Dear Mama

Today is Mother’s day! I do not know why there has to be a Mother’s day as for me every day is Mother’s day. You may have left me 23 years ago but there has not been a single day I have not remembered you. You have been with me every moment from the time I last held you on that fateful June day. You gave me the gift of life, the most precious gift anyone can offer, but you also showed me how to live the life you gave me. From the time I was a little girl, you took me by the hand and set out on a journey that has not ended even when you left this world. You live in every breath I take. True some memories have yellowed faded like the this picture has. I sometimes need to ferret in the umpteen boxes of photographs that lie in a corner of the house to recollect the less than four decades we shared in different corners of the world. There are the very professional pictures taken by photographers where you are always dressed to perfection, your hair in place, your sari impeccably draped and your beautiful smile ever present. But there are also the personal photographs, taken with a shaky hand and probably with the wrong settings. These are the true repository of our lives and somehow in most if not all of them, I find myself, be it as a baby, a toddler, a school going child or a rebellious teenager. No matter what you were photographing, your child had to be there. This discovery made me realise the extent of your love for me.

You are the one who wanted a battalion of children but got only one, as your son was taken from you even before you could hold him. No wonder then that you smothered me with your love. You had to make this one child worthy of your love. And that is not all. How can I forget that you are the one who were willing to accept life as an old maid rather than give birth to a child in a enslaved India. Your  incredible love for this land made sure that your child never forget the fact that she was first an Indian. Though we lived in faraway lands across the glove, you made sure my mother tongue would be Hindi. Your way was simple: you never spoke to me in any other language. I must have been 5 or 6 when I realised that you knew other languages. And talking of languages what an incredible woman you were!  You, a girl from a small town suddenly propelled into the international arena by virtue of the profession of the man you married and whose husband was steeped in French culture, learned French on the sly to be able to gift the man you loved a very special birthday present: the ability to speak the language he loved. You were truly to the manor born.

I fell in love with you the instant you first held me. That Mama was instinctive love. But I have a secret to share with you, and what better day than today, Mother’s day! I fell in love all over again with you after your left when I had the sagacity and maturity to understand what an incredible woman you were. I wish I could tell you that in person. I wish I could ask your forgiveness for the times I may have hurt you inadvertently. I realise today that everything I am or have achieved is because you were my mother. 

In the past decade or so, I have tried to walk a path that encompassed all that you held as true: your love for the land, your fight for women’s equality,  your passion for education, your compassion for the downtrodden, your belief that everything was possible if we had the courage to take the first step. I hope you are proud of me. 

I do not know why I feel your presence around me, urging to take a final look at my life, wanting me to dare to jump in the void without a parachute and see whether I have the wings needed to fly.

For you, I will take that final leap!

I love you mama

your daughter

anou

Today’s post is personal. Maybe it is because I am at this very instant faced with a challenge that requires me to take a decision I am weary of taking. I do not know if there is a translation for the french expression ‘ la spirale infernale’. The best would be a ‘vicious circle’ or maybe ‘downward spiral’. I feel like I am at the edge of a precipice and need to make the decision to jump or not. I did start by saying that this post was personal but realise now that nothing in my life is purely personal anymore. From the day I began my pwhy journey, I have been compelled to look beyond the obvious in more ways than one. Nothing is what it seems anymore. I have written many posts on the health and medical situation over the past few years. I have been privy to the state of medical care available to us Indians on both side of the spectrum and did not like what I saw. From quacks to super docs, it is all a matter of extorting as much money as possible from people who are at their most vulnerable. The Hippocratic Oath is well forgotten. Maybe one should revisit it.

Today medicine is the new commercial kid on the block. Just like education! Hospitals look like 7* hotels if you are rich. A well rehearsed sales pitch awaits you when you go to seek help and you get drawn into that downward spiral even if you think you are well prepared. I have seen the game from far many a times. Playing on our desperation, we find ourselves drawn into a vortex from which there is no escape.

I have known many who fell in the trap and got landed with surgeries and other interventions that cost a bomb and were not really needed. The arrival of medical insurances has been a boon for such outrages. My own cousin brother was probably almost DOA, but kept alive and several surgeries performed on him before they finally declared him dead. You would have guessed that the bill amounted to the sum he was injured for!

In 1992 I too fell into this trap though at that time it was not an insurance issue. My father who was in no pain and in good health was taken to a ‘specialist’. This happened on the 30th of October. On the 29 of November he breathed his last. In between these 2 dates complex surgeries that should not have been performed on a 81 year old were done. In medical terms they were successful! I guess this was because he came out of them. For me they stripped him of his dignity. I still wonder if we would have been with us for some more time had we not visited the specialist. My mother refused all conventional treatment. She lived with her dignity intact.

I also know of people who did not fall for the carefully laid trap that includes dramatic scenes worthy of the best playwright. They sought a second opinion from the still honest medical practitioners who unfortunately work in hospitals where it is quasi impossible to get to them unless you have ‘contacts’. In all these cases, people who had been told that they were ‘about to die’ and needed ‘immediate bypass surgeries’ were simply advised a change of lifestyle. They are around and in good health! One of my relatives was kept on a ventilator after a car crash for one month. We all knew in our hearts that he would not make it but fell for the well written scenes that was enacted in front of us every day.

This is not about the poor! Theirs is another story. This is about you and me. And it is not about money.  One would be willing to spend the last dime in one’s pocket if we could get our loved one the right help. But the problem is that one knows that the advise you get is loaded! I am sure there are honest doctors but I do not know where to find them.

I am lucky to have a wonderful GP who is everything a doctor should be. For the past decades he has treated us of all our ailments and donned every specialist cap possible. I prayed that this would continue till we all breathed our last.

That was not to be. Yesterday I was asked to get a second opinion for someone I love the most. It is true that we have been battling with his health issues for some time and not being able to nail the problem. So my doctor asked for the dreaded ‘second’ opinion. Sadly he did not know anyone in the field and gave me some names and numbers. I do not know why, but I did not rush to fix an appointment and did some web search. The results were not great. I do not know why, instinct perhaps, but my mind zoomed back to what happened to papa. My blood ran cold. I found myself at the edge of the precipice that I know would take me down the dreaded spiral from where there is no way up.

What is strange is that though I know the game and thus should not fall for it, I also know that when it comes to a loved one your reason vanishes and your heart takes over. You are sure to make all  the wrong decisions.

I am now at the edge of the cliff, fighting to hold my balance. I will give myself some time to explore possible options and also take hold of myself and not act in haste. Love will have to be harnessed, and reason given all the space it needs. I will not jump in the void without a parachute but develop the wings I need to fly.

So help me God!

You are the best girl in the world said my little grandson when we connected on skype this morning. I guess for him it was simply because Nani gives in to every whim and fancy, buys all the cars and toys, allows extended TV time, bypasses mummy’s diktats and gorges one with chocolates and ice cream! I guess that is what nani’s are made for! But to me these eight words spoken my an innocent child were a much needed sign from the heaven’s above as for the past months now I have been feeling somewhat low and shaky. The reasons are many! First a slew of health issues in my family requiring practically all my time, if not as a poor ersatz of Ms Nightingale busy doling out medication, holding hands or dishing out dollops of TLC, then as wife and mother spending sleepless nights worrying. And to crown it all,  I am joining the bandwagon as it seems that my eyes have developed cataracts. This certainly added to my misery as my eyes are my most prized possessions as they are the ones enabling me to face all obstacles head on! I mean reading and writing are essential to my survival.

I must admit I have been wallowing in unnecessary self pity and once you take that road then it seems to be always a downward ride. I was spiralling out of control and was praying for a sign. And it came this morning through the words of my little Angel. His lovely words were the kick I needed to stop basking in my self pity and look at life with new eyes. The first things that struck me was the fact that though I had, by force majeure, been terribly absent from the pwhy, both physically and mentally, the project was running like a dream. Even funds were sufficient, not needing me to worry constantly, at least for some time. It was as if the Gods were on my side. I am not only referring to the day-to-day running of the project, but my team has successfully handled many visits as well as a successful pilot of a learning programme called SMILE and initiated by Stanford University. And there is more. The ace pwhy team organised 2 cultural programmes for visiting guests and is now preparing yet another for a large expat group. I was happy to learn that workshops on gender issues are also going on as well as preparing for co-educational classes during the summer holidays. Another surprise was the fact that the team on it’s own has organised a partnership with a travel agency to train some of our students in upmarket motorcycle repair, thus fulfilling a cherished dream: that of providing useful vocational skills to students who may not be academically inclined. For all the months when I have been unavailable, my team stood like a silent rock behind me and for that I am eternally grateful. I wonder how I would have survived the past months if I needed to worry about the nitty-gritty of the project.

The best girl also needs to look at the coming time with optimism and realise that physical and other ailments do get resolved if one is walking the right road. I have been doing my best to support those who need me. Here also there is something I had not realised. I could only do so because my ‘health’ was spot on and I had the physical and mental strength to hold on. This is alo a blessing from the heavens above.

I have shared my problems with some close friends, friends that came into my life thanks to pwhy, and they have stood by me through thick and thin, giving me courage and determination to face the future. This is a blessed gift as being an only child and having lived a nomadic life, I never had what is known as childhood friends.

And the fact that my little grandson used the word ‘girl’, I guess means that I have to stop complaining about my age and continue giving my best to one and all, be it my family or my work. So I have no excuse to stop writing or doing what is expected of me to be the ‘best’. Please do not take this as grandstanding, far from that! The use of the word best was a gentle reminder to do what I needed to.

Tomorrow may hold new challenges. Some may be difficult and even trying but what is needed is to give one’s best and accept whatever comes with a grateful smile.

It is said that God speaks through children! I second that with conviction.

Keep your bike in good repair: Motorcycle boots are NOT comfortable for walking. Wonder why I am starting this blog with a biker’s quote? Patience and read on. A few months ago we got a mail from Vintage Rides, an organisation that invites you to discover India on Royal Enfield Bullets. They wanted to partner with us so that they could include a very special part of India in their itinerary: project why! We discussed many options: visits by their clients, wish lists for donations, bike rides for our children and so on. Each was discussed at length but somehow fell short in some way, till we hit the nail on the head: mechanical classes for pwhy students. Vintage Rides has a state of the art facility for bike repairs and we are always on the look out for vocational options for our students, particularly those who are not academically inclined but could and would do wonders if they found their calling. The glove with the hand perfectly. And Jon, who is volunteering with us was our man of the moment!

The introductory class was held this week and this is what Jon had to say: The staff were excellent,treated the kids as equals, they really got into showing the kids how the bikes worked, about the engines and teaching the kids. The students started off having a talk in the boardroom about VR then moved into the workshop, they really enjoyed being able to start some of the fantastic bikes they are customizing for customers all over the world and shown the inside workings of how an engine works, They were then able to get hands on taking an engine apart to be shown how to fix an oil leak, you can see from the photo how keen the students were to learn and did us proud at all times by acting with manners, politeness and enthusiasm  – their eagerness and concentration the whole time they were there was great to see. The session was extended as well because it was going so well and it think bodes well for the future.

I was on cloud nine, and for more reasons that one! Once again, as Jon confirmed, my kids were to the manor born and behaved perfectly throughout the workshop. Then their interest in the workshop, their pertinent questions and concentration proved that this could be an option for them after they complete school with a caveat though as we need to select kids who we feel are not made for higher studies. This bunch was some of our brightest. And then what made my day was the close and equal interaction between what we call the 2 Indias! I must admit that I am always a little apprehensive as I have had some bad experiences. For this I want to extend my deepest gratitude to the Vintage Rides staff and management.

And as  Motorcycle boots are NOT comfortable for walking, a lot of repair work awaits our pwhy kids!

Way to roar!

