This is my darling Popples! And this is the way I would always like to see him: happy and safe! This is also what I had endeavoured to achieve from the first time I saw him scalded and in pain. That was when, I looked into his beautiful eyes and I pledged to myself in silence. That was in 2003. The last 10 years did not go as I had planned in my hubris. Heal his wounds, help his mother give up the bottle and settle the family as best I could whilst giving him a sound education. It that was not the big picture God had planned for the both of us.

A series of unforeseen circumstances, some truly terrible, landed me and him in front of a children’s court where he decided to live with me. He was 8.  He was in boarding school since the age of 4 years and 4 months, and seemed happy! Within months his mother vanished never to be heard of again till date and he found himself deprived of his natural family, however dysfunctional  it may have been. And then the questions that needed answers but had none, started disturbing him but the child was unable to mouth them, let alone find answers. He grew aggressive and impossible to manage. I needed professional help and once again the Gods were kind and we found the right intervention team. He was diagnosed with post traumatic stress disorder and severe mood dysregulation and put on medication and long term counselling. It was a nightmare at the beginning as he would resist any form of counselling but as time passed he settled into a pattern and started feeling better. I heaved a huge sight of relief. But it was to be short lived.

As the disturbing questions that had remained in his mind were slowly voiced, he shared with his counsellor the pain of being bullied at school. His scars were the butt of hurtful comments that this child with little or no emotional immunity was unable to handle. His grades dropped and his usual smile became rarer and rarer. We intervened with the school authorities who promised to take care of the situation. We thought things would improve but they did not.

I requested  his counsellor to visit the school and talk to the concerned teachers and authority as I thought that it was important that they understand that this child was going through real psychological problems and was challenged in many ways and needed understanding and help. The experience was traumatic for the both of us: the counsellor and I. For me it was going back 13 years in time when I sat in the dim and forbidding Dickensian office of a Government school Principal trying to find out why my class X boys were beaten with almost obsessive regularity. The answers in both the cases were the same. Notwithstanding high court and supreme court judgements against corporal punishment, it seemed that beating was the only way teachers and school heads believed brought results. I froze as I remembered how pwhy kids were targeted in their respective schools after my intervention, almost as a retaliation. How could I not remember what the horrid and obnoxious Government School principal told me 13 years ago: You run your NGO and I will run my school the way I like. Seeing how my kids were treated, I beat a quick retreat. Was it going to be a repeat scenario in Utpal’s case?

Bullying is not considered a problem though we all know the extreme trauma that can ensue. Just last week a 12 year succumbed to the trauma of being bullied by her seniors in school. Imagine the trauma Utpal must be feeling when he is time and again called: a burnt banana peel or a charred Kentucky chicken leg! But to the school this just seemed par to the course, a way of toughening the child up. I guess that is the logic used to justify beating.

We were terribly disturbed when his class teacher decided to state in the loudest of voices the fact that Utpal had developed a new bad habit: he apparently ‘lied’ when he had not completed his task. This was said in front of Popples and his class. The counsellor was horrified and asked to talk to the teacher alone while I decided to practice French with the class. Variations on the same theme were experienced as we moved from teacher to teacher towards the grand finale in the hallowed room of the head of the school.

The counsellor tried her best to explain Utpal’s case and how this child was suffering in silence that was broken only when he met his counsellor. None of this was ever shared with me. My little Popples knew that I wanted him to study in school and be happy there. How could he break my dream! But for the past months his grades started falling and in hindsight I see that there were lots of cries for help that I did not decipher. When he left for school after this summer holiday he wept is heart out something he had not done for years. Anyway we did understand his pain and that is why we had made this visit. But somehow, even the head of the institution was closed to accepting that traumas and mood disorders were not serious enough to harm a child forever. He recounted an incident whereby he had to resort to two tight slaps – his words – to get a child to admit his fault. I think that was when the penny dropped for me and I knew it was time to find another place for Utpal.

The problem had gone beyond Utpal. Bullying is not just the problem of the one bullied, but also that of the one who bullies. The same goes for beating a child. These are power games played by individuals with low self esteem and their own demons. It is the reflection of the society we live in.

When we began pwhy, the on thing that shocked me was the amount of physical abuse children had to bear: at home because of their mothers frustrations or their father’s drunkenness; in schools because their teachers had come from homes where child abuse was considered ‘normal’. I cannot tell you how many parents have told us to ‘beat’ their kids if they do not study or obey. The adult-child relationship is one of power where kids are the favourite whipping boy. And when you look at things in this light then you are tempted to put up your hands and surrender. That is not the way to go. Many teachers in pwhy have lost their jobs when we came to know that they had ‘beaten’ a child. I could be just a little tap on the head, but the consequences are the same. Many years ago I asked a little girl who was walking bach home and crying what had happened. She told me her teacher had beaten her. When I asked her why, she simply said she did not know. My blood ran cold. Something was not right. Sometime later when we asked a group of Class X students what is the one change they would make in school if they were given a chance todo so, I would have bet my bottom dollar that they would say: stop the beating! But that was not the answer we got. They felt that the one change that would make things better was that they be told the reason for the beating they were to get. This was nothing short of frightening. Children accept violence as something normal. That means they accept power games and God forbid many of them would replicate the same when they become adults. Some may simply restrict their power game to the confines of their homes but others may walk a step further that could end in something as nightmarish as a gang rape.

I am told time and again that beating is necessary. Some of staff were quite aghast when I told them that they would lose their job if they ever lifted a hand on a child, and by child I mean 0 to 18! There are million of other ways to make a child understand her fault. Yes they are time consuming and not easy to implement compared to a ‘tight slap’, but you can get your way without lifting or your voice. We have been doing so for 14 years with success. We have also dealt with bullying and inclusion. Our children respect each other because we respect them as individual human beings.

I was frankly disturbed and saddened to see that this approach exists in what is known as ‘good’ schools. I would have thought otherwise. I guess the curriculum for education degrees do not give sufficient space to the adult-child equation. That is where things need to begin. Wishful thinking in a land where 99% teachers failed to clear the Central Teacher Eligibility Test (CTET) 2012. And it is in the hands of these teachers that we entrust our most precious possession: our children. Need I say more.

The past few days, weeks, months and year have been difficult, stressing and very trying. One year to figure out what was making my husband wane in front of my eyes, and the last 2 months or so dealing with an unwanted guest who has surreptitiously taken my life over, or almost over as I struggle to find the almost invisible cracks and try to fit in vestiges of life as I knew it. My moments of sanity have been in my writing as many of you may have realised. But today it was time out day!

Today was PTM day and an important one at that as I was also taking Utpal’s counsellor with me to meet his teachers but you will have to wait for another post to know what happened as I do not want this one to have even a tinge of negativity.

As some of you may remember from earlier posts, PTM day has always been by never fail feel good shot, and though I could not spend as much time as I would have wanted with the children, just hugging them made the dark clouds vanish. It was as if the moment I entered the gates of the school, I had stepped out the world of Sir Hodgkin and his retinue of injections, tests, and chemos and entered a place where hope and joy were the only guest allowed!

I have put two almost alike pictures as in each them the six kids (two were missing) have different expressions and each one is a masterpiece. I could look at these snaps for long and still find something new that hides behind what is seen. What a wonderful feeling.

When I think of the traumas each of these kids have suffered for not fault of theirs before they came to this place I guess goose bumps. Two of them, Utpal and Meher had to go through a baptism by fire before life smiled at them, one never knew if her rag picker mum would have earned enough so that she and her three siblings would not sleep hungry; one was almost adopted by a page 3 family and then dropped like a hot potato. Each one of them with a story that would wrench your heart.

But then miracles happen! I have seen so many over the past 10 years. So here they are: a bunch of kids many would have given up on, forging a new morrow filled with hope and love of course. And looking at them smile makes your worst fears vanish, at least as long as you are in their hallowed space.

Time out it was!

Here is a picture of the fab four that are running project why at present. You may recognise the three musketeers standing, but the fourth, sitting on a chair is someone I have not talked about much. And yet he has been keeping the project afloat and cruising since its very inception. Every one knows him as Mamaji. Mamaji means mother’s brother in Hindi, and Satish has been like a brother to me more since I lost my parents. I could not have survived the myriad of formalities that follow the death of an individual and it was only because of his help that I could overcome all that was needed to be done. When project why was a bare thought in mind, the first name that came to me was his. I felt a little shamefaced when I realised that I had never written about him in the numerous blogs that trace the project why story. And it is not just his role in pwhy but his life story which needs to be told.

I first met Mamaji almost 30 years ago when he started looking after my father’s financial issues: insurance, investments etc. My father’s bank manager had introduced Satish to him and somehow Papa liked him from day one. Papa was very intuitive about people and rarely warmed up to anyone at the first sight, but he did with Satish. In those days Mamaji use to come on a bicycle from the boonies and he later confided in me that he owned one shirt and had to wash it every night. Those were the days of terylene drip dry shirts. Many of those reading this blog would not even know what they looked like. Anyway Mamaji use to to pedal across the city and I must say was a far cry form the rotund man he is now. He looked after Papa’s affairs meticulously though he had one huge defect that made Papa very cross. That huge defect is still very much there but it is part of who he is, his unique identification number. That defect is that he is never on time, and by on time I do not mean a few minutes or more but it could be hours. Papa on the other hand was a true diplomat who always reached on time. I cannot recall the number of times we have circled around houses where we were invited before ringing the bell at the given time. This is something I inherited and totally out of sync with a city called Delhi where the expression ‘fashionably late’ acquires a new dimension.

I also cannot recall the number of times Papa delayed his afternoon tea as Satish was supposed to come at let us say 5pm. The pakora (fritter) batter was ready, the vegetables cut and the oil on low heat. 5 would become 5.30 and mama would urge him to have his tea. remember there were no mobile phones in those days! But the gentleman that he was would not. Mamaji would arrive at  6 or even 6.30 and Papa, who would have spent the previous hour cursing  and pacing as he was a man who could not bear hunger would not, as one would expect get angry at the young man who was all sweat, apologies and smile, but would welcome him with a big smile and a loud ‘get the tea’ meant for the kitchen staff. It must have taken mama and I a few more waiting sessions to convince Papa that he should have his tea and snack at 5 and we would make some for Satish when he came. I think Papa admired this young man who was honest, hard working and sincere. I also think the Heavens do stand by such souls as Mamaji graduated from bicycle, to two wheelers, to car and then cars! What is remarkable is that he never compromised on the values he respected.

I think Papa did have a talk with Satish just before he died and asked him to stand by me. He did and the reason why I could walk effortlessly into Papa’s shoes, was because of him. And he was the person I felt I could trust to stand by me when I decided to start Project Why. I could never have handled or handle the complex paper work administrative and financial, one has to comply with to run a charity in India.

Mamaji still comes late but we all have got used to it. When he tells me he is five minutes away, he could be miles away, I sternly ask him his exact location and get a truthful answer.  One of the reasons for this annoying habit of his, is that he cannot say no to anyone. And spite of being late he always delivers what he has promised. To me, he has been God sent as I could not have run pwhy without his presence and help.

True he can be brusque at times and lacks  savoir faire and such social graces, but his other qualities make up for his lack of tact. What he does is always for the good of any situation and one cannot ask him to sugar coat the bitter pill.

I have great admiration for this man as I know how much he struggled in his life and the price he paid to get where he is. He could be an inspiration for many, but today’s young want to get everything and get it fast.

For the past two months, he has stood like a rock next to me and handled all the ludicrous paperwork needed to get Ranjan his treatment. I do not know how many trips he has made to the airport to get the credit notes that are needed to benefit from Ranjan’s Air India insurance! I would have given up, but not he and the nicest thing is that he never looses his smile.

 True he can be infuriating at times, but which younger brother isn’t! 

In the latest issue of a popular weekly is an article about gang rape. I waited patiently for the said article to come on line before writing this post. I urge you to read this article as it differentiates between a gang rape and rape by a lone individual. The boys you see smiling in this picture are project why students from Okhla. They are great kids and yet if things went wrong they could turn into gang rapists. Why? Simply because children in India have been let down in every which way possible, all their rights usurped by one and all. The December gang rape got us out on the streets; we did get out of your stupor and broke our usual silence, just for the time we thought would be adequate before returning to our lives. I guess it was because the Delhi rape was too close for comfort and we seemed to pretended to be satisfied with a Commission, the efforts of which we must salute and the watered down ordinance that was promulgated in haste. We crawled back into our comfort zones completely oblivious to the innumerable rapes and gang rapes that happened with as much alacrity and impunity. Then some days back we woke up again or should I say paid attention without leaving our comfort zones to the gang rape of the young photo journalist in Mumbai. The death penalty we had so vehemently demanded for the Delhi gang rape was again heard.

In the nine months between the two gang rapes, the perpetrators of the first one are on the verge of receiving their sentence. One died in jail in. The other, a minor received the maximum sentence possible under the prevailing law of the land. The question of lowering the age of a minor for heinous crimes should certainly be debated and reviewed, but as it stand today, he has got the maximum punishment.

This blog is not meant to defend any one or any law. It is just meant to share my views on these issues given the fact that I have been working for the past 13 years with children who can, if not helped, turn into law breakers and even brutal rapist.

