obama’s words that made me realise why. If you think of any recent speech by the PM, by aspiring PMs, by leader of political parties, any political debate on TV and so on you realise that you never hear anything about education, or of you do it is yet another promise that will remain just that. Obama began his speech by talking of a teacher and a student and the need to lift graduation levels. He had his priorities right. Change, empowerment can only happen when people get education and not the kind of literacy that we see in India, where writing your name makes count as ‘literate’.

 What we hear in our political firmament is one person attacking his opponent time after time, or vague promises of empowering large sections of society like the women and youth (they form the largest vote banks). No one tells us how. We never hear of education because children are not vote banks. We do not hear of malnutrition that stunts the development of children, of hunger that makes women ferret rat holes for grain. We never hear anyone telling us they will ensure that every child will go to school including the child who begs at red lights and that no one will go to sleep hungry. Hunger is something that deprives you of every shred of dignity as you spend every living minute thinking of food and how to feed your children.

The women, the youth you want to empower can only become empowered if they are not hungry, if they have a roof on their heads. And once you have dealt with hunger, the first step to empowerment is education and unless you address that problem India cannot change. We all should be ashamed of the state of our education.

I have written ad nauseum about the state of our education as I have, for the past 14 years, seen every aspect of what we call education in India, beginning from the aberration of a paltry 33% to acquire a certificate or degree that gets you nothing to the pathetic and shameful state of state run schools. I have also witnessed the heart breaking hunger for learning in every child that has come to project why. I have seen failures become toppers with just a gentle push and spent many a sleepless night wondering how could help more such children with the meagre resources at my disposal.

Education in India is abysmal. It is not I alone who says that. A UNESCO report published yesterday states that even after completing four years of school, 90% of children from poorer households remain illiterate. And this also holds true for around 30% of kids from poorer homes despite five to six years of schooling. This in spite of all the policies, Acts of Parliament and promises we are now sick of hearing. And as for the women that one of our aspiring PM wants to ’empower’, if things remain as they are the richest young women have already achieved universal literacy, the poorest are projected to do so only by 2080. That is 66 years down the line.

Simply sending children to school and giving yourself a pat in the back is not enough. With the no fail policy till class VIII you now have children who will spend 8 years on a school bench and still be illiterate though they will have a certificate saying they are class VII passed!

The same report also states that India has the highest population of illiterate adults: India has the highest population of illiterate adults, 287 million, 37% of the total population of such people across the world, according to Unesco’s Education for All (EFA) Global Monitoring report.

Every time we eat out we pay an education cess of 3%. I realised this a few days back. Where does the money go? It is shameful that in India’s capital city we cannot send all our children to school in the most productive hours ie mornings. Our boys go to school after 1pm when the girls have finished their shift. Schools still run in barracks or even tents and in the open come rain, sunshine or cold. Over 100 children are crammed in a class meant for 40 kids. What kind of enabling environment is this. It takes court interventions to get drinking water or acceptable toilets. And no one cares.

I feel both humbled, blessed, frustrated and elated at the fact that for the past 14 years we have been reaching out to an average of 600 kids a year. Today our headcount is 1000 but will not remain so for long as we have limited resources and the cost of living will compel us to cut our numbers in order to retain our staff.

I wish people who have deep pockets understood the importance of education and reached out to those like us who have our priorities right and helped us. But it is simply banging your had against a wall and no matter how hard a nut you have, there comes a time when it hurts and you give up.

So when I see what is happening I see red. A government we elected because we thought it may be different has lost its way. And unless they too have an epiphany, we are condemned to more of the same.

What have the children of India done to deserve this fate. Stupid me. We are feudal and a beggar’s child has to remain just that: a beggar’s child!