I was surprised when I heard that young K was going to spend a few days at home. I am always delighted when she is with us as she is a ray of sunshine, but this is school and unit test time so what the hell was she doing! I obviously had to ask what was happening. That is when I first heard of a custom called Chaupadi, practised in Nepal. What I was witnessing was a revised and ‘modernised’ version of this abhorrent custom. The article gives an elaborate description of the horror. In short a woman is considered ‘unclean’ while she is menstruating and is kept in isolation as the gods will be angered and bring ruin upon hapless male members of the family. So she is locked up in a dark hole. Men need to be protected as is always the case.

I do remember some elders in my own family make inane statements like ‘don’t touch the pickle jar‘ as it is believed that it will rot if touched by one who has her period. We were also banished from the prayer room and not taken to Temples. I found this unjust but never raised my voice as my parents, though traditional always sifted the grain from the chaff as far as traditions were concerned, and only taught me what they felt stood to logic and my cartesian mind. I remember telling my father first that I had had my period and we both went out to buy me a gift. I was 10!

This terrible custom does not stand to any logic, however warped. Menstruation is part of the normal growth of girl and needs to be celebrated just like you celebrate the first word, the first step, the first day at school and many more firsts. How illogical it is to consider the very essence of creation as something dirty! Having your first period is traumatic for any child. That is when she needs love, affection, help, care, tenderness and above all the presence of her family. Imagine how she feels when she is sent to the cowshed in the village or to strangers home in the city! Once upon a time this isolation was considered as ‘forced rest’ and could have made some sense if the woman was well looked after, but now she is still meant to work. As one woman says: if I can feed the cow when having my periods, why can’t I drink its milk? If I can collect firewood for the kitchen, why can’t I cook? If I touch a plant, it will die they say, then why am allowed to breast-feed in the chaupadi? This is absurd.

The watered down version that I am seeing today is incomprehensible. The young girl will continue to go to school and carry on with her life but cannot see any male member of her family for the next 7 days! Blissfully in this version this is only for the first cycle.

My curiosity compelled me to find out the origin of this Hindu practice and thanks to the WWW and Google this is what I found: According to religious folklore, Indra, the King of Heaven was accused of killing a Brahmin and because of the illicit acts with women that Indra committed during his quest to redeem his sin, for these acts all women were said to be punished through menstruation. So if I get it right, a God goes philandering and it is all women, including you and me, who are punished and tormented. Hey that is a good one for explaining all the rape and abuse against women. You are being raped because Indra went astray!

This practice has landed in our city because of the large number of migrants from the region where it is the most prevalent. Urban existence has compelled families to revisit the custom and contain it to the first cycle only. But that is probably the worst ‘modernisation’ you could have come up with.The first cycle is when a girl is still a child and when she needs maximum support. You cannot lock her away or send her to strangers. And how can you think that a menstruating child’s touch can  hurt the males of the family! What she needs most is a hug from her father. That is what I got.

To be continued

Child abuse casts a shadow the length of a lifetime wrote Herbert Ward. Most of us do not understand this has we have never been abused. But this is the harsh reality, one I have witnessed myself. The medias have shifted gear. There seems to be a surplus of meaty stories. And with elections around the corner, the politicians will hog all the space. The horror of abuse of little girls cannot compete with scams, political quibbling and all kind of breaking news. Yet children continue to be abused as we carry on life as we know it. Yesterday evening at 7.45, as we were maybe sipping our sundowner, watching TV or otherwise engaged,  the little five year old who had been brutally raped 12  days ago and was fighting for her life in  a Nagpur hospital breathed her last and gently passed away without fuss. We will never know what went on in her tiny and innocent mind for those long 12 days and 12 nights. She will be mourned by her loved ones but they too will have to move on as the game of survival the poor in our country are compelled to play does not allow you the luxury to grieve for long. She might make a few headlines, spark off some protest but then she will become a statistic to be added to the horrifying number of children abused in our country: 48 838 is the official number of children raped in India in the last ten years. These are the reported cases. You can easily multiply the figure by four. And if you add the children groped, molested, fondled and assaulted within their homes, then the figure is staggering. Yet we keep criminally mute.

If you have the strength to read what child abuse is all about then I urge you to read this article. I know it is not easy but do to read it, just to honour the little girl who passed away yesterday because of our indifference. You cannot begin to imagine the horror a child goes through because of us , adults. I use ‘us’ responsibly because we are collectively responsible. I know many of you will not read this article in its entirety. I had to brace myself to do so. Allow me to just reproduce one story before we go further.

To begin with, hear the story of one child. On 17 December 2012 — just one day after the gangrape of a young paramedic in New Delhi shook the world — a three-and-a-half-year old baby girl returned from school with her clothes streaked with vomit and blood.

Her father, Gagan Sharma (name changed), had moved from Kolkata to a slum in west Delhi in 2003 in search of a better life. The little girl had been listless and reluctant to go to school for weeks. Now, when her mother asked her what had happened, she told the story haltingly, riven by fear.

She spoke of a bald man — the principal’s husband — who had threatened to hang her from a ceiling fan if she dared to open her mouth. She spoke of how he had taken her to the bathroom, made her lie down, and inserted his penis and fingers into her vagina and her anus, blaring music in his room to drown any noise. She spoke of how he had done this to her many times before, forcing her to keep quiet by saying terrible things would happen to her parents if she talked about it.

The girl’s mouth was full of ulcers from a drug the alleged perpetrator — a man called Pramod Malik — had forced her to take to render her unconscious while he raped her.

The fact of the rape is horrific enough. Here’s what came after. According to the parents, it took them 12 hours at the police station to get an FIR registered. They were taunted by a woman sub-inspector for living in a colony of “disrepute”; their own reputation was questioned; the little girl was asked to recount her story in front of three policemen. The woman sub-inspector prefaced the inquiry by telling the little girl: “Tell the truth or insects will crawl all over you and your mother and father will be beaten.”

Despite these threats, the little girl repeated her story exactly as she had told it to her parents. In the magistrate’s court, she was challenged again. She told her story again. The medical examiner, however, ruled out rape and left the report vague. The headmaster was let out on bail on 28 February. On the other hand, Gagan Sharma’s landlord asked him and his family to leave. They are still struggling with the case.

This is not just a narrative of a rape. Every line screams of horror, injustice and pain. First the age of the child: three and a half year old. Take a moment to stop and things of the children of that age you know and love: your own child, your grandchild, your niece or perhaps your neighbour. She is just a baby, someone to be loved, protected, cared for but not to be viewed as a means to satisfy your sexual need! She is just a child whose life till that horrific moment was filled with thoughts of toys, goodies and chocolates, swings and rids, and joy and laughter. And then suddenly a change in mood, a fear she cannot convey, a scream that remains stuck in her tiny throat for weeks. She does not want to go to school. But school is where she is meant to be safe, it is meant to be a happy place. Is it not the preferred space we all want to send our tiny ones to? And then one day the screams breaks the barrier of imposed silence and mutates into halting words impregnated with fear. She recounts the horror she has been subjected to, the pain, the incomprehension, the threats and names the perpetrator. It is not a stranger but the Principal’s husband! 

In any civilised society one would want to believe that from this moment the child would be safe and not subjected to any more humiliation and indignity. But there is more, much more. The child has to relieve the nightmare again and again and tell her ‘story’ to insensitive police officials, even a women who tell her to Tell the truth or insects will crawl all over you and your mother and father will be beaten. She has to relieve the horror again in front of a magistrate.

The end of the matter was that the medical examiner ruled out rape! How could he do that when the child had described as graphically as a three year old can do the acts perpetrated by the man. The main is out on bail. And her parents have been thrown out of their home by their landlord, their reputation sullied. I do not know what logic works here. I am speechless and seething.

The equation is skewed. It is not a case of 1 victim and 1 perpetrator. It is the a matter of one tiny victim   just three and a half and a slew of perpetrators: the rapist, his wife under whose watch this happened, the police and their taunts, the medical examiner whose report is shocking, the magistrate whose understanding of rape is beyond one’s understanding and last of all the community who as always lands  up blaming the victim. How can a child be heard.

I can only quote Heather Mc Claine’s words when she says The only reason why child abuse is alive today, is because we as adults fail our children when we fail to listen to them. Listen to a child today!

There are several more stories like this one in the mentioned article. 

The reason of this post goes further. The rape of these little girls is abhorrent. One has to have a sick mind to think otherwise. But there is another from of sexual assault that happens every minute within the walls of homes of all strata of society, assaults that are never or rarely reported as the equation is again skewed: one girl versus family honour and the equation is again skewed. What chance does the girl stand and as sometimes it is not rape in the legal definition – penetration- it is often poo poohed away by the elder one goes to for help. What many do not understand is that child sexual abuse is NOT  only intercourse. Even a single instance of groping by someone you trust is sufficient to scar a child for life. The incident takes on the form of a predator that lives for ever in some dark recess of the survivor’s soul and raises its ugly and monstrous head at the least expected moment, often when the survivor feels she has healed and wants to live a normal life, or when she dares to dream. The beast is a hydra headed one and can take many shapes: an unexplained illness, a sombre mood, anything to ensure that the survivor does take that one step that would spell release and freedom.

Many of us do not know that. There was a time when I too did not. But this is the raw and stark reality faced by a child sexual abuse survivor simply because a trusting adult broke the trust in a vile and reprehensible way.

The survivor is scarred for ever. As a survivor who was raped at the age of 16 and could not remember the faces of those who violated her:“All I remember from that night is a smell” . A smell that impregnates every part of her memory forever.

An SMS this morning from my husband read: I believe you are in the papers today. Congrats! The husband is presently outside India and I wondered how this news had reached him? Some friend I guess. My first reaction was to send him an SMS back asking: good or bad? Good was the reply. I heaved a sigh of relief. It has been a long time since the media came a visiting! Wonder where this came from. A bit of sleuthing around and it transpired that a local tabloid run by a known media group had decided to publish an anniversary special entitled making a difference and honouring fifty individuals who had in their opinion made a difference. I am one of them. I must admit that no one came to visit, but I know remember a phone call from a journo who had once visited us asking me what was new. I must have given her some information. The result: a mishmash of what has been written over and over again with some new elements provided on a phone. The only ray of light was that Manu was mentioned and thus his existence acknowledge in true spirit. I can never forget the debt I owe him. I dedicate this to him!

The article does not say much that is not known. I guess I must feel honoured and humbled to have been selected as one of the 50! I am, undoubtedly. But what caught my attention was the title the journalist had chosen: The constant questioner? Of all things written that was the only words that were relevant. Those three almost innocuous words brought me back to earth. No statistics or successes would ever be enough to allow me to sit back and say: job well done! There is still so much to do. If the mission as it his stated in the article is to provide basic human rights to children in slums, then I have far from succeeded. True the handful or even fistful of children that have realised their dreams because of our presence is a step in the right direction as a constant questioner time has perhaps to look beyond   school success and job skills, to the stark and brutal reality that hits us in the face every single day. This weeks magazines bring to fore the question of safety of our little children in slums. A tiny soul was found brutalised and is now fighting for her life. She had simply gone to the toilet. She lies in the same hospital where a another brutalised child is recovering. I wonder who will heal the scars on their soul.  Another magazine reports on the rampant sexual abuse of children in India. The article is one that we should all read and hang our heads in shame. Imagine 48,838 children raped in just 10 years. Imagine what it means when you are told this staggering figure — which is a National Crimes Record Bureau statistic — is possibly only 25 percent of the actual child rapes going on in the country. And that only 3 percent — a mere 3 percent — of these make it to the police. Imagine what it means when you are told child rapes have seen a chilling 336 percent jump from 2001 to 2011.