The article I quoted, and provide the link again, should be read carefully to understand why young people can turn to brutal predators in the social environment that they are forced to live in. According to a sociologist: One must separate rape from gang rape, a single person raping a single woman with a knife at her throat is one thing. But groups of boys getting together, for a ‘boys’ night out’, and having fun at the expense of a lone wounded woman is something else. The phenomena exists world wide. These gang rapes are power games meant to display their manhood. The leader is often the most insecure but being in a pack, like wolves or dogs, makes him brave and fool hardy and often the most violent of the lot. The article also gives a wide range of other scientific reasons for such terrible cases and unless these reasons are not addressed, gang rapes will continue.

India is sitting on a huge tinder box that will blow at hour faces if we do not something, and do it quick.  Soon we will have over 706 million marginalised, restless young people on our hands as is aptly pointed out in an incisive article by Anuja Chauhan. I know there millions who are very angry at the fact that the juvenile rapist has ‘got away’ with three years in a remand home. I would just like to draw your attention on what his life  was and it should have been if things worked right. I am surprised at the fact that even educated people are reacting in this manner. I would want the boy hanged if someone told me it would put and end to rapes in India. But sadly it is not so. His is the story of thousands of young boys who flee or are sent to the ‘big’ city to earn a living as there was no hope left in their village. He had dropped out of school, his father was mentally ill and his mother earned barely enough to feed her 5 kids. Like many others he got a job in a eatery always on the look out for such children who are cheap labour. He sent money home and then silence. His mother thought he was dead. She only heard of him after the rape. In the past 7 years nothing has changed in his home. It is still as hopeless as when he left it. Like many other boys he got involved in a pack, and that was his downfall. On that fateful night he emerged as the most violent as he was probably the one with the lowest self esteem, the one who had to prove himself.

True he will be out in less than three years because he was a ‘minor’ on the day he ran with the wolves. Will the three years be able to reform him. Keeping in mind the state of our reform homes, I wonder if anything will change. A reform home cannot make up for the lost childhood and the years this boy had to survive in a big city.

So where have we gone wrong and who is responsible. In spite of the innumerable schemes and rights that exist on paper or at best are poorly implemented, children from poor homes do not get what is their due. Schools do not run or are not enabling spaces, but spaces where brutality and abuse are the order of the day. The quality of education is abysmal, the child goes from class to class without learning anything and if he does not drop out then he often gets a certificate with 33%. This does not give him access to any employment at all. I work with children from such homes. Our Okhla centre was opened in a garbage dump simply because we found out children from the slums tucked away in between factories were being used by local mafias to push drugs and steal from the goods trains that often stopped on the tracks behind the dump. Today 300 children study at our centre. They are all mainstreamed and doing very well. They also learn computers and love it. A few years ago, I was told that the leader of the local gang was looking for me and wanted to ‘kill’ me. His name was Aiyya. I was amused and said I wanted to meet him. Someone went looking for him and found him. My would be murdered was a young man with a broad smile. He looked gentle. When I asked him if he really wanted to kill me, he fell at my feet.

I spent a long time talking to this young lad who I know was and addict, a drug pusher and probably indulged in many more crimes, I saw a child whose dreams had been crushed by circumstances. I could not hold my tears when he said: I wish you were here when I was growing up. I asked him if there was anything I could do for him now and his reply was heartbreaking. he simply said: we are now used to easy money and the life that goes with it. We will not be able to earn an honest living but please make sure these children do! Aiyya may one night be part of a boys night out and run with wolves and land himself in trouble, or he may just continue his life of crime till he is caught. There is no hope for him. I just pray he remains safe.

What can be done you may ask. There is a solution or many, but does our Government have the will to do so. Schools have to be run properly, but we cannot even manage to do that in our capital city. And most of all skills need to be taught from class VII itself so that a child that graduates or even fails knows a skill that will give him a start. I am not a Narendra Modi fan but I cannot but agree with him when he says: “The nation’s priority is skill development. We have 65 per cent youth in our country. They are hard working but they lack skills. They have certificates. The Central government thinks that a certificate by itself grants a person skills for employment, just like they believe that the Food Security legislation by itself can feed the nation“. The question is whether these words are just political drama or whether he will walk the talk if need be.

Between 1971 and 2011 rape has grown by 873%! What has changed is the environment.Today the advent of contract workers has deprived migrants of any security. As Dipankar Gupta says:  They have no security, no roof over their head, no family support and as they are thrown together with each other by circumstance, they indulge in reckless behaviour and do not think about repercussions. They have no one to answer to and no one to go back to. It’s an inflammable lot.”

So will the kids in this picture grow up to be good citizens or will they run with the wolves. Only time will tell.

There are many side effects to my husband’s cancer and chemotherapy. I am not talking of the medical ones listed on every site possible. I am talking about the good side effects, those that are unique to each case of Mr Hodgkin and his ilk. These are the unexpected side effects, the ones that are serendipitous and happen without warning and warm the cockles of one’s heart.

For the past as many years as project why has been in existence, I have never failed to go each day and spend time at the different sites. I do admit that the time spent became shorter as the project became bigger and the team stronger, but still being the control freak I am, I could not resist going or if I did, resist I mean, then I would call I do not know how many times and then grill the girls when they came home. Even when I left the city for a few days, and it must not be more than 10 spread over 10 years, I never missed calling. In hindsight I must admire my team for their patience and forbearance. They must love me immensely! And though I did trust my team implicitly. It just that me control freak who could not give up ‘my control trip and limit myself to my duties: raising funds and writing! I guess there was a bit of an ego trip too as project why was/is what I have done best in my life, or so I would like to believe.

But a man who died almost 200 years ago changed everything when he decided to come visiting! I mean Mt Hodgkin of course! His arrival meant a change of priorities, at least till things got better and he was booted up. But he is a tough customer and here to stay for some time at least. Unlike others of his kind, who get pacified with a few pills or pokes, this guy is erratic and unpredictable and demands all your attention. So its is one control freak pitted against the other. But I am digressing, this post is not about the flights of fancy of Mr H, but about the good side effects of his unsolicited presence.

The past two months have seen me withdraw and ultimately take leave of absence from project why. A case of force majeure! My time table is so hectic and erratic that there is no may I can plan fixed time for project why. Not even the phone calls! Yet project why had been running perfectly thanks to three incredible persons who not only carry on the day-to-day activities, but handle all challenges and problems with flair and aplomb. Rani who was just a kid when she first came to us, has bloomed into a manager even the Gods would recruit. From a shy and slightly withdrawn teenager, she has grown into a mature and poised woman who handles a large part of project why and ensures that all runs well. You could not fine a better option. Shamika, who also happens to be my daughter, seconds Rani in the daily running of the project and looks after our most cherished class: the special one! Mr H has made me see my own child in a new light: as a mature and capable young woman. If Rani is the perfect administrator,  Shamika is her mother’s daughter as she sees with her heart. The two of them make a better me!

The girls run Govindputi, Giri Nagar and Okhla. But a few kilometers away is our women centre with over 300 children and women. One may think it is headed by a woman. Not at all. This centre is run by Dharmendra, an incredibly humane person and a social activist at heart. I am amazed at how much we have in common as his views are completely in sync with mine. So over and above our basic mission, he finds time to deal with social and environmental issues that are close to my heart. A true gem!

These three musketeers have taken over the running of Project Why and I must confess they do a better job than I ever could. They are supported by an exceptional team. So a huge and wonderful side effect of Mr H has been the  realisation that project why is in the best hands I could have wished for and I can rest in peace and carry one my one point mission of kicking out Mr H as soon as possible.

Today as we celebrate teacher’s day, I salute these three gems humbly. They are the ones who gave wings to my impossible dreams. It is time I let them fly free.

Chapeau Bas guys!

Who said they could not do it. I am talking about my very special kids and their exceptional teachers. This is how the story goes: Shamika the leader of the crew came to me one morning asking for 2000 rupees to paint her class. Need to be noted that her class is a three room flat! I told her I would tell our administrator to get the painting done as soon as we had some extra funds. She can be very stubborn and more so because I am not just Ma’am but also Mom. She told me she and her kids were capable of painting the class and anyway they also wanted to decorate it so no painter would do. I know my Shamika, when she gets in this kind of mode, then even God would not be able to change her mind. I meekly gave her the money.

Now her crew is three teachers and a bunch of differently abled children and when I imagined them trying to get to the top of the wall or the roof, my heart stopped. Would they use ladders? And what if they fall? Did it really need painting? But I dared not ask as Shamika would never accept any advice or suggestion that could in anyway show her kids in a bad light. But the thought of Umesh on a table with a paint brush or a roller made my blood run cold. Umesh has cerebral palsy. Anyway I prayed to all the Gods for their safety. The following days I asked if all was well and was told that everything was fine. Then one day, Shamika sent me some pictures and asked me to print them as they wanted to draw them on the walls. I did as I was told.

Yesterday I was shown some pictures and I could not believe my eyes. What a wonderful and perfect job these kids and their caretakers had done. But then have not always believed in the ability of those people call ‘disabled’. What an ugly word. These children have taught me so much and have always been my feelgood shot! I really miss them and must make time in my new life for them.

I leave you to decide the worth of their work. And btw they did it all in 2000 Rs! It would have cost us 10 times more had we got painters in.

For the first time in our life, we are sure we have enough to eat. So instead of spending 15 hours a day trying to find money to buy roti and salt, we have started a cooperative and are running a dairy. These are the words that end an incisive and eye opening article on the Food Security Bill. Like too many of us I fell for the damaging hysteria and misinformation campaign, till I kicked myself for having doubted even for an instant the validity of a legislation that aimed at eradicating hunger. Never mind the flaws, never mind the abysmal past records of poor implementation of social projects, never mind the fear of possible corruption such a bill needs to be lauded. As is rightly said article, none of us have ever experienced what hunger is! None of us have experienced the total bewilderment of one family wondering why another family exactly like theirs hold a magic card that gives them access to food! None of us has had to rock a toddler wailing with hunger to sleep. None of us seems to process the terrifying statistics that we read or hear about. Be it the 5000+ children who die every day of malnutrition related problems or the fact that one out of very two children in India is malnourished. None of us seems to fathom the fact that these malnourished kids will grow stunted both physically and mentally. None of us seems to realise that these stunted kids will be tomorrow’s frustrated youth, 706 million of them! Unless we address shortcomings now, God help us later!

Let us come back to the Food Security Bill and our apprehensions. True a few kilos of grain cannot make hunger disappear in a jiffy. But there are two important elements in this Bill that we seem to overlook. These address the crucial 9 months and 1000 days which are the most important in the growth of any child: the 1000 rupees a month to pregnant and lactating mothers for a duration of six months, and the (in)famous midday meal. It is sad that these have been in place for over 3 decades and not run the way they should have. Without these we cannot hope to solve the spectre of malnutrition. May be now that Food Security will become a right, things may improve provided there are people with a heart and a conscience who take up the cudgels on behalf of these voiceless and vote less children and make it happen.

The follower of Antisthenes, I mean the cynics, will find many flaws and shortcomings to this Bill. And yes there are many. They will crib about the cost, about making society dependent and hence lazy, about pilferage and rotting grains. But we need to look beyond all this, or rather change our perception and look at this Right as an investment in India’s growth story. And it is not only food that we need to give them but clean water, toilets, housing and a good education that will allow them to become assets rather than liabilities.

I have often wondered why our educationists have not an education system where children after class VIII are taught vocational skills along with basic education. Skills that will allow them to enter the work force in better conditions. As a growing economy we need skilled people and many of these could be imparted along with the three Rs. Carpentry, electrical work, tailoring, the list is endless. Today kids are taught practically nothing that can make them earn a decent living. In France there is an option called Bac en alternance. After clearing the equivalent of our class X, students can opt for a class XII (Baccalaureate) where they learn a trade while studying. For instance if a kid wants to be baker he spends 2 days in school and three days working in a bakery. These options are for the less academically inclined kids who then do not need any further education. This should be adopted in India as soon as possible, before we produce too many frustrated and angry youngsters. But that will not be as our rulers and policy makers are content with churning out innumerable youngsters with 33% pass percentages as they make potential easily manipulated vote banks.

I am not an economist. I have no head for figures but many argue that the financial burden is not as large as some would like us to believe. It is sound economics. Of course the problem of identifying the beneficiaries is a big challenge. But a state like Chhattisgarh seems to have solved the problem by widening the net and giving this security to 90% of its population through a well reformed distribution system. Instead of taking the route of complex and illogical parameters to identify the needy, maybe the intelligent way would be to give it to a larger chunk rather then survey whether you have a cow or not.

It is time we looked ahead and not got lost in nitty gritty . It is time we looked at the child begging at a red light as a citizen of tomorrow and ask ourselves what he/she will become.

Our future is linked to theirs!

How many of us who were outraged by the Delhi rape case a few months ago remember all the knee jerk promises ‘promised’ by a somewhat panicked  Government. There was of course the new law and fast track courts. Need I remind you that the said case is still in court and no judgement has been pronounced as yet. Then we have the high court, the supreme court and review petitions. I wonder when the perpetrators will get their due. However this post is not about fast track courts and their protracted hearings. No, it is about something most of us and certainly me had forgotten till a magazine remind us of it. I am talking about the Nirbhaya fund, 1000 crore Rs which has been lost in bureaucratic mazes and of course not spent! The Nirbhaya fund was meant in our Finance Minister words to support initiatives by the government and NGOs working towards protecting the dignity and ensuring safety of women in India. The number of rapes and sexual assaults perpetrated on women across the board since is proof of the fact that nothing has been done to ensure safety of women.