Anyone who has a modicum of decency, a grain of compassion and a tiny bit of heart should hang her/his head in shame on the eve of our 65th celebration of our Constitution. A magazine that has hit the stands today and is not yet fully on line though you can read parts of it at this link, chose to place some very disturbing figures on its cover along the title: India’s lost children. 38% of our children are forced into sex trade, 23% are forced into domestic servitude, 4% routed to work at hotels and hospitals, 3% shackled at sweetmeat and garment units. Please buy a copy of The Week and read on if you have the guts to do so. An article on how child traders chose their victims made me physically sick. Here is a screenshot of the beginning of the article so that you understand

 God to whom little boys say their prayers has a face very like their mother’s wrote Sir James Barry. I had written a post with the same title way back in 2007 when Utpal was just 5. At that time we still believed we were miracle makers and the day would come when the little lad would one day have his mom just to himself. But God had other plans. Today Utpal is almost 12. For the past 5 years he has not heard from his mom who left one day and never even called to ask about her son. In the meantime I got his legal guardianship. He battled his demons in his own way. Not getting the answers he wanted because we did not have them, he resorted to challenging behaviour and aggression. With love and patience we helped him craft a new set of relationships and slowly he began to accept us and think of our home as his. 

But the God to whom little boys say their prayers has a face very like their mother’s, and he was just that: a little boy. Last week I had gone shopping with him as I needed a frame for a picture. While I was going about my work, he came to me with a frame in his hand. The frame was an accordion like one with place for 4 pictures. He told me he wanted it. I asked him whose pictures we wanted in them and he said in this other: My mummy, Maam’ji, Agatya and Sirji  (husband). I was stunned, moved and angry. Angry because I had just come to know that his mother had come back and remarried a man with 3 children; moved by the fact that he had not forgotten her and stunned because it had been a long time since he had mentioned her. 

His counsellor has advised us not to tell him about the mother and the new family, he is just entering his teens and has moved school and is still dealing with the bullying he had to suffer in his previous school. The court too felt the same way. We will need to tread slowly as the last thing he needs is for his life to be turned on its head.

Moms sometimes do not realise how much their child loves them, even if they have been abusive or unkind. I have made his little frame and will give it to him when I go and visit him.

Miracles are what happens when you get out of the way of yourself wrote Brad Szollose. Perhaps that is why the big miracle I sought -making project why sustainable- never occurred. You see I was always in the way. The reason why sustainability is so important to me does not stem from hubris for arrogance. It does not emanate from any misplaced desire to see my work live beyond me. Far from that. My wish to see the work I started comes from the simple fact that I never want my children to stop smiling. It springs from my hope to fulfil the dreams of my children, dreams that they have so trustingly put in my custody. It arises from the frightening thought that the very people who made all this possible and stood by me through thick and thin find themselves on the road. It derives from the very spirit of project why that was to change at least one life. I am nowhere in the picture and should someone want to obliterate my name from my work on the condition of continuing it in the same spirit, I would humbly accept and be eternally grateful.

For the past 6 years or so I have strived to find the magic wand that would open the way to our sustainability. I have made plans and more plans and knocked at every door possible. I have begged and pleaded but to no avail. And with each day passing I have also accepted the fact that big dreams will not come to happen as my strength wanes and my gait dawdles. The options in my bag of tricks are few.

The only way now is if a kind soul, a philantropist, a generous heart or a bunch of them gave me a corpus fund the interest of which could run the project. I am willing to trim the project to the size of the interest. What I seek is not much for many. In my country it would be barely what people spend on one event of a wedding or on a theme party; on 3 hand bags carrying the right label or 4 pairs of shoes! But I do not know such people and maybe investing in something where your dividends are not cash but a smile of gratitude, a first position in an exam or a job you could never have got is maybe asking too much.

Today I am putting this post out on the world wide web and getting out of the way. My only prayer is that it is read by someone whose heart is in the right place and who would invest in a smile.

I will put this post up over and over again and maybe the miracle will happen.

You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed wrote St Exupery in the Little Prince. The operative word is : forever! Never did the ‘forever’ assume a more heart wrenching meaning then when Utpal was home for his winter holidays. You see he walked into a home where a humongous elephant had hogged all the space. I mean death as unfortunately whichever way you look at it, the dreaded word cancer brings the idea of the grim reaper even in the most optimistic mind. Somehow Popples too sensed the mood. Sirji not being well had brought changes to Maam’ji, even if they were invisible to others. The little fellow reacted the way any child would: he became demanding, impossible and even moody. At first I thought it was because I could not give him as much time as I would otherwise have and making demands was his way of getting my attention even if it meant my getting irritable and angry. But I soon realised that there was more troubling him.