Looks like the questionner has to kick herself out of her comfort zone where school results and news of good employment, interspersed with some life saving surgery seem to be enough for a pat on the back. That she should stop complaining about her age, creaking bones and dwindling eye sight and taken the deafening whys that can be heard by one and all. Any self respecting human being who professes to work for children in India cannot afford to stop, not till her last breath.

So help me God!

If you want to read the article, here it is:

It is disturbing that much of what I have often expressed over the past years on this blog is being stated by those one calls experts. How I wish I would have been wrong. In a recent article entitled: Has India lost the XXIst century an educationist writes: “It has not been in the interest of any government to ensure universalisation of education,  why would a government deny its people universal education? Because education gives you access to ideas, rights and opens doors of abilities. Education upsets the status quo and if, as a government, you stay in power by virtue of votebanks that you create and nurture, it is not in your interest to ensure everyone gets education.”

When we began pwhy, I was naive enough to think that all was well in our education system. The things that disturbed me then were the fact that children went to school for half a day and the fact that they had to spend the other half either loitering around (boys) or in household chores (girls). What upset me was that these children had no place to play, no one to help them with their school work etc. I wanted project why to be the place where they could have just that and be children! I imagined pwhy to be a large space with books, toys, games, computers and some teachers to help with the homework and teach them spoken English. I also dreamt of an open space where the children could play. I even dared the large community centre with sprawling grounds that lay vacant and desolate. I was told it was the old labour court that had now shifted. There was even a large auditorium. Time and again the community hall was spruced up and used for a wedding. Once the party over the hall remained littered with used plastic cups and plated till the next wedding or party. We too used that hall for our only two annual day. I also learnt that two rooms were used for sewing classed and for a creche though I never saw any proof of that.

That is when I thought that maybe one could suggest to the authorities to use that space ‘intelligently’ and for the benefit of the community: proper creches, a library, computer classes, etc as well as sports for children as the grounds were ample. Of course the powers that be did not want that! Soon after there was a lot of activity. The building was being given a makeover. A few days later there was a big inauguration with delhi’s who’s who! But as always in this land of ours, everything was undercover, behind locked gates. One did peep and saw a huge signboard that had all the possible heads under which one can get funds if one runs a NGO: education, health, HIV AIDS, special needs children and adults, revival of art and craft, you name it and it was there. WOW. It seemed that the organisation was run by one of heirs of an important individual. Well the story was short and bitter. I was told of some horror stories that happened behind those walls where mentally challenged women were kept hidden and abused. And then that do stopped. The building lies unused behind a lock. I guess the said individual has collected all the funds he could and moved on.

This was an aparte that fits in. Let me carry on with my story. The idea of the large space where kids could be kids was soon sacrificed to the alter of a very loud WHY! In tune with my initial dream and because of lack of resources we had begun humbly with spoken English classes for a handful of kids. It was not long before the outrageous and shocking reality of State run schools: little or practically no teaching, overcrowded classes, no drinking water, no toilets, corporal punishment. Still naive, I  attempted  to address the corporal punishment issue with friends in the press and visits to the school. This is circa 2003. I learnt the hard way when I hard that pwhy children where being targeted by the teachers and beaten even more! I beat a quick retreat.

I had however l realised that it was not a happy child centre that we needed, but space to teach as many children as possible. I again tried to seek political help as, many of you may not know this, I had worked for the ruling party and had entrees in many circles, did I wish to use them. The saga of that chapter is told here, should you wish to read it. I do not want to recall the details as they still make my blood boil.

The first incline of the sad yet true reality that the powers that be were not interested in education at all came when local politicos decided to declare ‘war’ on me after they had failed to insidiously try and get a foothold in my organisation. When they knew I would never accept that, they brought the big guns out. Our school that run in an erstwhile pig park that we had cleaned and accepted to share with our porcine friends, far kinder than the human ones, was bulldozed one fine day. We shifted to the roadside and thus began our nomadic existence. But we refused to give up. I had finally understood the game. Mrs B was dangerous because she upset the status quo: she employed teachers from the slums, the very ones who were till then part of the nurtured vote banks, she gave education to slum kids and more than that gave them dreams – the most outrageous one being that of Sanjay, a young gypsy kid born and brought up on the roadside who first became a teacher at pwhy, then acted in a movie and is now an International model recently signed by a well known Agency – something that they felt was dangerous.

They did it all: bad mouthed me in public meetings, accused me of swindling funds, accused me of evangelising because of my short hair, threatened my daughter. But I stood firm and never stopped my work. The only thing I stopped was to seek help from the authorities. They had taught me one thing and I thank them for it: you have to find your own options yourself.

The education system has many aberrations that can only be explained if you are willing to accept the premisse that the state is not interested in giving education to every child in India. The schemes and programmes and rights that are voted at selective times are just an eye wash with a wonderful cherry on the cake: sources of making illegal money. The sound good, fool uneducated people and get them the votes they need. Voila! End of story. Everyone is happy.

What is frightening is that while making all the right noises: right to education, right to whatever, the state is promoting commercialisation of education which is the most dangerous way to go. The recent 25% reservation for poor children is a farce. The really poor parents are unaware of the scheme and totally at a loss to put together the formalities needed, it is the middle class who is taking advantage of it. The difference between the two is: education!

The examples are plenty. Why is 33% still the pass percentage needed to succeed in an examination when it opens no doors. Affordable universities are now seeking 90% and more and in most cases jobs, even in the government want a 50% pass percentage. The recent mushrooming of private universities is proof of the fact that it is a good business proposition and with the phenomenal fees it is only for the rich. Higher studies are not for the poor. Why are state run schools in poor areas run abysmally when the same state runs central schools for its own kids. Every school should be run like a central school. Only then will all children get what has been promised to them in the much heralded Right to Education!

There is a proliferation of second and even third rate institutions that provide degrees in a wide range of subjects. They churn out unemployable graduates. The same article says: some 200 management schools have shut down in the past few years due to poor placement. Of the 1.5 million engineering students in India, over 70 percent are unemployed. The IT sector has also suffered, with 75 percent of graduates going unemployed. Degree holders are being churned out in a factory-like manner by institutions, and there is a genuine skilled manpower crisis for jobs that do exist.

What we need is to relook at the entire education story. We need to impart skills that are needed and not  dreams that will never be fulfilled. We have failed our youth miserably. Will we have the courage to set things right. No. Not as long as political paries need vote banks they can manipulate.

We need many more goons in this country! Don’t get me wrong. I do not mean the goons we normally think of. Let me elucidate. The last few posts on this blog have been grim to say the least and filled with a sense of deep hopelessness. But they only reflected what is going on around us day after day after day. As I wrote these wretched accounts my heart yearned for something positive to brighten things and rekindle hope. My prayers seemed to have been heard when I stumbled upon an article entitled ‘doctoring a revolution‘ and discovered Dr Punyabrata Goon.

Dr Goon provides in this land of exploitative health care, a different brand of care which he aptly calls: humanist care! It is not free or charitable but comes at a price people can afford. Instead of expensive and often unnecessary tests often advised in order to get a commission, Dr Goon has trained assistants that take time and listen to each and every patient. This reminds one of the good old family doctor, a vanishes species in our time and age. Then the patient meets the Doctor who is all smiles, takes his time  to chat with his patient.

Dr Goon is probably one of the rare doctors who fully follows the Hippocratic oath he took. For him medicine is meant to improve society. True he has his committed political preferences. he fights for injustice and takes on the mightiest. His hospital only prescribes generic medicines! I urge you to read this article.

Though Dr Goon candidly says: Surgery is a really romantic thing,You get to go into the operating theatre and come out a hero. But this isn’t what I want to do anymore. There is so much one can do with a rational system of allopathic treatment, to my mind he is a real hero, the kind we need desperately in our country where money seems to be the only mantra.

I salute him!

The debate for the death penalty for rapists rages on. It was disturbing to see on the latest TV debates that anyone who tended to disagree with the death penalty found her/himself shouted down. Nothing revolts me more than sexual child abuse and I would like to see all child abusers hung in public or subjected to the worst kind of torture like scaphism, and even that seems too kind! But when you take a little time and think many questions come to mind. Why do men abuse small children? What makes them do so? And most of all how can we prevent this evil? Screaming for the death penalty cannot act as the deterrent we seek. More so with the way the legal system functions in India and wily lawyers operate. We have a startling example of this in the case of the trial of the men accused in the December gang rape case.

In today’s news we heard about the confession of the man who raped the 5 year old last week. It transpires that the accused was drinking and watching porn on the mobile phone of a friend. They spotted the child, lured her with chocolate and too her to their room and took turns raping her. They then tried to kill her and believing her dead fled! What made this men act as beasts? The alcohol? The porn? And what made them chose a 5 year old as prey? Her vulnerability? Her accessibility? Her innocence? Or to quote from Shobha De’s article Vaginas are for violating, the fact that she had a vagina and that in our country to be born with a vagina is provocation enough.

So how do we protect our little girls. A young girl writing about the incident states: I know people who have since placed curfew hours for their daughters, and some have even appointed bodyguards for their security, even my own father. Yes, in our land the rich will be protected but the poor will remain unsafe and vulnerable unless we do something. The richest man in India will now get Z category protection as he has received threats. This is galling but expected. In our very city there is only one police officer for 450 citizens while 45000 are on VIP security duty! So obviously little girls who get abducted are found after days at end. Imagine if the police had acted efficiently, the little rape survivor would not have had to endure the brutality she was subjected to. So I pose the question again: how do we protect our little girls or should I say poor little girls as we have seen how the rich have found their solution. This is a matter for deep thought but what comes to mind is that first and foremost  little girl, and boys also as they too are prey for predators, have to be taught as early as possible the first sex education lesson: good touch and bad touch! Here the child is not only taught about which part of the bodies no one can touch, but also to scream loud and share the incident with someone she/he trusts. But  here also there are catches: the first is that abuse often happens within the family and should the child be courageous enough to share she/he will encounter the elephant in the room: honour; honour that far too often makes the trusted one your biggest enemy. So maybe parents  and family should be sensitised  and taught their priorities. Easier said than done as this happens even in educated homes. But it is a step we should take.

Rich children attend day care, pre school, Montessori school etc and are rarely or rather never left alone. You know the drill! Poor slum kids whose parents work are often left on their own. Remember, free education begins at age 6. The state run creches are abysmal and few. Mothers often leave their little ones under the watch of some ‘uncle’ or the other, a person the child learns to trust. Then comes school. The least said the better. Let us just remind ourselves of the fact that in Delhi children go to school for half a day. The rest of the day is often spent on the street. So to keep our children safe it is imperative to run the ICDS programme as it should be run and provide every child an enabling environment while her/his parents are at work. This is how we can keep our children safe.

The debate that is raging now only addresses the situation after the abuse has been committed. I entirely agree with the need for police reforms, judicial reforms etc but why should a child be violated.

There is another gigantic elephant in the room that needs to be addressed head on. Just as we want to keep pour children safe, we need address the question that is indeed disturbing: why does a man become a rapist? And I am not interested in the aberrations thrown at us each time a rape occurs. And anyway how can a two year old or a 5 year old entice a man.

I would like to look at the profile of the perpetrator and see what went wrong. We must learn to accept that the perp was once a child and was not born a rapist. It is the environment that made him so. We all know about the state of reform homes. But there is a period in the life of that child which brought him to the reform home: the situation in his family, the school he dropped out from, the company he kept, the temptations that he encountered, the peer pressure and so on. The total lack of love, understanding, role models. The broken dreams and aspirations. And then when does commit that first crime the terror of a reform home. It is time we looked at these problems and started making amends for the way we treat our children.