The article I refer to is aptly entitled: the still born Nirbhaya fund! The fund is just that: still born. It has gone in the multifarious loops of what the called the Government of India! The Finance Ministry asked for proposals from other ministries and till date have got just three: one about strengthening police stations, the other for repairing women’s hostels and the third one for creating a red panic button on all cell phones. All this if cleared accounts for a mere 150 crores. If my maths are correct there are still 850 in the kitty.

As a citizen, I have no qualms about paying an extra cess for the safety of women. But after reading this article I would not part with a penny if I was given the choice. One ministry is still planning what to do.This is the Women and Child Development Ministry and one would things they are the ones who should come up with a proper plan, yet the proposal they are yet to send is about prevention, by changing mindsets. Wow. Would love to know how that is to be done.

In short the fund lies unused and the few ‘ideas’ mooted make not much sense. The funds will soon be released. As the author of the article says: Released into what is a question that is still, terrifyingly, blowing in the wind.

There is a panic button that needs to be pressed, pressed by people like you and me! We all know that the (in)famous food security is almost through. Will its funds also wait for proposals and mechanisms to be worked out while the poor, just like the women will have to wait for Godot while we remain frozen in silence.

I have always despised self professed God Men who play on emotions of gullible people who then follow them blindly. The latest case against one such self styled God Man is a shocker in every which way possible. A young girl, a minor, has alleged that she was molested for 90 minutes by this old man. She gave a detailed account of the incident, something that is not easy for anyone, let alone a young girl and a case was registered as there was prima face evidence. Before anyone alleges that there was no rape, penetration, I would like to remind you that sexual assault in any form is reprehensible and has to be condemned in the harshest way. And if there is sufficient evidence, then the perpetrator, whoever it is, has to be apprehended and arrested. This is what the law of the land says. Many of us may not be aware of it but a law was promulgated last year with the acronym POSCO ( The Protection of Children from Sexual Offences). In this act, sexual assault does not mean penetration alone. That is the law. But in our country, many are above the law in particular these so called God Men as they attract large congregations of people that are easy vote banks.

This commercialisation of religion is probably one of the worst thing to have hit our society. It is a true example of Marx’s assertion on religion being the opium of the masses. We in India are gullible and superstitious to a fault and are willing to accept all aberrations that come our way. Are we not the ones who will drown deities with milk, believe that a God is drinking milk, perform absurd and costly rituals and fall for anything that a priest or a God Man says. I guess that in a religion that was meant to remain oral , the priest or sage had a great social role to play. One would admire these self professed God Men who such large real and virtual audiences to preach sensible things like gender equality, having fewer children, respecting the environment, giving up corrupt ways and so on. But that is not the case at all. These frauds, as that is what they are, are in the God business to enrich themselves, acquire unchallenged power and perform disgusting acts like molesting a child! The person in the news today came under the scanner many times for all the wrong reasons: murder of children, wasting water, advising rape victims to fall of the feet of their rapist and so on. Now if the law applied to him in the same manner as it applies to the ordinary citizen, then one would have no problem. But these God Men have political protection across the board as no one would want to be seen casting aspersions on them lest they loose a large vote bank.

So the case of a child being assaulted is being made into a political conspiracy. I cannot quite understand how a child being assaulted is a conspiracy. Was the poor girl made to say all those horrible things? Some would like us to believe so. What is terribly sad is that the assault of this child has turned into a political slug fest! The perpetrator in robes has still to be arrested. Why has he been given time? Maybe because he wants to threaten the victim and her family to withdraw their case. And by the way what is this absurd nonsense that a summons cannot be served on someone who is meditating?

The question that comes to mind is whether the young girl will get justice? I do not think so.

(to be continued)

The food bill has been passed! Who could have stalled or voted against a bill for the poor! No political party that aspires to win the upcoming elections. So there was a sort of a debate and sort of assurances and then the bill was passed! I wish bills for women or children got the same treatment.

India is a POOR country and our leaders like to keep it that way! 75% of our village population and 50% of our urban population is officially POOR! Where do we fall I wonder. I guess we are the ones who will have to pay for this in some way or the other. I feel ashamed of the way such figures are brandished after 66 years of Independence. What every one is tom tomming about is that no one will sleep hungry now. 5 kilos of uncooked grain is enough to fill your stomach. The ruling party has fulfilled its promise of eradicating hunger and malnutrition. Why was this done just before elections is far too suspect. This party has been in power for a decade. Was it fair to leave poor hungry for so many years.

But I  feel a little lost in all this. I am no economist but simply a citizen of India and I cannot understand how we are sometimes told that to be classified as poor you have to be spending less then 32 rs in a city, which makes no one really poor and then you are told almost 70% of us are poor and need subsidised food grain. It all looks Orwellian to me. On the one hand we want to be a ‘super’ power, but on the other hand we are quite happy passing a bill that actually qualifies 3/4 of India as poor.

The question that arises is that keeping in mind our track record in implementing any of the pro poor programmes, one is justified in thinking and even believing that this Bill will go the same way. Many will profit from it, many will misuse it and the really poor will never get anything as they will fall out of the net of complex administrative procedures. If everything was kosher then the ICDS programme launched more than three decades ago should have ensured that every baby born post 1975 should have been healthy! Where the ICDS stopped that is at the age of 6, the midday meal was to take over. We all know the reality. So if we could not run those programmes why should we think that the new bill will eradicate malnutrition. What we need is running something like open soup kitchens for the destitute and providing employment and dignity to the ones we love calling POOR!

The same government passed the Right to Education Bill. What should have ensued is the upgrading of all state run schools to Central school level – also run by the state – and thus having children of all social profiles walk to their school.  Instead, the state decided to ‘reserve’ – how we love that verb – 25% seats in all public and private schools. I work with slum kids and let me tell you none of the kids we know have availed of this reservation as their parents are illiterate, do not have the wherewithal to fulfil all the paper work needed. It is the middle class who can afford to pay for their children who have usurped this reservation for their kids as they know how to make false income certificates, false rent agreement and false everything else that is needed. It would be interesting to do an audit of the social profile of the children who are registered under this category.

So be prepared for surprises when the food security bill is implemented! When will our politicians become pro India

What is wrong with us, as a nation, as individuals, as a society? Everything I think. Yesterday’s brutal gang rape in Mumbai has such a sad and pathetic sense of deja vu! Nine months or so ago a ‘nation’ was ‘enraged’ at another brutal rape, the Delhi one. And excuse my cynicism but nine months hence the ‘nation’ will again be enraged against another brutal rape in another city. If we as a ‘nation’ a really enraged at brutal rapes, then we should be in a state of perpetual rape as every day women, girls and even babies get raped somewhere in this vast land of ours. But that is not so. I guess we only get enraged when the victim resembles us. A physiotherapist, a photo journalist. Someone we are in sync with. Our ‘rage’ is short lived. Some of us take to the streets, others consigned it to words – me -, yet others go a step further and ask for new laws, new training programmes. The powers that be make empty promises that are never kept but no one is there to ask them why. For instance CCTV were promised, they are yet to be sourced. Fast track courts were set but who defines fast! An old repugnant self professed God man assaults a minor but he will never be caught.

We will write, make some noise and then go back into the safe little boxes we live in. As long as it is not my child, my daughter, my friend we are not willing to see what is happening around us to children, to women to co citizens. Our rulers get away with impunity. They can loot, rape, abuse, threaten and murder, they not only get away but we vote them back to power!

I forgot these rapes make good material for heated debates where we hear the ‘country wants to know’. Which country and above all why do they want to know if they are not going to leave the comfort of their box and dirty their hands.

After 66 years of Independence we are still trying to address and legislate food laws. I would feel embarrassed if I were in a position of power. That 5000 children die every day of malnutrition should be enough to make a whole government resign in shame. But no they are busy debating a law that will give a few kilo of cereals to the ‘poor’.

Schemes to help the door have been voted time and again and never properly implemented. Implement them for God’s sake. Do we really need new ones?

And let us talk of education. It has taken our legislators decades to address the situation. After 66 years we cannot even provide a bench to every school going child in the capital even by running 2 shifts. Can’t our leaders and politicians see this. No they are busy fighting on petty issues. Parliament does not function though its costs lakhs for it run every minute. Grains rot because you cannot store it. Quacks kill as we do not have a proper health programme for the poor.

What do we look like to others. I do not even want to think of it. Let me just share one image that I see regularly these days as I take my husband for treatment to one of the super speciality hospital. Just in front of the super speciality hospital that charges the earth and the moon to treat you is a huge open garbage dump that stinks. If I were administrating that hospital that mints money, I would have done something. But that is who we are: a nation that would keep its home clean and dump the filth in front. We have no civic sense. We are aware of our rights but forget our duties. We have erected walls between the haves and have nots and forget that the two are inter dependent.

We want to show case ourselves as a young nation with immense potential youth power and true in a couple of years we will have 760 million young people, but as was said in a recent article unless we provide this youth bulge with education, employment, health, safety and liberty, we will soon have 706 million extremely pissed-off, marginalised, restless young people on our hands. But unless we get off our back sides, forget petty politics to take brownie points and give these 760 million a good educations and sufficient employment, the frustration of these young souls will translate into crime of all kinds. And when those happen, we will again step out of our homes to join some vigils or the other and get our conversation subject for our next kitty party or page 3 do or a chance to appear on a TV show debate where India wants to know! But 760 million is a tinder box waiting to explode. It is time we did something.

Can’t read, Can’t write, Can’t count. The Empty promise of Primary Education in India is the topic selected by a leading weekly to mark the 66th Independence Day of India. Haven’t read all of it yet as I want to do so slowly and with responsibility but I am grateful to this weekly with a conscience to have chosen this not so TRP worthy subject to mark an important day! After 66 years we as nation have not understood that is education and EDUCATION alone that can change India. Just ask yourself what makes the real difference between you and the woman who cleans your house. The answer is simple: your ability to read and write and speak good English and count of course!  Your savoir faire, your manners, your behaviour are all bye products of your education. The first article poses the question that begs to be asked: in spite of ‘adequate’ funding, statistics are frightening. The Education imparted is state run schools is so bad that five years from now over half the children in rural India will be in private schools. Enrolling children is not enough it is what and how they are taught that matters. It is time posits the article to stop patting ourselves on the back for statistics that mean nothing, and admit that there are systemic failures that need to be addressed with honesty.

I remember telling a bunch of Lohar (gypsy blacksmith) kids  that they had to dream big, and if they did they would be able to fulfil their dream. In those days we taught them on an empty piece of land behind their roadside camp and amongst the kids was Sanjay (wearing a yellow shirt in the pic). I do not know what his dream was that day but let me tell you he made it big. After a stint as a project why teacher he found his wings (with a little help) and now walks the ramp for high fashion designers in India and Paris. What he got from us is education of course, but also the chance to meet people from other countries, to gain confidence, speak English and dream! This memory came back to me when I read a line of the article.  What do we tell a child who dreams of being a pilot and knows that school is the only way to achieve that dream but hates school because she is violently punished whenever she makes a mistake by her overworked, overstressed teacher? The answer is simply I do not know! And the author goes on to say, and I second him fully:  We are creating generations of children aching with aspiration but left unequipped by their schooling to realise that aspiration. Imagine the frustration. There is a time bomb ticking and God help us when it explodes! It is time we all woke up to the reality and did something. maybe the first thing would be to read the articles in this issue.

For the past 13 years we have been working in the field, trying to reach out to as many children as possible and ensuring that their years in school are not wasted. Let me tell you you do not need large amounts of money or super skills or even infrastructure to make a difference. In the past 13 years we have taught in a pig park, in a reclaimed garbage dump (we still do), between two houses as you can see in the picture and in every space possible. Our teachers do not have teaching degrees. Some are even drop outs not because they lacked capacity but often because of early marriages. Some of our teachers are pwhy alumni. What they lack in certificates they make up in large measure in motivation, understanding and passion for their work. All that needs to be said is that in the past 12 years no child has failed any examination and many pwhy children top their respective classes. What is sad is that my own peers do not reach out and help us with the funds we so need to carry on and if possible widen our outreach.

Let us be real. Children cannot wait for things to fall in place and be perfect. Children are growing by the minute and for them time is of the essence. The magazine is replete with articles about people doing a great job, but that is not the answer. I too could claim doing a great job but is a drop in the ocean. The response of the powers that me is wishy washy as usual. You can judge for yourself. You can also judge for yourself how behind our children are:  50 percent of kids between the age of 6 and 14 in government schools couldn’t read, write or do arithmetic at any reasonable level. Frightening isn’t it? One of the solutions proposed is to define small concrete goals and meet them. Others feel it is important to use the money sensibly and according to the needs. I laughed and cried at the same time when I read these lines: My favourite is a school without a building that was asked to buy fire safety equipment with grant money. But, of course, there was no building, so they bought the equipment and asked the shopkeeper to keep it until such time they were able to erect one. I am particularly in sync with this view as I have always asked my donors to trust me and leave it to us to decide how the money is best spent.