I tried to reason with him as he is usually quite open to discussion but of no avail. I even got irritated and told him that he was now a big boy. His answer was unexpected: I do not want to grow up. These 7 words were an eye opener. There was something that was compelling this child to withdraw into a space he felt was a safe one. If he did not grow up than things will remain the same. That is how a child’s mind functions.

I was deeply disturbed and called his counsellor. She decided to meet him immediately and the session was a difficult one as he was in tears most of the time. It was evident that he was troubled by some deep seated fears. His counsellor realised that he was terrified of losing me. She decided to have another session and talk to him about life and death. Surprisingly the session went well though I do not know how much his fears were allayed as this happened just a day before he returned to school.

This whole incident shook me deeply. One Utpal landed in my life I had no idea of what it would entail. Men proposes but God disposes. I had thought that we would be able to save his mother from the bottle and settle her whilst placing Utpal in a boarding school. This plan went awry and Utpal became my legal ward. I became responsible for him forever. But now the forever has taken a new meaning. This forever had to be beyond me and this had to be explained to this little prince who was refusing to grow. The challenge I face is to reassure Utpal that I will be with him forever even if it is not quite in the way he hopes. So help me God.

I never go to Mc Donald’s of for that matter to any eatery at all. Like all kids Utpal does like an occasional burger and as he is off to school tomorrow I allowed him a ‘treat’. So off he went to McD and got himself a burger and coke. I normally do not check bills in detail but today I picked up the bill from Utpal’s room as it was lying on the floor and though I normally do not peruse such bills, today I did. Imagine my surprise when I saw added to the VAT and other takes a 25 education cess and a 1% Higher Education cess!

I think we have all got somewhat inured to all the indirect taxes levied upon us and pay them blindly. It is time we became aware of all these taxes and levies and started asking questions about how they are actually used. Seeing the state of primary schools in our capital city makes me wonder whether any of this money ever reaches the right destination.

Just wanted to share this.

What a country we live in. Incredible India! We love to quote our multi millinery civilisation at the drop of a hat, but that is just what we do ‘quote’. All the rest is forgotten. I wonder how many of us know about the values and principles of our traditions. Or if we know that, they remain just that ‘knowledge’ but rarely turn into action. As I wrote in my last blog, it took years for someone in power to get outraged at homeless people sleeping in the bitter cold and do something. I am quite cross at the nit picking we hear on the media about how effective are the new night shelters provided by our brand new government. At least this is the first government that has done something concrete for the homeless who slept year after year in full public view for whom they were invisible. Plastic tents and old buses are better than the cold ground and the stars! Rome was not made in a day! At least they are moving in the right direction.

And talking of Rome, we have our very own sets of Neros who were/are fiddling while the city burns. The media is replete with pictures of leaders enjoying Bollywood extravaganzas while just a few miles away children die in the cold. Tens of millions of rupees were spent on flying in stars in private jets with total impunity. And that is not all, those who are not at the song and dance jamboree are taking of for study tours to exotic locales like Venice and Cairo and Dubai. Wonder what they will learn. The tour has been called tour of commonwealth countries, as if that makes it more kosher, though in the list of countries they visit, only one is a commonwealth country! Maybe they should first be given lessons at home on school basics. Legislators from across the land earn the privilege of two study tours per tenure. I guess we have to pay for them though we are never told. We also have to pay for the amusement of those we elect. It makes me gall. I also saw red when one of the ‘students’ had the audacity to state on camera that the State was only spending 40 to 50 million! Just imagine how many homes for the poor could be made with that. And if that was not enough, referring to the death of 48 children in the Muzaffarnagar, a minister had the audacity to state: Deaths of children, adults and elderly are inevitable. It isn’t necessary that only those living in camps are dying. People die in palaces too. Speechless.

The Muzaffarnagar riot victims are living in abysmal conditions whilst political parties feed on them to fulfil their dubious agendas. While the political show goes on, people brave the winter in terrible conditions. A recent article highlights the stories of these forgotten souls. These are survival stories about real people who battle all odds to survive while those they elected to protect them make merry. Speechless again.

What is absolutely revolting is the impunity with which they defend these aberrations when faced with a tricky question. Perhaps they feel it is a bit like the R& R given to those who work in harsh situations. Come on being a legislator in India is no mean task!