I will end this post by sharing with you an experience we are all living at project why as I write these words. For the past 3 weeks or so we have 3 very special volunteers at pwhy: a special educator and two young boys aged 15 who are juvenile delinquents from France. These boys have stolen, peddled drugs and come from broken and dysfunctional families. They are now under state custody. As part of their rehab programme they have been brought to India for 3 months. The idea is to make them see worse conditions than the ones they know and put them through the toughest boot camp possible. They spent a month traveling across India in buses, tractors and even bullock carts. When they fell out of line and needed to be punished their educator made them walk 30 km on 4 bananas. They are difficult boys but no one is willing to give up on them. The experiment may or may not work, but at least one would have tried.

We leave our children to their own device and then go up in arms when they turn into criminals. It is time we accepted responsibility the state of affairs.

The death penalty will not solve issues.

Think about it!

I spent a sleepless night early this week. Images of the little girl lying in a hospital after having been violated in the most bestial way possible kept flashing through my mind. She is just six months older than my own grandchild. I woke up feeling sick, ashamed and hopeless. Before turning off the lights I had watched the many ‘talk shows’ where hastily gathered ‘specialists’ were analysing and commenting upon the barbaric act aptly prompted by anchors. In one such programme, only one visibly moved participant, asked the question that begged to be asked, one concerning the innocent victim and her morrows. Everyone seemed more interested in the behaviour of the police, the silence of those in power, the death penalty and more of the same.

Let me tell you one thing loud and clear, even if by the waving of a magical wand, everything could be made the way we wanted, nothing can or will change for the five year old.

The three terrifying days she spent locked up and brutalised have scarred her forever. Child abuse is the most heinous of crimes as it is almost always perpetrated by someone the child trust, and that breach of trust destroys your life for ever. The reason why I am so deeply disturbed is that this child is just like the children who come to us everyday, children who live in overcrowded spaces and where ‘uncles’ of all shades and hues abound. No one ever tells these children about predators and abusers.

Let me tell you a true story of a girl just like the one who lies today on hospital bed. When we began our work over a decade ago, I used to drop in each and every class regularly. The afternoon class was one of young girls between the ages of 8 and 12. Though the class was tiny and crowded, one young girl who must have been 10 or 11 years old, always sat alone, in a corner, outside the group. I let it pass initially but the image disturbed me. I decided to find out what was the cause of this child being marginalised. To my horror I found out that she had been raped by her neighbour when she was 5 year old. She had been raped and brutalised and her genitalia lacerated. The had to undergo many surgeries and is scarred for like. On the other hand,the perp was arrested and served a two year sentence. he now roams free. The child however has been branded as the ‘one who was raped’ and thus needs to be shunned. Parents ask their children not to befriend her or play with her. She too has been ‘condemned’ to a very perverse kind of solitary confinement. On the way she lost her self esteem and sense of worthiness. We tried very hard to work with her and build her self confidence. We urged her to attend our Karate classed and she was top of the class. Sadly, her mother died and her father left the city and went to their village. She must be twenty now. We do not know what happened to her. I hope and pray she is well. But that is just wishful thinking as even the smallest of child abuse scars a soul and a life forever.

Stigmatising a victim of child abuse is par for the course in the sick society we live in, where honour has some very strange meaning. I know of a girl who was molested when she was 12 by a close family member. Far from the standing for the child, the family of the perp went in damage control to protect him at whatever cost, even that of branding the 12 year old has having lose moral character. This happened in a so called educated family. I shudder to think what will happen to the little girl who comes from a poor family.

I shudder to think about the scars seared on this child’s body and soul. She was confined for three 3 days with a sadistic, bestial, perverted, brutal creature who used and abused every part of her tender body, without food and water and then left alone to die. I wonder where she got the strength to scream and be heard. How cannot even begin to imagine her pain, her total incomprehension of what was happening to her. As all paedophiles, this man too must have played the game of seduction turning to a waking nightmare. No punishment is too severe for men like this. I have no words to express what I would like to see done to him. Yes he has been arrested but if we are to go by precedent, I mean the five rapists who abused and killed a young woman in the prime of her life last December, maybe this one also will suddenly get the urge of studying in Jail!

There are crimes and crimes. Sexual assaulting a child is a crime that deserves no sympathy. They may not take a life away in the true sense of the word, but they condemn an innocent soul to a life where she dies a thousand deaths all through her life.

Once again, people are on the street. Some demanding the  resignation of those entrusted in the maintenance of law, some are asking for death for the rapist. These are either knee jerk or extreme reactions. If the death of one rapist could deter rapist forever, I would echo the demand loud and clear. And let us not be naive and believe that I new cop can change the reality on the ground.

The protests we witnessed yesterday gave me a sense of jaded deja vu. There was a new political party screaming the loudest and playing out is own agenda. I guess they fared quite well. There was the token presence of Opposition groups, students groups. They screamed and shouted. The police was restrained, the water canons present. Arrests were made. But somehow to me it seemed all futile.

In December those of us who had taken to the street may have felt that we had the power to maybe bring change. What was asked then was safety for women. Statistics prove the contrary. We asked for new laws and fell for the wily game played by our rulers. We got new laws but the incident of the little 5 year old shows that nothing has changed on the ground. The callous behaviour of the police is the best example we can ask for. I completely agree that laws should be stringent and swiftly dispensed. For that we need reforms in all our institutions and ensure that laws are respected and implemented.

But what a civilised society should aim at, is prevention of such heinous crimes.

The brutal rape of the little year old should make us think deeply. It always takes two to tango, and sadly at least two to rape. In the case of the rape of children, one of the victim, is a child from an underprivileged background ( I am not even delving into child abuse in homes as in those we know happen across social strata ) and the rapist who is also often from the same social background. Young children living in slums are very vulnerable. The systems created to protect and nurture them are a farce. The so called state run creches under the ICDS programmes are non-existent or pathetic. They are often simply a good way for politicians to favour their proteges, be it in giving jobs or contracts for nutrition. Children under six are often left on their own in slums and thus good prey for predators. Mothers need to work to survive. All the promises of creches and daycares have never been kept. I think a first step would be to ensure that children are safe all the time. The sad reality that we have witnessed in the recent past is that children get raped even within the four walls of schools. Moreover in crowded slums people live in close proximity and uncles of all shades abound. Children easily trust neighbours and a chocolate is all it takes to catch the innocent prey. It is time that the state thought of setting up quality habitat for the underprivileged rather than allowing slums to be set up to create grateful vote banks. I was absolutely appalled when I discovered many years ago that Lohars (gypsies) who camped on the main road had voter’s identity cards!

As a child grows up, it is time to go to school. I have time and again written about the state of schools in Delhi. They are the exact opposite of what an enabling environment should be. First and foremost schools run in two shifts. It is a sad reflection on a Government that it is enable to build sufficient schools for its children. Children should go to school in the morning. But for the boys in Delhi school begins at 1 and carried on till 6pm. In the mornings they are left to themselves. Idle mind; Devil’s playground goes the saying.

 How true it is. It is time we took a serious look at the education system. Otherwise we will continue breeding potential criminals. But here again there seems to be a sinister game at play. An educationist recently said: “It has not been in the interest of any government to ensure universalisation of education. Why would a government deny its people universal education? Because education gives you access to ideas, rights and opens doors of abilities. Education upsets the status quo and if, as a government, you stay in power by virtue of votebanks that you create and nurture, it is not in your interest to ensure everyone gets education.”

The real culprit in all matters seems to be the vote bank policy and corruption. It is well entrenched. Be it habitat for the poor, education, health, nutrition… all that can keep the illiterate seduced and prone to manipulation.

When you think you have seen and heard everything, a bolt comes out of the blue and hits you straight in your face. The horrific rape and mutilation of a little five year old girl who is battling for her life is nothing short of a nightmare. Four months ago, the brutalisation of the one now referred to as India’s daughter shook the so called conscience of our city and brought otherwise apathetic people on the streets. We celebrated a new dawn and hoped things would change. How wrong we were.

Three days ago, a little five year old was playing probably near her home. When she did not return home her worried parents went to the police station. The tragedy was that they were poor and illiterate. The cops just treated them in their usual dismissive way and told them to go away, allegedly manhandling them. They of course did not register an FIR. When the girl was found 2 days later locked up in a room belonging to a neighbour, the same cops allegedly attempted to bribe them, asking her not to take the matter further and just to take  pray for her recovery! This tiny innocent soul had been abducted by her 21 year old neighbour and raped and brutalised in the worst way possible. A bottle of hair oil and candles had been inserted in her genitals and she had wounds all over her tiny body. For two days she kept alive without food and water and was finally discovered when her screams were heard. She lies in a hospital bed, battling severe infection and traumatised beyond words. Her poor parents are helpless and praying for the child’s life. I just ask you to take a minute and try and imagine what this baby has gone through.

On the other hand this horrific and barbaric action has set another drama into action. A new political party was quick to reach the hospital and raise slogans against God knows who. But the most unbelievable reaction was that of the Chairman of the National Commission for Women who was apparently taken cognisance of the incident and who, when asked what her course action would be, expressed inability to go and visit the family on Saturday because  “because it is a holiday” today. Ma’am I would like to remind you that today is the day when little girls like the one who is battling for her life after suffering the worst kind of abuse, are worshipped and feted and that she too would have been one of those little girl had she not been abducted. Maybe your going to see her today would have been the right thing to do as she too is the image of the Goddess you pretend to worship. It makes me sick and wonder where do such people come from, and how are they given such responsibilities. I wonder what you would have done dear lady, if this child belonged to your family!

What city do we live in. The ones who are meant to protect us are insensitive brutes. The ones who are meant to espouse our causes prefer celebrating holidays. The ones who could raise their voices remain mute when the victim is not one of their ilk.

And what do you say about the perpetrator. What kind of men is our society nurturing. Men who satisfy their desires by brutalising children. When will we accept that sex education has to be addressed head on. That children as young as 5 have to beed made aware of the dangers that lurk around them. When will we stop hiding behind walls of false morality.

I am ashamed.. deeply ashamed. I, like each one of us today, feel responsible for that little soul has been subjected to.

For the past 9 days, millions across our country have been fasting, praying, visiting temples, holding all night vigils in the name of Goddess Durga. Markets blared devotional songs all day. The Goddess was worshipped in all her manifestations: from the most benevolent, to the most terrifying. The past days has seen religious feeding frenzies at every street corner that end in gargantuan wastage of food and massive littering of non recyclable waste. In a country where 5000 children doe everyday of malnutrition such waste is abhorrent and sickening.

For the past two days in innumerable homes, little girls from all walks of life are being worshipped. Their feet washed are ‘lovingly’ washed, they are fed many delicacies and even given some money or as it is the fashion now gifts. Many band of little girls go from home to home collecting their bounty. I have always been perplexed by this and shared my thoughts about this custom more than once. This tradition goes against the way girls are treated in India is nothing short of galling.

I too worship the Goddess in my own way and everyday as I see her in every girl that comes my way. I wish someone would explain me how in a country where a girl child is abused from the time she is conceived, how can you suspend your beliefs for twice a year and revere the same little girl. It goes beyond my understanding and comprehension.

In December 2012 many of us erroneously believed that things may get better for women in India. But we fell for a brilliant game of seduction played by those we elect to rule us.

Today when little girls are still being feted as I write these words, I want to just bring to your notice what happened to some little girls not so far from where I sit and write these words. A six year old was raped, killed and dumped in a garbage dump. When her family protested, women were mercilessly beaten by the very ones who are made to protect us. A five year is battling for her life in a hospital after being brutally raped and mutilated. The police, as insensitive as ever, told the parents to be grateful that she is alive! Another child was sexually assaulted by his school teacher. He is 5. These are the cases that made the headlines.

What can I say! What have we become? Will the day ever dawn when we find our lost concience and voice and scream ENOUGH!