All the above sounds logical, but absurd when we realise that we are debating this after 66 years of Independence. The magazine has a series of articles on what philanthropists are doing, or what individuals are organisations are doing. Every one is worth a read. But the problem is huge and such voices and deeds are drops in the ocean. There are also articles highlighting the problems faced by one and all: children, parents and teachers. Each one of them are valid and show that our whole education system needs to be re-looked at.

There are some issues that I have often highlighted and that I would like to reiterate. One is that we must stop the farce of retaining 33% as a pass percentage for any examination. This sets the course of mediocrity and shuts many doors for children who would have spend or should I say wasted 12 years in school. The next one is to change the approach the State seems to have taken. Instead of privatising education and ‘reserving’ some seats for ‘poor’ child, seats often hijacked by the middle class as the poor do not have the knowledge and often documents required to secure a place for their children, the State should take on its constitutional responsibility and make every state run school a centre for excellence so that it attracts a mix of social profiles. And last but not the least, we should not only accept but encourage that our driver’s kid shares a bench with ours!

I almost did not go! The sky was laden with dark grey clouds threatening to rain and if I were to catch a sniffle it would spell disaster as Ranjan’s immune system is close to nought with the darned chemo. But then even though large drops started falling I decided to take a chance. It had been too long since I had seen my kids at the women centre and as they were celebrating Independence day with their usual fervour. I thought it would be a nice outing for my grandson too. So off we went and the rain Gods were on our side. They had played spoil sport earlier and that had compelled the women centre team to reorganise the sitting arrangement and the stage had to be in the open so that all kids could be seated under the tin roof.

The show was lovely. The flag hoisting, the National Anthem sung loud and with great zeal even if some were faster than the others, and some out of key. That is what made it that much more touching to me. It was not a well rehearsed performance but an anthem sung from the heart. Then the children presented a show with dances and songs and speeches. I was impressed by the quality of the performance. Some of the solo dances were I was told self taught, courtesy TV reality shows, and quite impressive. A robot dance was particularly well executed and loved by my grandson who delighted us all evening with his version it.

As I watched these little and not so little faces, I saw so much hope in the eyes of every child that my blood ran cold. I had just finished writing a blog on Independence day and what it meant to me and my parents and how disillusioned those who fought and lay down their lives for this day would be if they saw India as she is today. It was easy to rant and rave and write words that would remain just that: words – that may or not be read – soon to be forgotten. Looking at these children, all three hundred and more of them, I realised that they had set their hopes in what we could give them and do for them and thus the responsibility that someone – let us call him/her god with a small g – had given us was far larger than what we could imagine. It was OK to rant and rave about things that were not as they should be, but we had been ‘chosen’ to right a wrong for children born half a century after India became independent and still stuck in a rut of promised not fulfilled, deprived of all the rights that were theirs just because they were born in this land.

So though I am going through a bad patch, I cannot and will not give up the pledge I made to myself many moons ago. I have to make that little difference so that the hope in the little eyes I saw becomes the reality these kids deserve. A reality that became theirs on August 15th 1947 but never reached them.

August 15th is Independence Day. It is also my Pa’s birthday. It is also the day my Mama was freed from the pledge she had taken of not getting married before India became independent. All said and done it was probably the day I became a possibility. My parents were insanely and passionately in love with India. My father gave up his Mauritian (British nationality) and elected to come back and serve his motherland. My mama’s sacrifices and harsh childhood, the nights when the hunger pangs were so severe that sleep would not come, but these were accepted with dignity as the sole bread earner spent more nights in jail than at home; the welts of the backs of her father and his freedom fighter friends that were tended by a young child, all that was forgotten as the Indian flag was hoisted on the ramparts of the red fort. To our little family August 15th was indeed a very blessed that, as it was the very foundation of my small but wonderful family.

Being an Ambassador’s child meant that the tricolour flew every day on our house; it also flew on papa’s car when he was in it. Independence Day and Republic Day were celebrated with a formal flag hoisting. As I grew from childhood to my teens, I learnt about the solemnity of these days and also about the price people like my grandfather had to pay to make India a free nation.

After Papa retired, we became simple citizens of a country I had been made to love. I was, and still am, proud to be Indian. How can I forget the dying words of my father: do not lose faith in India. I guess he needed to give me this legacy as he died a few days before the destruction of the Babri Masjid, when religious extremism was at its worse. The destruction of the Masjid would have broken his heart.

What picture can I paint of my country today that would be worth dying for. The only ray of hope I saw for a fleeting moment was is in the eyes of the children of project why who sang the national anthem and hoisted the flag this morning. I shudder to think when they too will lose faith in this land that does not care for them or for any one. After 66 years of Independence what have do we have to be proud of? Three children dying every minute of malnutrition? Children who have sat religiously on a school benches (or on the floor as we have still not been able to provide a school bench to every school going child even in the capital) and can barely read or write after years? Midday meals that are not fit for consumption but are forced out the throats of kids even if they die (I was told this morning after the I Day celebration at the women centre that teachers told the children to remove the worms from the slush they were served and eat it)? Children who work not only in eateries or mechanic shops but also in educated homes as servants in spite of laws against child labour? Statistics that should make any self respecting human being hang his/her head in shame but leaves us immobile and unconcerned.

How can I explain to those who laid down their lives and suffered humiliation to fight for freedom that in the past 66 years what we have excelled at is dividing the country in every which way possible. That those who were given the sacred task of building a Nation have destroyed it again again. Caste, religion, gender, language and how can I forget riches have all been instruments to create deeper and deeper schisms in our society. Where some live in mansions others live in holes. This again happens in our capital city. Some throw away food with impunity, others follow field rats to their burrows and are skilled in scrapping out the grains stolen and stored underground by the rodents to calm the hunger of their children. This after 66 years of Independence. And what makes it worse is that every year grains rot as we have not been able to come up with a sound way of keeping surplus grain safe.

Over the years the ones meant to rule us have failed us time and again. Over the years laws meant to deal with all that is stated above have been promulgated to gain votes and then never or poorly implemented. They are simply means to ‘look good’ at election times and carefully perused to see how they can become new ways of filling pockets. Yes we have mastered the art of corruption better than anyone else.  It has become a way of life for everyone from the humblest to the highest and mightiest. In a land where ingenuity and resourcefulness is our biggest asset, the poor that we have let down so badly and in all manner possible, find ways to survive: a tea shop on the street; a cart selling hot food; a tailor or shoemaker around the corner, the sky is the limit but to be able to earn they have to pay blood money. Would you call this corruption. I call it survival.

How would my mother feel, the one who was amongst the millions of free Indians to set the flag being hoisted on August 15th 1947 if I told her that two politicians in a town not far from where she lived, were caught on camera clinging to a flag pole as they push and heckle each other trying to claim the honour of hoisting the Indian Tricolour on Independence Day. I guess her heart would have simply shattered and all her life’s sacrifices brought to nought. My parents belonged to the generation who stood up when the National Anthem was played on the radio or at the end of the TV broadcast. We did it too, albeit grudgingly and perhaps because we had never felt the blows of the lathis of the British.

Mama who was so anti British did however accept to work for the colonisers as there was one cause that was dearer to her: equality and dignity for women. The feisty and diminutive woman who must have been in her late twenties accepted a job that entailed going to remote villages and ensuring that war widows (IInd World War) got their pensions and that these were not usurped by greedy male relatives. She also spent time with the women of the villages she visited and talked to them about hygiene, nutrition and above all their rights. Believe or not but she drove a 1 ton truck ad was accompanied by a peon.

How do I tell this woman that all her dreams of liberated and educated women in a free India have been usurped. That women and girls today are not respected and esteemed. That 2 month old babies are raped. That rapists get away as all the onus of the rape is shifted by a male led society on the victim: her dress, her habits, her whatever. That we as a society remain numbed and voiceless. That may be things were better off when she trudged from village to village to make a difference.

To a woman who fought to be the first girl in her town to go to school and went on to get a Doctorate, what do I tell about the education we are giving our children today. How do I tell her about classes were 100 children are cramped and teachers disinterested. How do I tell her about the fact that higher education has now become a privilege of the rich as poor children never get enough marks to enter the portals of state run universities and that their parents cannot afford private institutions. How do I tell her that our rulers have privatised and commercialised the only vehicle that could change the destiny of children born on the wrong side of the fence.

The India my parents love with such passion and fervour has lost its way. After 66 years of Independence India is still enslaved to the greed and rapacity of those who rule us and to the indifference of those who can raise their voices.

Happy Independence day!

There have been a few times when I have wanted to shut project why because of incidents that defeat the purpose of my entire life mission. Thank God these have been far and few but each time, they hurt and hurt and want to make you scream in despair. I really had hoped that we had seen the last of the machinations of wily politicians and shady trade unions. But alas that was not to be! In these moments my way of dealing with these issues in not concealing or hiding them but airing them for all to know.

Part of the support I have got emanates I think from my being honest in all ways possible, specially when things do not look good. Some time back an ugly incident occurred in our creche. It was a day when one staff was absent and the children particularly agitated and to crown it all, as it was summers, many kids had upset tummies. One little girl had dirtied herself over and over again and one of our teachers, who must have had a bad day at home, got exasperated and slapped the poor child. Though there was another teacher present the matter was not brought to the attention of the management. The child was sent home and needless to say the mother went ballistic. I would have to!

To make matters worse she lodged a police complaint and mercifully the matter was sorted amicably. Now beating a child is a no no at pwhy! So in spite of the fact that the teachers had been with us for a long time and were good teachers, it was decided to terminate their services. They did appeal but the management felt that this was a mistake that could not be forgiven and not only had a child been beaten but the proper way of handling the situation has not been taken and matters made worse by trying to conceal a grave misdemeanour.

One teacher accepted the decision and we found her another job. The other fell for the skewed advice of her relative who is a small union worker and decided to make an issue. A few days ago she threatened our computer to staff and told them she would break computers, throw stones and even hit herself and accuse us of having hurt her if they opened the centre the next day. The centre is located close to her home and thus she has the support of her family and relations. We opened the computer centre the next day and she was told to come to the office and meet me on a particular day. I do not go to pwhy these days so on Monday I went to office and waited for the teacher to come. She did not. The next day she came with some flimsy excuse and as I was not there, she simply told the coordinator that as she was not being taken back, she would now take action. It was nothing short of a threat! I was given to understand that she intended to play the caste card.

One of project why’s success has been to empower and train a whole team plucked from the very community and beneficiaries it reaches out to. Caste was never in our minds as I am rabidly against the caste card that his played and replayed ad nauseum by politicos and their acolytes. So threatening me with the caste card is nonsensical and makes me see red. If one was to peruse our caste profile, one would realise at once that it is the so called high castes that are in a minority. But sadly the caste card is one that is too often played to create problems.

So we are looking at either yet another labour court case. I wish the Government had made some laws for not for profit organisations that depend on donors and thus do not ‘make’ money! last time we were taken to the labour court, the case was filed under the Shops and Establishments Act! The other option is a complaint at the SC ST Commission.

The sad part is that a poor uneducated woman will be used as a pawn so that politicos get some brownie points in a pre-election year. I must admit that in spite of working for over a decade on the field we have not been able to expose such games in a convincing way. This would be one of our failures. But is is also proof of how much the caste and creed issue is kept alive by our politicians to meet their hidden agendas. It is this very approach of division and reservation that has not allowed our country to grow. We have mastered and perfected  the divide and rule policy of our colonisers. It will take more than another generation to free ourselves of these shackles.

We had thought of finding an alternative job for this lady. But now, after her real threats we will not be in a position to do anything for her. Anyone who threatens to throw stones and break computers cannot be trusted.

I feel sad and dejected. These are the times when I feel like locking everything up and moving on.

Ok its official: Planet Why as envisaged for over 5 years now has been finally laid to rest. This is after many false starts as I guess I was not ready to accept failure – for want of a better word. Many posts are witness to this. I wrote many requiems to Planet Why. I prayed to all the Gods imaginable, wished on every star and knocked at every door I could think of. But to no avail. The dream of a lovely green guesthouse built in the Indian style is now is that: just a dream. I guess it will linger in my head for as long as I live, a bitter sweet memory tinged with a feeling, however unwarranted, of failure. I have always been one to beat myself when faced with defeat, more so as my inability affected the hopes and dreams of so many. So before I move on to plan B, and reinvent a truncated Planet Why, I think I need to one last time delve into my ineptitude to see Planet Why through.

Let us take it from the top. I still believe that the idea was/is a sound one. Hospitality is a viable business in our day and times and with the increase in people wanting to ‘do’ something in the countries they visit, giving them an opportunity is spot on. This holds true for those who just want a safe and clean place to stay and those who would like to ‘volunteer’ for part of their stay. The adjacent children centre was the ideal place to do just that. So that is the business part. Let us not forget that the plan was vetted and approved by international consultants. As for the design it was in sync with the land and the building would have been as green as possible in the given circumstances. The location may not have looked ideal to some but one must not forget that land prices in Delhi are astronomical and hence anything in the heart of the city was beyond our pockets. However we chose what I think was the next best option: a location close to the International airport. Moreover one must not forget that we needed a site where we could find underprivileged children to continue our work. The place was close to several villages and adjacent slums. Last but not the least, the setting up of Planet Why would have also enabled us to take our mission one step further by providing vocational skills to our alumni.

But every thing I did was not enough to enable me to garner the large amount of funds needed. I guess a recluse can hardly get access to those who have deep pockets. I do not feel the need to recount all the promises that were made and not honoured. The fact is that planet why did not happen. No point crying over spilled milk.

I always wait for signs from the Heavens and this time I has been loud and clear. Not quite what I wanted but one that definitely takes care of any shred of hope I may have still stowed away in some deep recesses of my mind.

The blow of Ranjan’s cancer has brought to the fore the fact that life ephemeral and does not lie in our hands. The true meaning of the quote: Man proposes, God disposes. I had always thought – hubris at work again – that I would devote the rest of my life to pwhy and that all others things would remain the same and hence would not need my full time commitment. One word – lymphoma – changed everything. My house of cards crumbled and I am now trying to build another one that seems rather flimsy.

The time I thought I was master of, has mutated into unpredictable spans the reins of which are held by the whims and quirks of chemotherapy and its almost individually tailored side effects. And my life now, has to satisfy itself by the tiny moments that I can steal in between. In these tiny moments I have to cram all else and thus have to make a list of things to do in descending order of importance. I so would have liked to place pwhy on top, but it cannot be so. Let me explain why. At this moment of my life I need to keep my sanity and wits intact. Everything else depends on that. If I were to have a meltdown everything I have lived for, both personally and professionally would come to nought. I realise today and in hindsight that the cornerstone of my existence has been and is my husband. The road he and I are travelling today is scary and uncertain. Every day comes with its set of demands. It is really like running an obstacle race blindfolded.

In this race I try to sneak a few moments to connect with all those who are supporting me, including you who are taking the time to read this post. And then my sanity depends on my finding some time  to write, either about my battle with the new adversary that has forced itself on us and that takes care of the anger and the pain, or Dear Popples 2 which is the Project Why story and takes me into a kind of suspended animation where long forgotten memories bring a smile and even bewilderment at all we have gone through.

One Damocles sword still hangs on my head: the future of project why. I hope it will cruise safely on auto pilot and give the time to come up with a smaller but more meaningful alternative that will give this love child of mine the security it needs.

Today’s staff meeting was a watershed in the history of project why. It was a meeting I had delayed for long as in some ways I knew it would change things forever, at least for me. It something to think about a situation and its possible aftermath and keep your thoughts to yourself. It is something else when you share them with the ones who have made your dreams possible and stood by you at every step you think. All the kudos I have got past decade or so, all the respect and esteem that has come my way, all the people who have come into my life because of what I have achieved would never have happened without the support, hard work, commitment and love of an incredible team. I had a dream. It was more than a dream. It was a debt to pay for a over privileged life that I was given on a silver plate. It was a way of bring some meaning to my life. I often thought of it as my magnum opus and swan song. I guess the swan song bit has changed a little with present circumstances beyond my control but it is still the one thing I would like to be remembered by. Sorry for the digressing but it sets the stage for what is to come.

For the past 13 years my life evolved around project why. Every thing else had to fit around it. For me it was no ordinary work but a mission and a challenge. It was also my redemption. The hitch was that the dream was so big that I could not have done it alone. It needed people who were willing to run an obstacle race with their eyes blindfolded and the hurdles a mystery. It was my magical mystical tour! A course where reason takes a back seat and only the heart is allowed to lead. What made it somewhat exasperating for those who had to execute it was the poor if not non-existent understanding of the ground realities of the one who made the rules: me! So all the esteem, kudos, recognition etc should not go to one ageing woman and her dreams. They go to the ones who not only followed my dreams, but made the need corrections and fulfilled every one of them.

Imagine you take up a position in what looks like an ‘organisation’. You rightly believe that you will be given instructions and a way to execute them and that they would be reasonable and stand the test of time. Not at all. If I were to give you a quick tour of project why’s history it would go something like this: woman meets beggar man (Manu), decides to change his life. Sets up spoken English classes for two scores of kids and adults; sees welt marks on a boy’s arm – corporal punishment – marches to government school, decides to ensure 10 lads pass their Xth in 3 months; finds 2 young men to do so on a road side; enters a lady with a few disabled kids; the woman decides to start a a special class. (one common strand in all this: scarce funds and no staff). Sees the results of some kids, decides to run primary and secondary support; finds destitute women starts a residential woman centre; finds third degree burnt kid with alcoholic mom, decides to change his life; finds one man needing help for his child’s heart surgery manages to sponsor 20. The list is endless and leaves you breathless but every one of these heart steered decision was fulfilled with love. At the end of the day over 1000 people benefitted from these impossible dreams lovingly fulfilled by a team of incredible people with no fancy bio datas and resumes but with huge huge hearts. I salute them all!

For the past months while we tried to figure out what ailed Ranjan, I hoped that things would fall in place and nothing or little would change in my life. But that was not to be, and though I pushed it as far as I could, it would be unfair to keep my team in the dark anymore. So yesterday in a short meeting, where I held on to my tears, I informed my team about Ranjan’s cancer and about putting my life on hold for a few months. The people sitting around me were one of a kind: there was those who had been with me right from day one; there was also those who had been with me from day one but as students in class I or even the first creche and today were teaching! My heart was filled with love, gratitude and emotion. But I could not let the flood gates open. I said my piece and quickly walked out.

It was a meeting to remember.

I am reading An Uncertain Glory by Amartya Sen and Jean Dreze. I first read some excerpts in a magazine. The fact that these eminent authors said what I have been clamouring for years was somewhat comforting. I am stilling reading the book as it is not an easy read for me who is a greenhorn in Economics. However I would like to quote to comments that jumped at me as I was skimmed through the book. What makes these quotes interesting is that I can put them in a context I have experienced.

The first quote is about health. It says: the commitment to universal health coverage would require a major transformation in Indian health care in at least two respects. The first is to stop believing against all empirical evidence that India’s transition from poor health to good health could easily be achieved through private health care and insurance. Two real life incidents have just occurred in my life and they cover the present scenario of health in our times. When husband was diagnosed of cancer it was a blow to all of us. Our family’s health issues have till date been dealt with by our family Doc who is all our specialists rolled in one! But this was a big one because biopsies and then chemo was involved and needed specialised care. Doc P, as I affectionately call him gave us the names of a specialist and we managed the first testings ‘in house’. The bills were steep but still doable. But then I realised that this was not a 100m sprint but a marathon and had to tiptoe into the much heralded insurance panacea. Thankfully my husband has an Insurance from the PSU he worked in for more than 3 decades. It is not a cashless card but a perfect example of the maxim: why make it simple when you can make it complicated. For every consultation, test, investigation, surgery, medicine someone has to make a trip to the airport, wait for hours and then get a printed piece of paper with a carbon copy attached. Now the paper is valid for 3 days only and if for someone reason, like a low blood count, your chemo is postponed as may be the case tomorrow, then someone has to make the trip to the airport to get a new paper. I cannot begin the count how many trips poor Mamaji has already made and how many more he will have to!

 But now let us talk about the famous insurance + private care which is suppose, according to the powers that be, to solve India’s health problems. I do not know how the medical insurance for the poor (RSBY) works. I understand it does for BPL families but then we fall into the whole saga of who is BPL and whether the poorest of the poor have the knowledge, accessibility and targets all the beneficiaries. Or will it, like many other projects that begin well, wither away from neglect. The people covered seem far and few. What it gives is 30 000 Rs for hospitalisation! I can tell you from first hand experience that none of the BPL and lower families we work with have access to this scheme. Do have a look at the success stories page of the official website of the scheme!

Medical Insurance is for hospitalisation, be you rich or poor. All other health issues are covered either by the state run dispensaries and hospitals which can be excellent but are overcrowded and you could die waiting for your turn. One of our kids needed a brain surgery. We went to the prime medical institute in India (AIIMS) and were told of two options: one where we needed to pay and one free. We chose the first one and got a date 6 months later. The child passed away before his turn came.

But health is not only hospitalisation. There are some who would never need to be hospitalised and yet need health care. The rich have a wide choice of good doctors and specialists and go there even if the fees increase exponentially. The poor have quacks some better than others, often recycled compounders who have open shop as doctors. One has to say they are able to deal with every day issues having watched their erstwhile employers for long. Some of these quack-cum-doctor even give medicine! One wonders how good they are when one knows the price of medicines in India. Oops I forgot, just like with education, a certain number of beds are reserved – how we love reservation – for BPL card holders in swanky hospitals, but then how many people does that cover!

The one field that is totally neglected is that of social and preventive health. A sound preventive health programme could being the health bill down and make a huge difference in the lives of many, even avoiding unnecessary deaths. Access to clean water, hygiene campaigns, importance of washing hands, storing food etc could rid us of many ailments that proliferate across the land.

Insurance is a money maker for big players and not the means of transition from poor to good health.

The other quote from An uncertain Glory is about education, my pet subject and bete noire. The authors state: Perhaps the most hidden penalty of greater reliance on private schools is that it tends to take away from state schools the children of precisely those parents who are likely to contribute most to the critiques and demands that could make state schools more responsible and accountable. (An Uncertain Glory Amartya Sen – Jean Dreze) says exactly what I have been saying for years. The death knell of state run schools rang the day education became a business with the entry of private stakeholders. If you stole a glance at the CVs of most of our senior bureaucrats and other professionals of above a certain age you will find that they have all been educated in state run schools. Government schools were at one time the only choice you had. Other than that, for the elite, they were boarding schools that had been set up by the British for their children and somehow continued with  Indian children replacing the fairer ones.

If you look around you in our very city, you will see at least one Government school at walking distance from your home. They are all on prime land. It is another matter that they are dilapidated, often shacks with tin roofs and sometimes just a tent in the middle of a large plot of land. Some schools have good buildings and still impart sound education. These are the ones located in colonies that still send their kids to state run schools. I do not when, but it was a sad moment for education, greed took over and the privatisation saga began. Government run schools were neglected and all shades and hues of English Medium schools began mushrooming everywhere. Slowly, even lower middle class parents were seduced by this new motley crew that offers education @ of 300 rs per month to 10 000 rs per month! The magic words are ‘English Medium’, even if no one speaks English in the entire staff. This is not baloney but something I experienced in a school a few years ago.

Government schools today, particularly those that are located near slums and resettlement colonies where most parents are illiterate or at best semi literate and in awe of authorities and unaware of their rights, run almost amok. Overcrowded classes, no facilities, corporal punishment, teacher absenteeism and more as they know that the parents of the children can never be a pressure group and hold them responsible. This is something I have written about time and again.

In my humble opinion privatising education and reserving a few seats in swanky school that anyway are usurped by clever middle class parents is never going to give a fair Right to Education to every child. What is needed are good quality neighbourhood schools, run by the State with a mixed social profile of kids. But then the question is: will you accept your driver’s kid sharing a bench with your child!

A pertinent article on the state of our Youth appeared in a magazine this week. The article entitled Youth Bulge, Youth Bilge draws an almost apocalyptic image of the 706 million of youth we love quoting to one and all as our greatest force. But as the author says in the article: unless we provide this youth bulge with education, employment, health, safety and liberty, we will soon have 706 million extremely pissed-off, marginalised, restless young people on our hands. That’s the largest any nation has ever had to handle in human history. The article makes an interesting read particularly the take on Delhi Police. I leave you to discover it!

I am more worried about the morrows of these 706 million who may just become extremely pissed-off, marginalised, restless young people. And extremely pissed off people may do extremely violent things. We all saw what happened that fateful December night. The recent grudge we have against these extremely pissed off people is the motorcycle rodeos we are subjected to time and again. My home is located next to a Secondary Government School and a well known private school and let me tell you young lads from both these schools perform bike stunts. Even this morning while taking mu husband to the doctor, we were overtaken by five screaming young guys on a motorbike in their school uniform.

Let us just take a little time and see what our society has on offer for these kids. Let us start with those born on the wrong side of the fence as I know them well having been working with them for over a decade now. First of all they are regular kids who have the same dreams as any other child. But they are treated differently right from the word go. First of all in India’s capital city boys go to school in the afternoon. This city has not even been able to provide adequate number of schools for their children, as all children should go to school in the morning and play or pursue sports or creative activities in the afternoon. And school for many of them is an overcrowded classroom, with scant teaching, lack of basic facilities. At the end of it all they get a school leaving certificate with low marks that does not open many doors to them. I still cannot understand why 33% is the pass percentage for our exams when access to a good and affordable university is 99%! This is all too suspect.

The boys born on the wrong side of the fence spend their morning loitering around. The city lads have dreams that are based on what they see around them and on TV which is an asset every home, however poor has. So these kids dream big. One of the most desired object is a motorbike and with the advent of credit, the dream becomes closer. There is no one to temper their dreams and wants with wisdom and values. No teachers to emulate; no parents to counsel. The slum kids live surrounded by violence: corporal punishment in schools and alcohol induced violence at home. Needless to say they too will repeat what they see when they grow up and see that their dreams can never become reality and find themselves condemned to a second class life. Their education is a non starter and thus their employment options bleak. The state has failed them in every which way possible.