Who does not like some positive stroking and an occasional pat on the back! I would be lying if I said I didn’t. So imagine my delight when a volunteer who had been with us for a short time send me these words: What struck me at Project Why is how everything is done simply, understandingly and joyfully, and though I haven’t been there long enough to notice it, it seems to work wonders. I wish for you to continue doing things this way, and provide the opportunity for people like me to open their eyes and contribute to this great project.

What truly touched me were the phrases used to evoke what and who we are. We are simple, we try to be understanding and we rive to be as joyful as is possible! And yes it works! Were it not so then how could we have withstood all the challenges we had to face? The other thing that moved me was that we were able in a small way to make a difference in the lives of people who on the face of it seem to have it all. I mean the many volunteers who come and spend their time and money to help us realise the dreams of children of a Lesser God.

I stand guilty of not having showered sufficient praise in all these wonderful human beings who belong to all the four corners of the world but share one precious gift: the ability to see with their heart. Each one of them has had a huge impact of children who cannot and may never be able to cross any frontier. But these wonderful men and women bring the whole world to the rickety and flimsy walls of project why. One more huge debt of gratitude is owed to these amazing volunteers and I wonder how I pay this one back.

I must confess that many of them have carved a place in my heart and though I many not communicate with them as much as I would like to, I remember them far more often than they would ever imagine. Just like the children of pwhy, the pwhy volunteers are my family and for one who lived the larger and formative part of her life as an only child with a nomadic life, this is probably the greatest gift of all: a family that extends beyond all boundaries: age, gender, religion, social background and international borders. And to crown it all the magic of the net takes ensures that we remain connected with only one tiny hiccup: time zones.

To come back to the pat on the back I would simply like to say that we are deeply indebted to all who trust us and pledge to remain simple, understanding and joyful.

Thank you all!

On New Year day I got a call from someone very dear who has been a mentor and guide. It was lovely talking to him as always and after we had shared our angst about the recent events and hopes for a better morrow, I asked him how is new project was doing. He had been deeply and passionately involved in an field project for the past years and was spending all his time there. His answer was baffling. He simply said: I do not go there any more, I run it as if I died yesterday.

To me his words have always been somewhat prophetic and I tend to delve into them far more then required. Of course I did not react immediately as is my habit. I let them take seed. For some time I simply forgot them but I knew that they would pop up at the appropriate moment. And that is just what happened when recently the future of project why was once again evoked by a well wisher. I must confess well wishers have sometimes the uncanny habit of bringing up disquieting topics! But bless them for that!

This post was started in somewhere in January. But then writer’s block. The words would not come. I guess the subject was too close and personal and even somewhat disturbing. Though one can sometimes jest about one’s death, when it comes to thinking about it seriously and constructively if I may say so, it is a different ball game. What my mentor’s words were asking me to do was to ponder about life after my exit and plan it to the best of my ability. Now were my ‘life’ limited to my family it would be no issue, but I have been entrusted in the past decade with the dreams and aspirations of many souls. If I were to die today, my family would be safe and would soon learn to live without me as I did myself two decades ago when I lost my parents. True I miss them each and every day but they made sure that I would have no problem walking into their shoes. However that is not what would happen to my project why family who depends on me realise their dreams.

The way I am made does not allow me to go by the maxim ‘The King is dead long live the King”, though there are many who would suggest just that. I look at this in a different way altogether. The ones who make up the project why family as of this moment – the children studying in various classes, the handful of special souls that spend their day in fun and laughter, the staff many of whom have given  their best years and some who rely totally on the small pay package we give them to support their family, the odd soul who reaches our door when all else has failed and begs for help to save a loved one – never came looking for me. It is I who went searching. It is I who had a wish to fulfil. It is I who wanted to repay a debt I believed I owed. They simply allowed me to fulfil my aspirations. To the world outside I may seem to be the one who has ‘give’ and thus should be ‘lauded’. But that is not the way it goes at all. It is they, each one of them who has enriched me in a way I never knew was possible. It is they who have ‘given’ with alacrity and abundance. It is they who have showed me a part of myself I never knew existed. They taught me the true meaning of love, dignity, generosity, hope and so much more. They lifted clouds and blues once for all. They taught me the one and only prayer worthy of a human being: gratitude, reminding me of If the only prayer you said was thank you, that would be enough wrote  Meister Eckhart’s beautiful maxim: If the only prayer you said was thank you, that would be enough. 

I set out on a journey destined at paying back a debt. Far from paying back the debt I thought I owed, I find myself indebted to those I ineptly thought I could help. I know for sure that I will never be able to pay this debt of gratitude in this life. I will simply have to be content with being able to to continue saying than you till I breathe my last. But that is far from being enough.

I cannot leave this world without having tried to the best of my ability to secure project why so that it continues reaching out children in need of support and empowerment. Sustainability has always been at the forefront of my thoughts but never has it seemed so vital. The oft said – time is short – has now taken  a whole new meaning. A routine visit to the eye doctor confirmed that no matter which I look at it, I am ageing. Time waits for one and hence I cannot procrastinate anymore. My mentor’s words have to be taken literally. If I died yesterday what would happen to my proteges. The answers are frightening.

Utpal’s morrows are still insecure. There is no trust fund for him as yet and no clear emotional road map. My boarding school children need support for another 6 to 8 years. The 800 odd kids who are at various stages of their school life need us to enable them to get a sound education. The 20 children and adults who for the past decade have a place where they are respected, love and cared for, and where they can laugh and learn will have to go back to homes where they are at best tolerated. My team will have no jobs, and many of them are unlikely to find alternative employment. The scores of women who every year learn enough skills to earn a little and help their families will not be able to do so. So what would say many cynics, they all managed before you and will do so after. True that is one way of looking at it, but not my way.

I realise that the best and only way to pay back my debt of gratitude to the thousands that transformed my life and made it worthy is to try and ensure that whatever exists today, continues in the same manner when I am gone. And there is no beating around the bush.

If I died yesterday, at best project why would continue for a couple of months in an irreproachable manner. I have been redundant for quite some time and do not need to visit the project at all. But were I too exit the stage the project would wither away for want of funds. Whereas the team is more than capable of handling all the ground work better than me, I know that they would not be able to raise all the funds needed once the accounts went into the red. So the one skill I need to impart to my team leaders urgently is to secure funds.

To do that it is time to take a candid look at how funds have been coming in till now. And that is where it gets tricky and not very clever. For the past decade and more, funds have been coming our way because of my ability to communicate. My grave shortcoming has been to not explore other avenues and ways that could have been handed over quite easily. As things stand now, I would have to hand the gift of the gab I was born with, my ability to juggle with words and make them moving and that is not possible. So how does one get past this hurdle.

First and foremost I think we need to change the ‘face of pwhy’ which has alas been mine. I should ‘retire’ and leave the place to the team! I would so want our regular donors to place the same faith they had in me in those who I have so lovingly trained and who have proved their mettle over and over again. And come think it is there work that I project in my appeals for help. Were they not there, there would be nothing to be proud of and show the world. That seems to be a good step to take asap!

However if sustainability is something that hounded me for a long time, and is one of my most blatant failures as I was unable to garner the funds needed for setting up planet why, I know that we need to find other ways as no donor is eternal. It is perhaps time to involve all concerned and work out the planet why 2 model. And if we are able to come up with something that looks feasible, then it would comforting to get the ball rolling. Maybe it would help me clear a tiny part of my debt of gratitude.

As if I died yesterday are words to be taken seriously and acted upon.

to be continued….

On Saturday the young woman every one calls the daughter of India was celebrated as Indian of the Year in a problem dedicated to the daughters and women of India. It was a feel good moment though at the back of our minds we could not help remember all the women, girls, little girls and babies who have been abused in every way possible even after the gruesome rape and murder that took place in Delhi in December. For a nano moment our consciences were jolted out of their customary torpor and we found our lost voices albeit for a short time. Even our rulers were compelled into action. For a tiny instant we were lured into feeling that maybe things will change. But that was not to be. A leopard cannot change its spots!

The leopard here is our a mix of our minsets, our feudal ways and are so called traditions and mores under whose cover we run to explain all aberrations. Post december rapes continued with alacrity and impunity, molestations doubled, honour killings did not stop.

Yesterday, a 20 year old woman was kicked, punched in her stomach and stomped upon by her husband and his family when they thought she was carrying a girl child. The foetus died and another girl joined the alarming number of India’s 70 million missing women. It was nothing short of murder. The story does not end here. This young woman had suffered much abuse. Harassed for dowry she was dragged to a so called Godman when she was 8 weeks pregnant and he declared she was carrying a girl. When she refused to drink the abortion potion prepared by the charlatan, she was kicked and thus lost her baby.

Just imagine someone you loved carrying her first child. Thinks of her hopes, aspirations and dreams for the unborn baby. One day she is taken to some religious charlatan who decrees that the foetus is a girl. What ensues is nothing short of the worst kind of murder. How would you feel?

How can a man who is an equal partner to the creation of this human being can mutate into a barbaric being ready to kill what he created. And what is worse is that he and only he is responsible for the gender of the child.

An eminent though somewhat maverick retired judge, who is busy sending mercy petitions for people on the gallows, stated in a recent TV talk that he stands for the death penalty in cases of crime against women that reek of feudalism.

 “The hallmark of a healthy society is the respect it shows to women. Indian society has become a sick society” are his words. And he goes on to say: I had said that death penalty should be given in cases of dowry deaths. In our country, young married women are often killed – because they did not bring enough dowry – by pouring kerosene on them and setting them on fire or hanging/strangulating them. Our courts have many such cases. This is a barbaric practice, and no mercy should be shown to such people….. I said that death penalty should be given for “honour” killing of young couples who are killed by their relatives or caste panchayats because their marriage was inter-caste or inter-religious, or was disapproved of for some other reason….In my opinion, crimes against women are not ordinary crimes, they are social crimes. They disrupt the entire social fabric, and hence call for harsh punishment.

For him all these aberrations are the remnants of feudalism many of us still believe in. Many of those who have been entrusted to bring about change, pay only lip service to change as they are still deeply feudal in their hearts.

The case of this young woman deserves no mercy. It is nothing short of murder and should be treated as such. Be it the charlatan, the husband and his relatives, they all deserve the harshest of punishment. But that will not happen. We all know it.

My thoughts went back to a letter I had written to a little girl who was still born almost 7 years ago. I reproduce it here in memory of the little girl whose life was snuffed away in the most horrific manner.

dear child…

they said you would see the light on September 3rd..

September 3rd passed and so did the 4th, and the 5th.. On September 6th your mother was in pain and everyone thought the day had come for you to land in this world..
your family had waited for you, your mama had carried you with love and great dignity, your papa never showed his feelings but believe me he wanted you so much, your little sister waited for her baby.. and your aunt did everything she could to make your entry into this world the best posible.. and there were many of us who already loved you…

I must confess that many wanted you to be a boy… some said it loud and clear, others in muted ways.. to many, little girls are a burden… in a society where there is less and less respect for women people have forgotten that we women are the life bearers… some of us wanted you to be a girl, your mama for one, maybe she knew you were just that…

You grew up inside your mama’s womb and met all the appointments with the doctor who pronounced you fit and healthy.. then child what made you decide not to keep your tryst with our world, what is it that led you to give up life itself… without even ‘tasting’ it..

Maybe we forget that from the comfort and safety of ones’ mother’s womb, a child sees and hears and understands.. perhaps it is what you saw that made you refuse life itself.. the lack of respect for each other, the fights, the anger, the unfairness, the tears, … and quite frankly child, somewhere I understand you… maybe you heard even those who wanted you to be a girl say that they wished you were a boy finding all kind of reasons to explain that…they forgot that it is nature who decides, nature that has to make up for all the little girls that were done away with… and you too were a little girl, nothing could change that..