Their counterpart on the other side of the fence may look to be in a better place but there too the absence of values, the lack of good parenting and the over abundance of money is turning our so called educated youth into an irresponsible, arrogant and uncaring lot. Their options are so prolific that they know they will succeed in some way or the other. Money power makes a heady cocktail for children who have not been inculcated with the right values and a sense of responsibility. If it is stunts on motorbikes for one lot, the others know that they can drive their father’s expensive machines and get away with murder quite literally.

These 760 million have no role models. How long can a Mahatma Gandhi or an Ambedkar be the ones doled out as role models for a XXIst century kid! The role models these youngsters  chose are Bollywood or sports stars. What they see is corruption as a way of life and crime rarely punished.

There is a bomb ticking. It needs to be defused before it blows in our faces.

An article appeared in a leading magazine this week. I am sure many have or will be reading it at some point of time, if not at home, then while waiting for your turn at the doctor’s or dentist, while travelling in a plane or maybe at your beauty parlour. The article or rather photo essay isn simply entitled: Life below the poverty line! Poverty line is the news ad nauseum recently. What should the base figure be, 27 or 32? And endless and futile debates appear on the box, with people shouting and procrastinating. Anchors as masters at pushing invitees to answer uncomfortable questions with the inane phrase: India wants to know? After the debate everyone, including the anchors will go home, have a large one, eat and waste some food and go to sleep in a cool room.

Please read the article and look at the pictures. If you still have some heart you will be deeply disturbed. Not just by some moving photographs but by the resilience and quiet and dignified endurance of people who just like us are Citizens of this country and thus come under the ambit of our Constitution and its rights. The villages that are subject of this disturbing essay are invisible, even if one of them is in the Constitution once represented by our First Citizen!

Life is a constant struggle and no one ever sleeps with his bellyful. Though there main concern is getting enough to it, some want their children to learn and hence send them school in the hope that an educated child may change things for them. Till then they survive with rare dignity. In the answers they gave the journalist, I could not sense any anger. Just acceptance. And faith. Yes faith which here validates more than ever the marxist view that religion is the opium of the masses. For them 24 or 27 or even 39 are useless statistics. “Allah is looking out for us. There can be no other earthly reason that my children and I are still alive” says a young mother. Fatalism at its best and loudest.

On the other end of the spectrum the rants and raves of debates sound empty and false. No one cares about these people. They are so remote that they seem to belong to another celestial body altogether. The questions and answers that play with regularity the days on which poverty is the flavour of the moment are futile. India does not want to know, India does not care, India has lost its heart.

The Food Security Bill that is now being tabled and pushed by the ruling party is nothing but another election ploy. I would like to ask our First Citizen whether he even knows where Lalkoop and how its inhabitants live. I would also like to know if the MLA or any other elected leader has ever visited them and told them about their rights? I also would like to know how these families will ever get the benefits of this Bill? I know the answer: Never. They have fallen off the map. And yet they are the ones who should benefit from such legislatures? Did the malnourished 14 year old mother who delivered a 600 grams baby get the so called supplements and meals that existing programmes ensure? The answer is another deafening NO!

And the answers will continue to be louder NOs till the (ill)famous: India wants to know becomes a reality,

Am borrowing a modified version of  Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s book for the title of this post. My world has been turned topsy turvy by a word it took me a nano second to read, a word preceded by a question mark at the end of a text in a incomprehensible medical jargon:? lymphoma. The word was followed by a full stop. This full stop changed my life if not forever, at least for the days to come. In simpler terms, my husband has cancer and has begun his chemo therapy so I will have to give him all the time he needs. As you know chemo gets worse each session and hence at least for the next 6 months, I will not be able to devote as much time as I did to project why. The flip side is that this may be the right time to write the project why story I started a few months back but had left in the middle when my husband felt sick a year back.

After running from pillar to post the diagnosis has now been confirmed and the road ahead charted and though it is a never travelled, it is at least one that can be ‘imagined’ and charted. What I foresee is having do be in the house, on call and thus not able to visit the project as before. Though I must say that I had withdrawn from day to day activities to give the team I had so lovingly trained a chance to prove themselves. They passed all tests with flying colours and I must admit, at times I almost felt almost redundant. From the bazillion calls I use to get when I first stopped sitting at the project office daily, within a few months at most, it was I had to call to know how things were. At 4pm each day, I would be debriefed and problems, if any discussed.

I would still go every morning for my cup of tea at Mataji’s which has always been my special was to remain grounded and then sped some time in the main centre, where I met the staff, heard my children’s lilting good mornings. It was my daily feel good shot!

I still toiled for project why! Wrote my blogs, updated the site (though I have not been great at that and looks like will have more time to do now), and of course wrote the reports, answered mails and kept up the funding. I still was the face of project why.

My husband’s cancer has been a wake up call in another way too! Someone I always felt was indestructible, for want of a better word, could be hit by a malady in the most unexpected way, then it could happen to me too, any day. So maybe this is the silver lining of the situation I find myself in. A litmus test for my staff. The little things I was still doing are now handled by them: reports etc. I will jealously hold on to my writing as without it I would fade away quicker than imaginable.

For the next 6 to 8 months at least, the time the chemotherapy will take and the rebuilding of a devastated immune system, I will have to give up my regular morning teas and good mornings. There are days when we have to reach the hospital at 7 am!  I will be unable to plan anything that requires my presence at a given time, as the vagaries of chemotherapy are legendary and unexpected. So there will be days when there will be no tea, and no smiles!

My biggest challenge during the forthcoming months is to ensure that all the things I still had a hold on are passed on. My biggest hope is that my incredible staff finds the their own way of meeting these challenges, ways they are comfortable with as I am sure they must have at times not quite liked my ways and followed them because they respected me. My biggest dream would be that they become empowered enough to take on the funding of the project.

So life at Project Why in the time of Cancer is going to be a challenge for everyone. I will have to test my ability to stay away and keep my mouth shut; my staff will have to taken on independently all tasks, however trying and bear full responsibility and project why will have to prove that it can withstand all odds and still soar in the sky.

I have been working in the same slum(s) for over a decade now. In some more than a decade! I have seen the slow yet significant changes in the families I work with and of course in the environment. The story of upward mobility is not quite as we would imagine it to be sitting in the comfort of our homes. When we first began our work in Giri Nagar, the street where we worked consisted mainly of a series of mud houses with tin roofs, like the one you see in the picture and which was one of her classrooms. There only a few ‘homes’ which had a proper brick and mortar construction with roofing. What is now our secondary class was probably the only proper construction barring Rani’s home. Ten years later our secondary class has shrunk in perspective as every single mud hut has become a proper brick and mortar structure of up to 3 stories, with proper roofs and often painted in bright colours: blue, brick, yellow, green even orange! Each Diwali, when houses are repainted the street looks lovely. A few geranium pots on the window sills, the sounds muted and you would think you are in a French village on the Riviera!

On the other side of the road you do not have the erstwhile brick structures that were the toilets. Those have been removed by the authorities and everyone now has a toilet within the home, however basic! In its place there are bikes and more bikes and even cars and vans. This change happened with the arrival of purchase on credit, something that was not there when we began. All this is kosher and well deserved. I agree. But there is one failing in each one of us and that is that we are never satisfied. And this unnecessary greed is copiously fed by the ad campaigns played with obsessive regularity on the idiot box. The other human weakness is our need for more and our propensity to waste  and nothing is more true in the upwards mobility saga.

I would  concede that the first generation migrants still retain some measure of discipline and thrift and often chide their younger ones for their wasteful habits, but they are ageing and the reins are now held by the second and even third generation who consider themselves, and quite rightly so, as city folk! So with the advent of credit purchases offered by shops and credit cards almost thrust down their throats by bank agents who often, for a few rupees, authorise the card even if the paperwork is not complete. This has enabled slum folks to become consumers and fall into the debt trap. I have seen many a cars vanishing after being parked for a few months.

Homes having spruced up, floors added and though all the construction as well as the space itself is illegal, bribes to the police and protection from politicians as these are precious and easily manipulated vote banks have bestowed a sense of legality and continuity to the settlements. And though the Damocles sword of being raze does hand loosely over their heads, slum folks know that there will always be a way out.

Within homes the women fold too have become hardcore consumers: mixers and grinders, juicers, toasters, fridges are seen in many homes. Many even have washing machines. I was surprised to know, and rather impressed when I could not but ask how certain women I know were able to buy new clothes as and when they wanted. The answer was breath taking. There are middle class women who buy clothes and other garments in large quantity, and you can buy them on credit. No card required. It  all works on trust and makes good business sense.

Upward mobility has come to stay. But it also has a flip side and one that can be scary. First of all the fact that these people have recently acquired the right to consume, they are absolutely unwilling and even vexed when you check them on certain matters, often relating to waste. One would think that food is not wasted in slum families. Not at all. Wasting food seems to have become a way to show that you have arrived. Even my staff wastes food! If you try and suggest to them that the packed junk food they give their kids is not good for them, they get ballistic. It is as if we (I mean the ‘rich’) were grudging them their newly acquired rights. If you tell them that the umpteen non degradable pouches they buy (multi national made goods: nescafe, jams, shampoo, shaving cream, you name it) is bad for the environment and dare to suggest that the good old soap bar is much better, it is the same reaction. What they forget is that we have experienced the ills of all these and do not believe that we are saying these things for their own good. You quickly learn to keep shut!

So you watch the lights kept on in empty rooms, the taps running, the 3 TVs blaring in the same home, often the same programme, the chips or gooey candy the two year old has for breakfast, and the sticky 2 minutes noodles that make up the lunch box of our children. It will take at least another generation to see the negative side. At present they are enjoying their newly gained social status. The best you can do is teach the children. Some respond quite well!

You watch them waste their money helplessly. One thing that the new status entails is a abhorrence of state run institutions. A government job is the only thing that is still coveted. Otherwise be it education or health, if you have arrived to have to shun them. This mean sound business for commercial education and hospitals. Even a pathetic private school that boasts of the words English Medium in its name is better than the local state run school. This in many ways, has spelt the doom of state run schools by lowering their social profile and freeing them of any responsibility.

Quacks are better than dispensaries, and private hospitals better than the big hospitals, however modern. Somehow taking your loved to a Government hospital would cast a shadow on your status. Private hospitals then take you for a ride and you land up paying tens of thousands that you often need to borrow.

Social mobility comes at a price!

I do not know how many times Xavier, my greatest supporter and friend has told me to take a ‘few’ days off. This advice often came after the many times I complained of being tired, fed up, annoyed, and close to giving up. I never heeded his advice and for the past 13 years never took a day off. My own family has also tried to coax me to take some time off, but I guess I just did not want to. Maybe it was because I felt comfortable in my ways or because I wanted to feel indispensable. And I liked my life the way it was with my morning trip to Mataji’s home, the proverbial cup of tea and tikka on my forehead that was a blessing as well as a reminder of where it had all begun. I guess it was my way of remaining grounded. Then a quick trip to the main centre to hear the children’s voice and back to my work at home as that is where I operated from. Sometimes I would visit the women centre. I had withdrawn myself to let the team find its feet and they vindicated my decision brilliantly. I really thought this would be in my grandson’s  present favourite idiom: to eternity and beyond!

But that was not to be. The holidays everyone wanted me to take would happen but in a very convoluted way. When my husband was diagnosed with cancer my life stopped for an instant. The to eternity and beyond and acquired a whole new meaning. The few days off everyone gently prodded me to take, days off from pwhy of course, mutated into something else. Cancer was a demanding mistress who not only took over the patient but his entire entourage. My few days off from pwhy would now be months and even longer. It needed getting used to, and I am doing so slowly and will sneak a bit of my past life in the crevices the crab does not find.

Happy holidays!

Almost 40 years ago, as a result one one of my mother’s legendary ‘if your brother was alive’ I sat for the (ill)famed IAS exam and got through. I then decided not to join the services. That was the pact made with mama. There were many reasons for my not wanting to join the first being that I was married with a child and that my husband worked for a PSU and there was no way I wanted to be separated from him. Another reason I can share today was that I did not want any misplaced comments comparing our careers. Some people has already made some snide remarks. But in hindsight I believe that I somehow instinctively knew that I would not last in the service for long as there were some things I could not compromise with and one of them was honesty. So rather than leave in a huff some years down the line or be suspended, I thought it wiser to withdraw and leave the place to the next person on the list. I had kept my promise to my mother and that was where it ended. I embarked on a chequered career that suited my temperament be it teaching in a university, working as an interpreter or managing conferences and events.

I had forgotten about this aspect of my life but the recent treatment of a young and honest officer who was suspended just because she had the b**** to taken on a mafia revived old memories. Seeing this young woman’s face on TV fills me with a mixed bag of emotions. I feel sad, angry, repulsed but also so terribly proud of her. I hope she gets the support she deserves and comes out a winner. But somehow I feel this will not happen. So many whistle blowers have been killed or simply forgotten in some dark corner. The state simply plays lip service, talks about a whistle blower’s bill but it remains that: just talk.

I was horrified to hear a politician brag about how he got this young woman ‘removed’ in 41 minutes. IAS officers are the executive branch of our government and need to be given the space to work independently and consciously. They are not subservient to wily politicians who ridicule and belittle them. The fault of this young braveheart was to taken the sand mafia. She was doing her job. But as e know mafias enjoy political protection so she had to pay the price.

In my mixed career I too has trysts with corruption. It was quite a shock for me as most of the time I could not understand what was happening. In 1982 when I was working as Advisor Protocol for the IX Asian Games – at the fabulous salary of rupee one a month – I first encountered corruption when one of my PAs, a lovely man named Parwana Sahib, honest to the core and with not a mean bone in him, came to my office and told me that most of the staff assigned to me was not willing to stay as they knew they would not be able to ‘make money’ with me at the helm. I told him I understood and asked him how many were willing to stay. He told me 2. Six wanted to leave. I asked him whether he was one of those staying and he smiled his wonderful smile. I functioned with 2 staff and we met all our targets and did a great job.

During those days we were housed at Pragati Maidan and some of the fancy hotels of the time has outlets on the fair grounds. That was where we got our tea or meals. My second encounter with corruption was around the corner. I had ordered tea and some sandwiches and was surprised when i was told that there was no bill. I insisted I wanted one and proudly paid my 13 rupees but was still perplexed as to why there was no bill. Mr Parwana Sahib who would soon become my mentor in these issues explained that as there were contract for big parties that still had to be awarded, and that was the prerogative of our section, this was a way of soliciting. My answer was simple: there were 3 parties and 3 hotels, each one would get one party! Along the way I saw many avatars of corruption and was repelled by each of them.

Things have far from improved and the question is how long are we going to vote back time and time again people who have let us down hook line and sinker. People who make promises but are unwilling to keep them. How long will the honest have to pay and the dishonest thrive. How long will the people of this country have to wait to see their rights restored to them.

I wish I knew. But as long as there are people like this young woman aptly named Durga, there is still hope however bleak.

I salute this young woman.

Apologies for a post that is going to be personal and maybe a tad mushy! But in my defence it is probably the first one of its kind. As some of you may know, my husband was diagnosed with Hodgkin’s disease, a cancer of the lymph nodes. This after a year of his being ill and every test imaginable giving no indication. The months preceding the diagnosis were difficult ones for me as I saw Ranjan fading slowly. We both kept a brave face through the visits to doctors and more doctors and the innumerable blood tests. scans and MRIs. When finally the diagnosis was confirmed my blood ran cold. Cancer was the one thing I never wanted as it had snatched both my parents from me in the span of not even 2 years, leaving me orphaned at 39! That it should once again strike the one person that was able to fill the terrible void of my parents’ death was terribly unfair. I was angry and terrified at the same time. Why me again.

Being an only child of parents much older than you is not easy. Add to that a nomadic life that takes you from one corner of the world to another every three years makes it that much more difficult. You land in a country with the wrong colour of skin, an unpronounceable name that gives your peers lot of meat to bully you, is not easy. But you soldier on, make your place in the sun and when you think you have finally succeeded, you are told to pack your life again and move on. So you device coping strategies: imaginary friends, chats with yourself in front of a mirror, you master the art of reading so that you can become one of the Famous Five or Marie Curie depending what age you are. You learn to get along with adults much earlier than other kids. You try to keep up with friends through letters but soon lose them. So you learn to accept and love solitude that you manage well.

Recently I was told that not having siblings and having had a tumultuous childhood made me incapable of valuing relationships. The words hurt deeply. But life went on. I knew I had to carry on bearing my cross alone, if need be.

At first I had thought I would keep this news to myself. Ranjan told his two best friends. I had one best friend but she left us last year way before her time.

One of the many sleepless nights I have gone through, it occurred to me almost as an epiphany that I had a family, a huge one, one that I had made over the last 13 years with my soul and heart: the pwhy family. It was time to come out of the closet, in a manner of speech. I first told a few friends, then started a blog – writing is my catharsis. The response was overwhelming and moving. From all over the world came prayers, advise, messages of support, of love, hugs galore and above all words of hope. I realised I was no more alone, that there were so many I could reach out to and who were there for me.

This has made up for all the friends I never had. I feel blessed, humbled and very small.

Hey guys you take my breath away.

I normally never put up large sized pictures on my blog but my pathetic photo talent makes me do so in this one so that you get the picture. The road you see is in front of the DDA market close to our house (Guru Nanak Market) and was tarred beautifully less than a week ago. Of course while they were tarring the road I had two disconnected thoughts. One related to people making money on the run with elections around the corner and the other was about the total disregard for water recycling as rain water had no way to percolate. At least when some bits where left out, some of the water did seep down.

Imagine my shock when two days later I visit the market for some errand and see men happily digging the newly tarred road and bright orange pipes lying along the side. Now why in heaven’s name did the ones who were to place the pipes not stop the ones laying the tar and place their pipes and then tar the road.

But darling this is India. No one talks to no one. Makes better sense for corrupt pockets. One tars and makes money; one digs and places pipes and makes money; then one tars again and so on.

This reminds me of some hilarious moments, hilarious in hindsight, of the IX Asian games in 1982 where I was protocol in charge. We had zillions of committees all headed by luminaries and I always wondered why they never met together as each had plans that could be different from another’s. I was naive then too. Naive and honest. Not a recipe for success. So when we did have a meeting some days before the event we realised that entrances that we as protocol had decided upon for some social events were the very ones the Security committee wanted absolutely sealed. Security had precedence of course and as we never have plan B in our heads it was an absolute nightmare. We excel at crisis management so no one knew what had happened.

But coming back to our road story would it not be better if before taring roads the said department checked with all departments that lay pipes if they were envisaging to do so in the near future. But what am I saying. Darling this is India and public money is meant for spending!

To say that we as a nation are insensitive is as sad as it is true. The latest example of this is an ad placed by the Delhi police to raise funds for its youth training campaign. The bye line used : “Help him learn how to chop an onion. Before someone teaches him how to chop a head.” The child in the picture is between 12 and 14. Child activists are up in arms. The creator of the campaign is trying his best to explain the bigger picture if there is any! It is obvious that the child in the advertisement is not yours or mine, but one from the other side of the fence, the kind everyone gives up on. he child destined to be ‘chop onions’ and the ‘heads’. The soft target for every bad deed that takes place in his immediate environment. The one everybody has decided can have no ambitions or dreams.

There are many aberrations in this ad! I will not delve on them. The ad also goes against the laws of the land be it child labour or Right to Education. Those only look good on paper. If they were properly enacted and implemented then no child would be working in our city. Just one look around and you find them helping their fathers at an eating stall, cleaning dishes at another one or tagging along their mums and learning how to clean houses and utensils. It is for the Delhi Police to ensure that child labour does not persist. Instead they come up with an ad that gives kids the options of chopping onions and should they not accept this then they are bound to be chopping heads. No matter what circumvented explanation anyone tries to put forth, to me it is nothing short of gory and unacceptable. Instead of ensuring that no child works and every kid attends schools, the Police is offering them a strange choice.

Every child has the right to dram and dream big. Even a kid born on the roadside had the right to
become what he wants. When we began classes more than 10 years ago for a bunch of gypsy kids on their roadside camp a young lad, around 14, joined our classes just because we had some foreign volunteers. Like every kid his age, he liked ogling at young girls, more so if they were blonde and pretty. Sanjay, however continued to study with us, unlike some of his pals who left along the way. I often use to tell these nowhere children that they too had a right to dream big, and that dreams did come true. Sanjay finished school and joined pwhy as a teacher. That was a great story in itself!

One day a film maker wanted to make a film on a feel good subject and to me the gypsy lad turned teacher seemed a great one. However that is not what it turned out to be. Sanjay shared his dreams with the film maker. He wanted to go to Bollywood. It did not quite happen but Sanjay became a model and walked the ramp not only in India but in Paris! Gypsy boy to ramp model! And he even starred in a movie aptly called Bollywodd Boulevard! Everything is possible.

Yet for too many, children who are born in underprivileged homes are destined to failure. This is not the way it should be.

The midday meal programme could have been a boon for India’s children just as ICDS should have been. But Alas, though the programme was conceived impeccably the implementation and the monitoring was left in the itchy hands of the corrupt or as maybe, and apologies if it sounds cynical, its failure was seeded in its implementation as is the view of an activist who quips, “Perhaps the government does not want the scheme to function properly. They want problems to be created so that people ask them to stop the scheme altogether. Maybe they want to hand over the scheme to some corporate organisation”. It is tragic that 23 children had to lose their lives for the scheme to be exposed.

I agree with this view as it is one that is evident in many so called social programmes. Let us take education which is now a constitutional right. If every child was truly educated the profile of India would be transformed to the detriment of the political masters. Yet they want to look good to the world so after 6 decades of Independence they finally vote a Right to Education bill that defies all logic. Free education is from 6 to 14. What happens before 6 and post 14. An enigma. The pass percentage is as low as 33%. Looks good as statistics but does not get you anywhere. Then instead of sprucing their schools that stand on prime land but are often dilapidated, they come up with a 25% reservation for ‘poor’ children, setting criteria that allow access to middle class kids whose parents are willing to take some not so honest shortcuts. I state this with responsibility as I have witnessed it. So the idea that the state does not want the midday meal to work makes sense. Just as they rushed privatisation of education, they would be too happy to hand over the midday meal to corporates. Feeding 1. million kids makes good business sense. What one forgets was that when the scheme had been thought of, the idea was to have mothers and the community cook this meal! But surreptitiously things mutated to enable corrupt individuals to get their pound of flesh. Mothers mutated into NGOs often set up by interested parties or private contractors. Quality went for a free fall and nutrition too. Insects and lizards, worms and ultimately pesticides that resulted in the death of children.

The situation is terrible. Portions are insufficient. Conditions unhygienic. Utensils dirty. The list is endless. The reality is that no one cares for the children who are treated like a burden. No one is really interested in their well being and proper nutrition. The monitoring is on existent.

When after the terrible incident of Chappra, teachers were asked to taste the food, they went up in arms and even suggested that it be ‘tasted’ by street dogs. Though this was promptly shot down, it shows the attitude teachers have towards poor children. According to me teachers and students should partake of the midday meal together! Maybe that would change things.

What all this shows is the inability, intended or real, of the State to implement and monitor any social programme. All they excel at is formulating and drafting more and more of the same to gain political support that translate into votes.

The question is who will or rather can bell the cat

One thought one heard it all with the prayers to God to stop rains so that our traffic moves smoothly on Delhi pothole filled roads or that demure dressing protects you form rape (I wonder which diaper the babies that have been raped should have worn!) when a new shocker comes courtesy the ruling party. If we were to believe them than no one should be poor because you can have a meal for 12 rupees a day and if that was not enough another leader stated that you could eat well in Delhi for Rs 5! This after the planning commission has revised the poverty statistics and declared that : every eighth person living in urban areas is below the poverty line, while one in five rural residents is poor, the Planning Commission has estimated, hence the poverty ratio has declined to 21.9 per cent in 2011-12 from 37.2 per cent in 2004-05.

Dear Politician this game of statistics to prove that aal izz welll inIndia makes me want to throw up. You crunch the number and make some inane political statement and hope to get away, and sadly you do as many vote you back in power falling for your skewed and dishonest statements. Who do you want to fool? One does not need to be a rocket scientist to see poverty amidst your glitzy malls and gated communities. have you ever thought who build them? And how they live? And where there go? And what happens to their kids?

You come up with cleverly drafted options to meet your so called goals. You privatise schools and reserve 25% seats for the ‘poor’. I challenge you to do a survey and find out how many really poor kids get these seats. Oh you have taught us well. People know how to make fake certificates and fake rental agreements to beat your system. And it is kids of fairly well to do families who avail of this so called reservation which is meant to give good education to all. But does 25% meet the needs of ALL the children of India.

You say that 12 rs or 5 rs can buy you a meal. For you a daily consumption of 28.65 rs is enough to live in a city. I challenge you to so. And it is not only your 5 bucks meal but there are things like housing, clothing, eduction, health, transport! Or is this only for you.

I am speechless, repulsed, sick and ashamed of being a citizen of a country where no one cares about the poor.

Our politicians never fail to flabbergast me! The one that still has the power to startle me though one has come to expect the most ludicrous and preposterous statement from her is our very own CEO! The latest in her exceptional repertoire was her one line answer to a question posed to her about the water logging this city has to face after a heavy spell on rain. In her true inimitable manner she declared: Pray to God to stop Rains!

New Delhi is not the only city in the world to receive heavy rainfall. Moreover rains are the lifeline of our land. And our lady should be thankful for the climate change over the past decades because I remember Delhi when monsoon rains would hit the city non stop for days. Now we just have hours. Any self respecting city should have a proper drainage system. Ours has clogged drains and in my case we have a  peculiar rain storm drain as it stops tow houses away, where the owners have simply filled the drain and cemented it. Moreover the frenzy we have seen in the last few months where every square inch of a earth on the roads has been cemented makes it impossible for part of the rain water to percolate as should be the case. The cementing frenzy is to unable to fill pockets before the next elections.

The other excuse that is thrown at us for any problem we may encounter is the helplessness due to the multitude of agencies that rule our city. So why not sort this problem once for all. I am sure we as voters will welcome the move. If a girl is raped we are told the police is not under the Delhi administration and anyway women have  no business being out late at night, and even her daughter is scared after 10pm. If roads are flooded it is the responsibility of some other agencies . And this goes ad nauseum.

She is not the only one to come up with wise cracks like these; many of our politicians do be it their comments about the way girls dress to the very latest from the Bihar Education Minister who says:  he cannot guarantee that the disaster will not repeat itself. 