Perhaps you also knew that the moment you would enter our world, you would lose your independance and freedom to decide, and that you would have to abide by laws made by a society ruled by men and that your life would never be your own…

Who are you: a statistic in the records of the hospital, a pain in the heart of many that will slowly fade away, a regret, a topic of discussions with its share of ‘ifs’ and ‘buts’… I do not know..

To me you are the little girl who refused to be born in a world that she felt was not worthy of her… a child who took her one and only independant decision..

And we abide by it…

Bless you, wherever you are…

On Sunday a family of 4, the parents and 2 young children, aged 5 and 8 months, were hit by a speeding truck. They were on motorcycle. The truck sped away. The mother and baby riding on the pillion were badly hurt. The father and is 5 young son, though hurt, begged and pleaded for help from the passing cars. Needless to say no one stopped. Their voyeuristic instinct did make them slowdown but no one heard the heart wrenching entreaties of the father and his son. It is much later, at a time when minutes and even seconds can make all the difference between life and death, that a motorcyclist stopped and informed the police. It was too late for the mother and the young child. Eighteen cars passed by. And if that is not enough, no ambulance came. The mother and daughter where thrown into a pick up van and taken to the hospital by the police.

This happened after all the hue and cry that followed what is the known as the Delhi gang rape, where the raped girl and her companion begged for help but only encountered voyeurs who watched. This happened after recommendations were made by commissions and translated into laws. Yet nothing has changed and nothing will change. The majority of our ilk will remain mute spectators to aberrations after aberration hiding under the cloak of cynicism and indifference or at best honing our voyeuristic instinct. We will girls being molested, people being abused. We will even grab our cell phones and film the incident, but never will we reach out and help. Compassion is an emotion we have conveniently erased from our lives. Oh we have many explanation for our cowardice: we are scared of repercussions, we do not want to get involved in police cases of lengthy trials etc. We prefer to be murderers.

Now imagine if that person asking for help was someone you cared for, the mother and daughter were someone you loved and nobody had reached out to them. But I am being silly. We are the ones in the cars, the ones who live behind closed gates, the ones who can never been on the other side of the invisible wall. Yesterday, a TV anchor asked whether any one viewing the programme would have stopped. No is the unfortunate answer.

I do not know how many of us managed to sleep after hearing of this news. Most of us I guess. But I did not. My mind once again traveled many years to the day when I first saw Babloo Mandal, a mentally challenged young man who had been cast away by some vehicle driver who had injured him. Click on the link if you want to know the whole story. Babloo Mandal screamed for help but no one heard him. I guess everyone was scared of the repercussions. Yet it took just a few steps to save him and send him home. It was not the end of the world. It is was the only thing any self respecting person could do.

So then why have we become a callous and indifferent nation. I do not know the answers. I only know that I will stop again and again till my dying day!

Read a startling article about hospitals in affluent India. Gone are the days of grim corridors and harried and unpleasant nurses. Today’s hospitals for the rich boast of valets and butlers, housekeeping and flat screen TVs, gourmet food, WIFI connection and even a microwave in the room. The chefs can prepare the best creme brulee and buttered asparagus. The common areas look more like malls than hospital waiting rooms with coffee shops, book shops and even cinema halls for those who need to wait. All you need is a bottomless pocket! A suite in one of the state-of-the-art medical hotel can cost you 75000Rs a night. But this is for the chosen few! Read the article! It is quite an eye opener. Such hospitals have a plethora of doctors that you can avail of!

At the other end of the spectrum are the State run hospitals in smaller cities where getting  a doctor is nothing short of a miracle. Recently a one year child all set to go home had to have his intravenous line removed. A doctor or at best a nurse should have done this, but in the case of this little boy the task was performed by a sweeper who while cutting the bandage chopped off the boy’s little finger. In the ensuing panic he threw the finger in the bin. Strangely the finger was never found.

In April 2008, the Government launched with great fanfare the  Rashtriya Swasthya Beema Yojna (RSBY) scheme an insurance scheme for the poor. The scheme was lauded as path breaking. According to this scheme private hospitals could claim up to 30,000 rupees for treating patients who cannot afford expensive procedures. How wonderful if it worked. But darling this in India where schemes for the poor are created to benefit anyone but the true beneficiaries. Suddenly across India there was a exponential rise in hysterectomies. Any woman complaining of a stomach ache was ‘advised’ to have her uterus removed. The uterus scam ran into million of dollars. You see this intervention is the costliest under the scheme and thus the more hysterectomies the more moolah for nursing homes and everyone else. Never mind the young women who lose their uterus, you see they are poor and that seems to explain each and every aberration.

And talking of aberrations what do you say of the Minister whose reaction to a farmer fasting to seek water to be released was to say in a meeting: what does he expect us to do. Should we urinate in the dam to fill them? I have no words to express my contempt. But it is once again the proof of what the rulers think of the poor, the very poor whose votes they seek every 5 year with false promises.

What kind of a country are we? We cannot provide drinking water, basic food let alone health care and education to the poor. We watch in catatonic torpor as motivated legislation to supposedly alleviate poverty, education, provide health, employment are passed by our legislators knowing very well that they are only yet another way to scams and corruption. We know that it is our money but do not bother to raise our voice perhaps because of our cynicism or because our loved ones are fed, educated and can access the best with a view!

Seems though that some are finally waking up from their slumber as at last the media seems to echo what has been written in many posts of this blog. In the recent issue of Tehelka magazine, there is a disturbing and almost frightening article on the actual state of the young population we sow like to showcase as an asset. It is said that by the end of the decade, just 7 short years down the line the average age of our population will be 29! A young work force could be a huge asset. But that is where the story ends. Of the 430 million that form our work force now only 30 work in the organised sector. The question of where the additional 480 million that will join this work force in 2 decades will go remains unanswered.

But the reality is alarming. The story of this so called youth force is handicapped from they day of conception. One out of every five child in India is of low birth weight and over 40 percent of children in India are underweight and stunted. Scarily, while 70 percent of children below five years are anaemic, only 43 percent of children below the age of two receive all their immunisation, compared to 90 percent in Bangladesh. 5000 of such children will die every day if we do not act. For those who make it pass the 5 year milestone the story does not change. If they do make it to the portals of education we have ensured that they will fail. Recent statistics show that 60 percent of the children in Class V cannot read at a Class II level and 75 percent cannot complete simple division sums. While the government pats itself on the Sarva Shiksha Abhiyan for having achieved near universal enrolment in primary education (96 percent), there is in fact an 80 percent dropout by Class XII. So, of the 27 million children who annually enrol in primary schools across the country, only 5.4 million make it to Class XII. (Annual Status of Education Report (ASER) report).

The schools are abysmal and the teachers worse. We need to recruit @ 250 000 teachers per annum. We do not have enough candidates as school teaching is very low on the job preference list. And should you make it pass school then the third rate higher teaching shops that have proliferated ensure that you are not job worthy and where are the jobs anyway!

We need to go back to the drawing board and make our education skill based. Not everyone is academically oriented so where he/she to learn some useful skill whilst still in school, he/she could get employment. And perhaps then drop out rates could be contained.

But this is all a pipe dream as we know that our rulers are not truly interested in changing things. The young of poor India have been let down by those who rest in their bed with a view while little children still run the risk of having their fingers chopped!

I miss reading your blogs! I hope you find whatever it is that you are missing very soon.  Writing is who you are 🙂 are the words that greeted me this morning in an email sent by someone very dear to me! It is true that I have been suffering from a bad bout of writer’s block for the past more than few weeks. I have been conscious of this fact and imputed it to my deep concern about a dear one’s health. Sure it has taken a lot of my time but in no way all of it. The remaining time is spent procrastinating and worrying. Every morning I promise to myself that I will pick up my virtual pen, but then the day goes by and the promise fades in a flurry of delaying tactics. It has been going on for far too long as blogs lie unfinished and even work remains incomplete.

My lovely child’s words were a true Epiphany! Writing is who you are she says and she has hit the nail on its head. For the past weeks I had been dealing with my worries by exercising regularly, eating healthy, resting, meditating and so on. And in spite of all this I was not getting active or inspired. Far from that looks now in hindsight that I was wallowing in some kind of self pity. Or simply sinking into a depressive state. What I did not realise is that the panacea to all my ills was, is and will be writing. How could I have forgotten that.

Dear Popples did get written at a time when I was at a very low ebb. Writing lifted the clouds in a jiffy. Since regular writing has kept the blues away till I again encountered a rough patch and simply forgot my wonder drug.

Writing is truly who I am, because writing allows me to share my inner most thoughts, my joy and my pain, my anger and exasperation as well my moments of success and failures. Once they are out there for all to see my happiness increases many fold and my pain gets greatly reduced. It cannot be true that nothing of value has occurred in the past weeks. It is just that I misplaced my ability to look with my heart. It is time that I do just that and hope it has the required effect.

Last week was my 61st and though nothing great was planned at home, how could I forget the wonderful birthday my project family had organised for me. It must admit sheepishly that as I have been doing for some time now, I was ready to head home after my morning tea at Rani’s. I was a tad irritated when Shamika bullied me into climbing the two flight of stairs to the office. As I stepped into the small open space I was greeted by flowers, and the smiles of my team and a lovely cake. It was a lovely moment and most unexpected. But that was not all. The daughter had to do some more bullying to convince to come to her class at noon. I acceded to the request as the special children hold a very special place in my heart. I climbed the three flight of stairs panting and was told that I needed to climb one more and reach the terrace. To my utmost delight the special kids had prepared a succulent meal for me and there were more flowers and streamers. Made me
feel on top of the world but the very special moment that brought  tears to my eyes was when Radha walked towards me in her own inimitable way and handed be the birthday card the special children had made just for me. What truly made my day was the smile she gave me as Radha’s smiles have been rare these days. This was the most perfect gift. The lunch was delectable as it has been made with so much love and care. I could not have wished for a better birthday. But there was more in store as Shamika had prepared a special dinner at home just for us with all my favourite things. And there yet another cake and candles to be blown.

I continued looking again at the past days with my heart. There was so much I had missed. How could I not have jumped in joy at the fortnight Popples spend at home as they was so much to celebrate. His belated birthday and his rite of passage from primary to secondary school. And more than anything else the fact that he had suddenly become a little man. Gone were the tantrums and mood swings. He was a pleasure to have around. All the years of worry and angst vanished in a jiffy. God and I had not had the sagacity to savour all this. This is what happens when you forget to look with your heart. And what was most heartwarming was the fact that Kiran and Popples bonded as best friends once again, just as they were when they were tiny tots.

And there is more. Our children proved again that they were to the manor born as they danced their way into the hearts of hundreds of guests in a 5* Hotel without batting and eyelid. They acted as true professionals and made us very proud. And that was not all, all the children passed their examinations and got promoted to the next class. How could I have let all this pass by!

Today I fee alive once again after a long time. I feel blessed for having so much love and affection and such a big family. I do not have the right to feel gloomy. Problems happen. Personal ones too. They just need to be addressed with hope. What if I were to tell you that I have just come back from a visit to the eye doctor and been told that I would need an operation as I have cataracts in both eyes. I am glad this happened after I received the mail that reminded me that writing was the sovereign remedy to all my a ills and that the essential was to always remember to look with one’s heart. And my way of doing so is by writing.

A wonderful gift may not be wrapped as you expect wrote  Jonathan Lockwood Huie. And nothing can be more true as Ihave experienced once again. It is the time of the year when gifts come my way as it is soon my birthday. When I was a child I always got a new dress as toys were gifted at Xmas only. Then came a slew of offerings in sync with age: records, books, perfumes and so on. There was even a time when one bought the gift one’s self and gave it to the person concerned. There were also surprise gifts, one in particular. At a time when I was going through a rough financial patch I remember telling my best friend how nice it would be if people gave you a month’s groceries as a birthday gift rather than some artefact or no utility. Imagine my utter surprise when she brought me just that on my next birthday: boxes and boxes of groceries!