So let us take it from the top: if roads are flooded Pray to God; if you do not want to be raped stay at home and dress demurely and do not have a drink! We have had our share of this nonsense and it is not funny. We keep being told that Delhi is to be transformed into a second Singapore. It is glitzy malls and uber rich constructions that will make it happen. It is cleaning the city, disposing of its garbage, having drains that work and roads without potholes. We need to have an ace rain harvesting system and above all proper habitat by the ‘poor’ who play probably the biggest role in keeping our city going.

Maybe one should move in the other direction, I mean modernise the city from down to up.

Till then we are all praying.

Last week a young 11 year old became one the youngest to undergo bariatric surgery. She was born normal but undue spoiling and the lifestyle of the rich made her morbidly obese. This is the same country where babies on the other side of the fence are born with extremely low weights; where 5000 children die of malnutrition related diseases; where basic clean drinking water is a rarity for many; where millions still go to sleep hungry. On the other side of the fence there are many like this young girl who get overfed the wrong things to the point of becoming seriously damaged.

The lure of the west, the proliferation of fast food outlets in humbler areas, the easy availability of all junk food in smaller and thus cheaper packaging – a great marketing ploy -; the smart TV ads where superstars extol the goodness of packaged food are now making the poor leave their healthy fare and get lured by all these unhealthy products.

In our creche we have mothers giving Instant noodles and small bags of chips to their children in place of the home bead roti or parathas and home cooked vegetables that we saw some years back and that they still cook for their husbands. No matter how much we plead, the TV ad is not a match for us. I wonder how long it will take to see our first obese slum kid!

What would you do if you had to carry the body of your dead child in a plastic bag for miles at an end from the hospital where he was born? I am not joking but dead serious. This happened last year to a tribal couple in a country that boats of luxury hospitals, swanky malls and the world’s richest people: India. A tribal, Ayappan’s wife Valli, near term pregnant with child, had hypertension and anaemia. The nearby tribal mission hospital referred her to the tribal speciality hospital at Kottathara 43 km away. But this hospital was crumbling and many of its facilities, like the ope­ration theatre, were closed down. So Valli was referred to the Palakkad Medical College, over three hours away by jeep. By the time they reached there, it was too late—she gave birth to a still-born male child. The hospital denied the couple an ambulance to take home their dead child. Ayappan and Valli carried their dead child in a plastic bag and took the state transport bus. They had to change four buses before they reached Kalpetti where they buried their first-born in the corner of their field. This is one the heart breaking stories that appeared in a leading magazine this week.

The article is about extreme malnutrition in the tribal belt of Pallakad district, Kerala. I urge you to take time of your busy schedule and read it with your heart. In the last six months scored of children have died in the tribal cluster of Attapady. The villages are in a pitiful state with no drainage or safe drinking water and scant food. Women are severely anemic, and children malnourished. Most of this happened after the land of the tribals was taken over by mafia in the name of setting up windmills. The tribal have no access to the forests that once were their feeding bowls, ensuring them proper nourishment. You can get the details of this horror story in the article. Some tokenism and knee jerk reactions have taken place, but everything will be back to square one. The tribals are not understood and easily marginalised in the name of development. yet with so many infants deaths the tribes are worried they might just be wiped out.

To me what is disturbing is that this is happening within the knowledge of politicians and administrators, and now the media. It supposedly has all the social hand outs that the government sets up but none of them work. The hospital is decrepit, the creches do not work and I am sure no school exists. No one is truly interested in the area as it only returns one MLA!

Is life so cheap in our country? Our these children not ours? Are they not protected by the rights enshrined in our Constitution. Have we lost our consciences forever? Will once again this terrifying story be forgotten as all others that do not concern us directly?

Try to imagine the pain and sense of helplessness and hopelessness of the mothers who see their children dying. Try to imagine the distress and anguish of tow young parents carrying their dead child in a plastic bag for miles and miles because a hospital denied them an ambulance? And if you can then will you remain silent or scream.

Following the terrible tragedy that killed 23 children in Bihar, our city went into reviewing mode with officials taking stock of the situation of midday meals in the capital city. An article published this morning in a leading newspaper details the issue. I was aghast to read that the said officials gave themselves a pat in the back saying that over the past two years no sample had been declared unfit for human consumption. What is this a joke! They were quick to add that 50% of samples collected failed the nutrition test. I am lost. The midday meal is meant to provide nutrition to children. I agree that nutrition levels need to be tested but how does the fit for consumption but come in. Why should meals meant for children be tested for their fitness for human consumption. This in nothing short of mind boggling.

Delhi’s record is abysmal. 80% of the food cooked is substandard. It is time something was done. I shudder to think how all the schemes heralded with such fanfare will perform when implemented. The answer is quite evident. Either there is a lack of will and only political drama or the whole system is so corrupt and poorly conceived that no programme can ever be well implemented. Why should be bother many would think? Well first and foremost it is our money. But that is not all. Under nourishment is something we have to look at seriously. If children are malnourished then their entire development is compromised.

As midday meals seem to be the flavour of the day following the recent death of 23 children, be are hearing a slew of horror stories from insects and lizards, to scorpions, of cooking on sceptic tanks next to stinking loos. And as the story enfolds we get more and more disturbing news about the way the midday meal programme is being implemented. And believe it or not Bihar even returned 500 crores to the centre, money meant to build kitchens and buy utensils for the midday meal scheme. The bottom line is that no one cares for children. And schemes made for children are the easiest to be hijacked.

The midday meal scheme is probably the best solution for dealing with malnutrition in children as it covers children from 0 to 14. Pregnant and lactating mothers are also meant to be covered so the critical nine months and 1000 days of good nutrition and constant monitoring should ensure no under nourished child in India. It is something we all should be proud as it is the largest school feeding programme. But sadly that is not the case. We should be given the Nobel for botching every programme meant for the poor and diverting it to bottomless pockets. How can anyone have gall to divert funds meant for the hungry and the destitute. But we have. Learn from us! You don’t believe me? Here is another proof.

A programme launched 2 days ago in this very cit, the capital of India, and meant to arrest anaemia in children by giving them iron and folic acid landed 20 of them in hospital. No wonder parents are scared!

Wonder how the new Food bill will fare. Midday meals are an intrinsic part of it!!!!

Time we woke up!

The writing is on the wall if anyone, just anyone is willing to see. We know politicians and their cronies and administrators and their lackeys will look away and go an hunt for the most implausible and far fetched explanations that no one, but they, will buy. The likes of us may utter a few concerned exclamations, maybe allot it some space in their next social event and move on. What I am referring to is the horrific death of 23 innocent children whose only fault was to have eaten their midday meal in their school, the very meal meant to provide the very nourishment they need to grow healthy and strong. Instead it too away their lives.

When we began pwhy way back in 2000, I was involved in some networking with the Delhi administration and  one of the things discussed were the midday meal. At that them a proposal was mooted, but of course rejected, of having mothers form cooperatives and cook the midday meal of the school their children go to. Needless to state that the reason it was shot down was that it did not allow space for corruption of any sort. Instead the programme was used to gratify friends and acolytes enabling them to loot abashedly. In some states this approach was selected and needless to say the children get well cooked and nourishing hot food. In some states however the ‘contract’ was awarded to big businesses who dole out supplements of sorts to replace the midday meal of creches and schools. But ‘supplements’ are supplement to something, and these children have nothing to supplement. They often depend on this hot meal to survive and hopefully thrive.

Sadly this is not the case. We are so corrupt that we do not even spare children. The midday meal looks great on paper but this not the case in reality. In the national capital the food is sub standard and barely edible. Our children are fed with grain crawling with worms, flies and even lizards. In one state, the contract was given to a liquor baron. The bottom line is that the amount of money to be made runs into thousands of crores and everyone wants a share of the pie. Nobody gives a hoot about the beneficiaries: voiceless and hapless children.

The midday meal or a clone of it is part of the new Food Security Ordinance. I cannot begin to imagine how it will work better under this new cloak. A quick glance at the series of article on the subject paints a gloomy and disturbing picture.

When we ran a small residential unit for Manu and our boarding school aspirants, we had a tight budget, but the one thing we never compromised on was food. I cannot imagine what kind of being you have to be to want to enrich yourself on food meant for children and starving people.

I do not think that the new avatar will change things for children but know that it will enrich many on the way. And no one will fight for the children. They will continue to die.

How many deaths will it take to clean our Augean stables.

It is a reality that should make us hang our heads in shame. In a country where millions go hungry every day, where 5000 kids under the age of 5 die every day of malnutrition related diseases, we allow food grain to rot every year. The latest report comes at a time when the Government has rushed its Food Security Bill through an ordinance. In Bhogola, the wheat sacks are kept in the open and are completely getting drenched in the rain. The ones that are covered with polythene sheets are also not protected as these sheets are torn at places. Rotting grain is an old issue. Multiple articles and stories have appeared in the media over the years. In spite of Supreme Court orders and a plethora of social programmes that are rammed down our throats time and again, nothing has changed. India remains a poor country with pathetic roads, no electricity, insufficient and poorly run schools and abysmal health care. An interesting article explains in its own manner the reason for this immobility. Now we have all been ‘gifted’ the Food Security Bill, a supposed panacea for all the nutrition problems of the country. Yippee!!! I wonder how a given quantity of grains to 800 million people will solve malnutrition and address the problem of undernutrition.

Breaking News. I interrupt the flow of this post to share some terribly distressing news: 20 children under the age of 10 have died after consuming the midday meal served in their school. It seems the rice had some lethal pesticide in it. It seemed it may not have been properly washed. Whatever the reason, nothing can forgive this criminal Act.

The midday meal is also an important part of the said Bill. If they cannot get their act together now, what miracle will occur to change things. Maybe one should have set one’s house in order before conjuring new plans. Malnourished children die of diseases that are preventable. Maybe we should look at this more closely rather than dole out more suspicious hand outs. It is all in the name of garnering vote banks: the ruling party brings an ordinance, the opposition will not dare oppose it in spite of its flaws as every one needs to woo the poor. There are sufficient schemes in place the intelligent and honest approach would have been to simply ensure every one of these work adequately. But that is not the way things work in our country. You need new programmes to add new avenues for corrupt people.

The new ordinance has flaws. The obvious one is that a certain amount of grain given to a person does not solve malnutrition which is the main bane of the country. This needs preventive medical care, sanitation and safe drinking water. To curb undernutrition the 9 months and 1000 first days of a child are crucial. Early malnutrition cannot be reversed.

This bill is no magic pill. It is just one more political gimmick aimed at retaining power. When will we see politicians truly willing to put their house in order?

The beast gnawing mercilessly my loved one for the past year now has finally been exposed. It has a fancy name meant to scare you and hold you in fear: Hodgkins t cell histiocyte rich large b cell lymphoma. This is the third time it has dared attack my loves ones and won the last two battles. This battle is mine to win. The last two times it kept us in such dread that we were terrorised to called it by its name. The C word was banned in my home, the same home I sit in today in the early morning and write these words. But this time I named it before anyone could give me medical spiel. TO me he is ZOZO. This t cell and b cell saga will not instill the alarm and panic it did last time. If you google it you find a load of scientific mumbo jumbo that means nothing to the layperson and is again meant to terrorise you. Actually the whole C Saga (cancer) seems to have been created to enrich the medical fraternity by giving it a larger than life image. When you patiently crawl and sift through all the information you get, you find that it has a fairly good chance of cure. Sorry I hate the word remission. I will hold on to cure.

However I want the control of the cure to be in my hands and blissfully my family doc will hold my hand and avoid I fall into the traps commercial medicine will lay for me along the way. In addition to what I feel is adequate and humane, I will draw strength from the age old medical traditions that have been so brutally and contemptuously been cast aside by those who think they know all. I will also starve the beast with all the foods it hates. I will go to the end of the world and farther to ferret out all every single option that will help my love one heal.

As I said earlier this is a battle I either win or die fighting.

This is the brave side. The one I have carefully and painstakingly crafted in the past weeks, since the word C entered our personal lexicon again. It is my battle gear: the words and expression to battle greedy men in white; the face to maintain while being buffeted by commiseration that will annoy, advise and questions you have to answer and above all the one to be perfected so that my loved one feels that everything is possible and that cure is just around the corner. Can’t he see it in my face.

This brings back a memory long forgotten. I must have been four and we had a terrible car accident in which my mother had broken many bones: ribs, sternum etc. I was barely hurt as she had protected me – no seat belts then – and looking at her started wailing thinking she would die. She just kept smiling, hiding her pain, and talking to me in reassuring words till help came, last as she had not let out a scream. I am not Kamala. But today Mama I need you to give me that strength and composure. I know you will.

However behind this brave face that is I hope well in place, I am breaking into million pieces. I am angry, scared, hurt, helpless and alone. The tears that are welling inside me threaten to come out and it takes me all my strength to stop them coming. Do tears dry inside you. I hope they do.

The C word can shred you of your dignity, take away your wealth and your life’s effort. I will not let it do so. I will heed good advice and shun the rest. I will draw strength from my nuclear family, my little grandson and the one that came into my life a decade ago and all my pwhy family, that is all of you.

Maybe pwhy came into my life so that I would not be alone in my time of trouble.