Then as one grew greyer and wiser it was always difficult to identify what one wanted when one was asked the question: what do you want for your birthday? Somehow my 50th was a watershed year. Just a few weeks before my birthday little Utpal came into my life: scalded and moribund. Everyone thought he would die except I! He had to live no matter what. And live he did, with might and main. That year he was my birthday present and what a unique  present that was, one I would enjoy for the remaining years of my life. That is when I realised that I had been chosen for a mission by the One we call by innumerable names, the one who crafts our destiny. From that day one my birthday gifts changed altogether. Sure I still got the usual knick-knacks but that was not the real gifts. My real ones could be wishes that I expressed, a unique party with a special guest list, poems sent by a friend, an assignment by my staff, Manu coming home after a stay at the hospital. The list is endless, each one a little miracle. And of course a very stunning 60th!

From a very tender age I have been accused of being naive and with a heart as soft as a marshmallow. It is true that even today anyone can ‘move’ me. All you need is a few tears and a story to go with it. Many reproach me this attitude but I defend it in my own way. For me anyone who crossed my threshold with a need has been sent to me by the one I call the God of Lesser Beings and hence each one has to be listened to and all effort has to be made to help. I have been like this all my life and I do not think I can or will change. This way of looking at life works for me. So what if some think I am naive or even a sucker.

With my birthday approaching I wondered what would be my surprise gift this year or whether one would come my way. It all seemed very calm. But yesterday a man came out of the blue needing help for his young wife. Even though I tried to act against my grain as it had been some time since we sponsored a surgery and had lost most of those who helped us, I quickly ‘melted’ and took the papers from the man. I wanted to give it a try. My words and the magic of the Internet did the rest and shortly after having posted an appeal a kind soul reached out to help. I was overwhelmed and moved to tears. It felt wonderful to know that there were people out there with their hearts in the right place.
 name
I got my gift and it is a huge one. First and foremost the life of a young woman will be saved and four little children will have their mom to love them. But there is more. My naive ways stand vindicated. Good exists even if it is a little harder to find. I know it is also means that I cannot ‘retire’ or give up as long as someone up there still needs me.

But more than anything the fact that the young woman is named Noori makes her special. My grandson’s middle name is Noor.

So as you see a wonderful gift may not be wrapped as you expect. You just need to look with your heart to find it.

Life throws challenges at you, when you expect them least or when you have sunk too contently into your comfort zones. It happened to me today. For some time now things have been running smoothly at pwhy, and due to some personal worries, I must admit I have been playing the role of an absent landlord. I do show my face every morning, but then leave to carry on other activities, many related to pwhy of course. This morning I was all set to repeat the daily routine and had climbed into the auto rickshaw when a man, in his late twenties I guess, came to me  and mumbled something while handling me some papers. I was perplexed when my driver tried to explain that the man’s wife was sick and needed help.

My first reaction was to tell him that unfortunately we were not sponsoring medical emergencies any more have lost the persons who once helped us do that. But something in the eyes of man stopped me half way. There was desperation of the kind I had not seen. He told me that he had knocked at every door and gone from pillar to post for the past 8 months hoping to find the funds to treat his wife. He seemed to be at the end of his tether and looked at me with a supplication I could not ignore. Somehow the fact that the man had not given up touched me deeply.

I looked at the papers and found out that Noori Praveen – that is her name – had a cerebro vascular condition and her treatment would require 100 000 Rs- roughly 2000 US$ -. He had papers to prove that. I knew from looking at him that there was no way he could raise that amount. I wish I had deep pockets and could have reached into them but alas that is not the case. But I knew I would not be able to look at myself if I did not try to raise the amount.

Noori is a woman born in this land just as I am. But she was born on the wrong side of the fence. She was denied all the rights that we appropriate ourselves so easily. Nobody must have asked her whether she wanted to get married. Nobody told her that she had right over her body. She had no choices. She must have been married in her teens and become a mother soon after that. She started having headaches  but would have ignored them till they became unbearable. Some quack in the village must have treated her. Then, when nothing seemed to have worked, she would have been taken to a close by town and then ultimately to the portals of the last hope: the All India Institute of Medical Sciences in New Delhi.

In a land where swanky hospitals are mushrooming by the day, the poor have no option but to go to the State run facilities. And even there free treatment is only partial. There comes a time when you have to pay, and pay big! Noori is at that juncture. Her husband has not given up and is still knocking at doors in the hope that someone wil hear. Noori sits waiting hugging her children and her excruciating pain.

I could not pass by. I only had the power of my words to be her voice and hope against hope that someone out there will hear he pain and reach out.

I can only hope and pray that the fact that a man stopped my this morning was because someone had heard the prayers of this young woman and her little children.

A 3 year old was raped in Kerala. She was sleeping on the pavement next to her mother, a homeless rag picker. She was brutalised with a blunt object. When she was found. she had high fever and ants crawling all over her tiny body.  She will take a long time to recover from her physical injuries. I wonder whether she will ever recover from the scars on her tiny soul. Her mother, almost a child herself sits by her bed. I cannot begin to fathom what goes on in her mind. She has another older child and is carrying her third one. She is part of what Harsh Mander callas the invisible poor. Umpteen questions come to mind. What will happen to the little 3 year old? What is the future of the family? Will someone get moved by their plight and help them?

Two days back a class XII student went to meet a friend at a Mall. Is this not what all kids do today! When it was time to go home she took a shared auto rickshaw. The ride turned out to be a nightmare as she was driven around for 2 hours, raped and robbed before being thrown out of the vehicle. Does this not remind you of the one called braveheart who was raped on a December night? The country was on its feet to demand justice, albeit for a limited time. Had our slumbering consciences awoken for a nano moment.

The state went into damage control mode as it often does when faced with an inevitable situation. When water canons and tear gas shells failed, it constituted a committee to suggest amendments to the existing laws. The committee did surprisingly well and gave us a comprehensive report. The government went in knee jerk mode and promulgated an ordinance knowing very well that it was a short term solution as it needed to be ratified by the Parliament. The proposed bill has now been put on the back burner. The reason: nitpicking over small issues like the lowering of age of consent. If you ask my opinion, I would say that lowering the age of consent has nothing to do with rape! I am one of those who believe that marital rape should also be punished. The state is not a guardian of morality though it often steps into that space. First perhaps, our law makers and enforcers should ensure that no child mariage takes place and the law that states that girls cannot be married before 18 should be implemented. One cannot hide behind social mores and tradition and let people brake laws. Mindsets to need to be changed.

Rapes are a crime, a violation of a women’s body irrespective of her age. We are all too well aware of this fact. Turn on the TV, scan the morning paper and you will have your fill of rapes: 8 months old, 3 years old, 12 years old, 50 years old and so on. From January to mid February 181 rape cases have been reported in our city, that is 4 rapes a day! Seems like the perpetrators know that they rape with impunity. And they are right if we are to believe a report aired of CNN IBN this morning where law enforcers are caught on camera stating aberrations like only 1 to 2 % are real rapes rest are consensual; only women in western clothes are raped and so on. Till this CHANGES no ordinance, law or more of the same can make any difference. And the rapists know that.

Today is International Women’s Day. I would suggest you read Shobha De’s article. In our land Vaginas are for violating.

I have just started reading Ash in the Belly by Harsh Mander. A few pages down it is my belly that is knotted and and on fire. The last time this happened to me was when I read Bitter Chocolate, Pinki Virani’s shocking and disquieting account of child sexual abuse in India. The first pages of Mander’s book brought to life the spectre of hunger and malnutrition I have often written about in this blog. How many times  have I not spouted statistics hoping against hope that they would awaken our far too numbed consciences. I speak of you and I who have so often stood with an empty plate in front of a lavish if not gross display of food at upmarket weddings, wondering what to put on our plate? Will it be Italian or Kashmiri? Thai or French? The sight of so much food can even give you visual indigestion and let us not forget that this happens after we have gorged ourselves with snacks and glasses of bubbly! And then, armed with our over laden plates, half of which we will ultimately throw, we have sat at a table with our peers chatting about the Foreign University our child is or will be attending, or the latest outrageously priced bag just come in at a luxury store? I guess many of us would have experienced some shade of the above.

Maybe we think we belong to the slightly more intellectual variety and would be discussing the latest film or best seller. Perhaps the Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins which does give a rather believable scenario of what might happen to humanity in times to come.

Today I am going to talk to you about real Hunger Games played by real people who are our brethren. The First Chapter of Ash in the Belly is entitled: Living with Hunger. Women in a small village of Uttar Pradesh talk about their lives and about the lessons they have to teach their children. Unlike us they do not teach alphabets, numbers or colour recognition. The one and only terrifying lesson their children have to learn is: how to sleep hungry! To avoid their children having to sleep hungry they do the unimaginable. Brace yourself before reading what I write now. It is from page 6 of Ash in the Belly: On days where there is no food in the house the whole family sets out to find food. They scour the harvested fields of the landlords with brooms to garner the gleaning of the stray grains of wheat and paddy… they follow field rats to their burrows and are skilled in scrapping out the grains stolen and stored underground by the rodents…after each weekly market ends, they collect in their sari edges, grain  spilled inadvertently by traders or rotting waste vegetable… they even sift through cow dung for undigested grain. (Ash in the Belly page 6). The grain thus collected is cooked with water, salt and turmeric to quell the hunger pangs of their children. And if there is still no food then the little ones are given cannabis or cheap tobacco to soothe them to sleep.

I do not know how you feel after reading these lines, but I felt ashamed and guilt ridden for every grain I would have wasted in the six decades of my life. Go to your rubbish bin now and just look at the all the things that could have allowed children to not sleep hungry. But as Mander says in his book that the poor do not matter anymore. They have disappeared from our lives: from our films, our songs, our poetry, our literature. They have become invisible. They are assassinated everyday because of our indifference.

People are starving across the length and breadth of India. Unlike us who ponder about what kind of food we will eat today, these people’s menu is restricted to ‘delicacies’ that never appear on the lavish and vulgar display we are used to. Have you tasted basi (fermented rice water) laced with leaves gathered from the forest; have you eaten a paste made of young bamboo or kaddi a poisonous wild plant immersed in the river water to get rid of some of the poison and then laced with jaggery to mask its bitterness? And yet this is what millions of people in our country eat to survive.

The book has revealing chapters: living with hunger, hunger amidst plenty, ways of coping. I have not read them yet but know that each will reveal another tragic aspect of a reality we refuse to acknowledge. The data given in the book is frightening: 230 million men, women and children go to sleep hungry every night; 76% of India’s household are calorie deficient; 42% of the world’s underweight children live in India. Need I say more.

The book also gives us a list of schemes launched by the Government to supposedly tackle this problem. I counted 12 with fancy acronyms using a wide range of letters from the alphabet. Each sounds fancy and a panacea to all problems ailing the poor. Some go back to 1975. But nothing has changed. These fancy schemes with huge allocations seem to benefit everyone except the stated beneficiaries. We who have a voice and could ensure that things worked as they should keep mute as always. It is not our kids who have to sleep hungry. At most we grumble because such schemes affect our taxes.

We have time and again heard about the humongous quantities of grain rotting in different parts of the country. Have we ever raised our voices? Why should we? We all suffer from a syndrome called indifference.

Next time you throw or waste food, think of the child who has sleep hungry? Will you?

I for one intend to keep on raising this issue in my writing with the hope that perhaps one person will hear the cries of the invisible millions.

I am now bracing myself to read the next pages.

Of late, I hold my breath each time I go to Greater Kailash 1 M Block Market. Wonder why? Well it is because I shudder to think which shop will have pulled down its shutters and closed and whether it will yet again be replaced by a new jewelery shop. Over the past years we have seen this happen time and again. I have lost count of how many gold and silver shops there are in this market. I would not be surprised if the market score a century in the very near future. Last week I wanted to buy a pair of jeans from the Levis store and to my utter dismay I found the shutter down! I can bet we will have a new gold and diamond store. Once upon a very long time GK M block was your regular market where you found all your needs. We had meat shops, grocery shops, pastry shops, Indian sweet shops, a haberdasher, paint shops, book shops and so on. All of these have disappeared. I was also saddened that my favourite coffe and tea shop is now closed. I have heard we are on the way to getting a Starbucks.

The CEO of our city has always astounded me with her knee jerk solutions to disturbing issues. One can never forget how, in the wake of a young journalist being murdered whilst coming back home from work, she quipped: All by herself till 3 am at night in a city where people believe…you know…you should not be so adventurous. I wonder what she meant? Was it that women should stay indoors after a certain time? Going home from work is in no way adventurous. I remember having to come home post 1.30 am way back in the seventies when I worked at the radio station French services and had a live transmission from till 1am. Cars were provided by the office but sometimes we had to take circuitous routes and as I lived the farthest, I often was alone for the last leg of the journey. The cars were old and often broke down but somehow one was never scared. In the 80s I worked in International Conferences and again such conferences have the uncanny habit of going late into the night and one had to come home alone. It was not a matter of choice and in no way an adventure.

A few days back our esteemed lady came up with another gem. When attacked for the exponential rise in power tariffs, something we are all experiencing, she retorted: If somebody is finding it difficult to pay the bill then he can use a fan instead of a cooler. So if I understand well, whatever our grievance, it is never the State’s fault, it is ours for not making the needed adjustments. If water is too costly have a weekly bath, if food is too expensive eat a meal a day and so on. Strange interpretation of democracy! We elect you presumably to care for our needs, but once you are in power you can do anything.

Coincidentally to this latest chief ministerial blooper, or maybe it is synchronicity, an article appeared in a serious weekly entitled: The take it to easy polity. The article begins with a quote of our PM: Reforms are needed, I have always said that, but economic reforms with a human face will give India’s common man real hope. However 9 years down the road we are all waiting our the basic amenities. What is worse is that we have to pay more for what we do not get! What we are seeing is an insidious plan to hand over public services to private players and the way to do that is simply to mismanage these services and ultimately plead incompetence allowing the private boys to take over. Since electricity has been privatised bills have escalated and many of us in Delhi have received water bills in 5 figures! Even  Project Why which operates from a minuscule building for 8 hours a day receives electricity and water bills in tens of thousands.

I would like to highlight two very different aspects of all that has been said. The first one pertains to the abdication of the state of all its responsibilities. To illustrate this I will share a personal experience. A few years ago I was approached by a senior MCD official and friend. He asked me whether I would be interested in ‘taking over’ the local municipal school. This was the very beginning of the privatisation saga. I was somewhat horrified but wanting to know more I played on. The bottom line was that one would get the school, the kids, the teacher’s et al. Only the teachers – and you could not select them – would be paid by the MCD. All other expenses were yours! Needless to say that being an organisation seeking funds to educate slum children, I could not use pwhy funds to do work of the sate, and hence if the concept was to work the only recourse was to seek fees. Exit all the poor kids! If of course immediately refused the idea. Education as per the Constitution has to be free and equitable! The State must run proper schools. But that is pure chimera. It is not because they cannot – ie Central Schools – but because they want not. The reason: plenty on offer. One maybe because they want to ensure that a large part of society remains illiterate or at best semi literate. Better to manipulate you! Vote bank politics! Soon we may hear something like: if you do not like our schools go to private ones.

The other aspect I wanted to focus on was the ‘wants’of the urban poor. It is easy for our city boss to suggest people use fans instead of coolers but that is not how it works. When people move to the city they do so for a better life. They have needs to fulfil but once these are met come the needs. I will tell you the story of one family whose home I have been going to for over a decade now. When I first met them, they told me that they had come to the city after Mrs Gandhis death having had to leave Punjab. At that time their kids were small and in the little plot of land they managed to ‘purchase’ they built a mud structure with a tin roof. Over the years they managed to educate the children as that was their first priority. When I came into their lives, the mud walls had been replaced by brick ones, the tin roof by a concrete one and they had just purchased a refrigerator. A small black and white TV occupied a place of honour. Today they have 2 colour TVs, coolers, mixers and grinders and a washing machine. The kids go to good public schools and they have new dreams they want to realise. Their wants are not illogical or absurd. They are the culmination of long difficult years. They are willing to pay for public services provided the bills are fair. They have not come all this way to go back to mud walls and tin roofs. They do not want to use a fan now that they have a cooler.

The kind of remarks politicians make shows the complete disconnect between the rules and their people. It is time things changed!

Till date, I have shared the on goings of Project Why based on what I saw, or what my staff shared or what well wishers, supporters and funders wrote in reports, blogs or on social networks. Some how it never cross my mind to get the children to share their thoughts. And yet they are the ones who should have been given that opportunity. So I was delighted when the coordinator of our women centre decided to give pen and paper to students and ask them to write what they felt. All teachers were asked to leave the premise and the security guard and housekeeper where the ones supervising the exercise.

I was given a report and I would like to share with you Project Why through the eyes of those who matter most. The children participating were from class III to IX.

One child thought that Pwhy was great because it has toilets, drinking water and free education. Another one was touched by the fact that the organisation helped her parents when they had lost their jobs and were desperate and also because many volunteers come to the Project and she can talk to them in English and improve her knowledge. A young class V girl likes Project Why because it does not make a difference between boys and girls and she loves the Sunday classes when all kids come together. A little girl likes the Saturday hand washing and  a young boy likes the fact that there are no more than 15 students per class. For some students what makes Pwhy special is the dancing, singing and art activities, for others it is the fact that teachers are patient and do not beat children. Some like the fact that there is a big library with good books and that there are spoken English classes. And many simply felt that pwhy gave them an enabling environment to study in all seasons.

Some kids like the camaraderie that exists in the Project Why and that all children are treated equally, irrespective of their caste or creed. One class IX student candidly admits that when he came to Pwhy he was not good at studies but that now he has improved a lot. A class VII student appreciated the photography workshop and the fact that he and his friends are given cameras to take pictures regularly.

Many students appreciated the fact that they were not chastised for their bad habits. On the contrary teachers took time to understand their problems and help them get over their bad habit. Teachers were more like friends and mentors and went out of their way to help students.

And a class VII student simply said that Project Why is like her family.

To many, all these statements may seem innocuous and commonplace, simple ramblings of students wanting to say the right thing. But it is not so. When I read them I felt overwhelmed and humbled. These seemingly anodyne words actually reveal the reality of children who are not understood and appreciated by the adults in their world, be it their parents or school teachers and for whom pwhy is the support they so need. A place where they are considered as individuals who matter. The words also reveal how things that are taken for granted by the likes of us, are luxury to urban slum kids be it a clean toilet, drinking water or the pleasure of washing one’s hands. The thoughts shared by these children go along way in proving that we have failed as a society in ensuring that all children what is rightfully theirs.

The question I ask myself is: are we doing enough?

Two months ago, India was on its feet expressing its outrage at the barbaric rape and subsequent murder of a young woman in a Delhi bus. We were angry and ashamed and swore to not give up the fight till justice was done. We decided to wear black bands and keep up the fight. The media was replete with stories on women’s safety. Brought to its knees the state constituted a committee meant to look at women related issues and the said committee worked relentlessly to bring about a report many of us were thrilled out. For the first time, issues that are normally brushed under carpets were highlighted. We were all on a high. But then surreptitiously, the dark forces set to work. A hurried ordinance which diluted many of the main issues was promulgated leaving us all perplexed. Why the hurry? In the mean time, the media found greener pastures (the death and beheading of soldiers, the much awaited hanging of a terrorist, the curious case of a Party President, and now blasts in a southern city) and even the tiny news item that informed us of the daily hearings of the case of the accused in the Delhi rape, stopped. Our black bands faded and I wonder how many of us replaced them.

But atrocities against women did not stop. Rapes continued with alacrity and seeming impunity. But we remain silent. The Delhi rape is undoubtedly horrific but what about the recent rape of 3 little sisters in Bhandara. Why have we not felt outraged as we did a few months ago? Is it because these 3 little souls belong to a social background we cannot identify with? Imagine three little girls, between the age of 5 and 11, waking up in the morning as they do each school day, wearing their uniforms, hurriedly gulping a breakfast lovingly prepared by their mother, picking up their bags and setting off for school. Only on that day they never came home. A predator was lurking on the way; he may have enticed them with some treat or the other and then hijacked and destroyed their dreams in a flash. I shudder to imagine what  their last moments on earth were like. The confusion, the bewilderment, the helplessness, the pain and the realisation that it was all over. Their journey from home to school ended in a dark well. Were they still alive when they were pushed in? And imagine the plight of the mother, widowed a few years back and who  now loses her children. No amount of compensation can begin to heal her agony.

What is worse is that the police did nothing for two days. The investigation was shoddy and truly began only after the enraged villagers resorted to violent protest. According to the latest news the Principal of the school they studied in has been suspended for not having reported that the girls were missing. The question that begs to be answered is whether the police would have acted had the principal reported the incident? Sadly this is not the only incident. Rapes have been committed with alacrity and impunity every single day since the terrible Delhi rape. But we seem to have lost our voice yet again.

The Delhi case has resulted in an ordinance that needs to be passed by Parliament but trends indicate that though it seemed that everyone once agreed, it may lapse for want of time! And there is more. It also seems that some of our esteemed politicians have raised some doubts. One of these seems to be that if stalking is included then it could be misused. Others objections have been against voyeurism and even sexual harassment at the work place. All this augurs well for the Government who can then allow the ordinance to lapse. The existing laws will remain and nothing would have changed.

What is frightening is that the ‘doubts’ expressed reek of patriarchy and seem to condone the conspiracy of silence that has prevailed. It seems that the only true ‘crime’ against women that all are willing to address and condemn is rape. But rape is the culmination of a series of albeit smaller crimes that embolden perpetrators. Perpetrators are often misguided youth who begin their descent with crimes like teasing, stalking, groping etc. If these will be smiled upon benignly by a patriarchal society that considers women as second class beings, possessions and objects then women will never get justice. Men will never understand the rage and hurt felt by a woman who is leered at or groped. In every way it is a violation of her being. If crime against women is to be addressed then every from of crime has to come under the ambit of law. By objecting to stalking, voyeurism and any form of harassment, men want to retain the right of indulging in such low games with impunity. Diluting any law is as good as discarding it.

Is there no hope then. One would be tempted to say yes. Since time immemorial women have learnt to live with such aberrations and build defenses. The Delhi rape did shake us out of our immobility and we would have liked to believe that our rage would bring about change. But the enemy is wily and strong. It will require subtle tactics and a long war. Delhi was just the first battle and we still have not won it. The Bhandara culprits roam free. The Suryanelli survivor has still not got justice even after 17 long years. To bring about change we need to raise our voices in each and every case; we need to convey our outrage each time a crime is committed against women and children. We need to refuse to accept aberrations and stop building defenses. But will we? Every day children and are abused within the so called safety of their homes but no one says a word. If the child garners the courage to share her/his hurt with an elder, (s)he is sworn to the code of silence, a code meant to protect the patriarchal equilibrium. A girl his told not to talk about sexual assault she may have incurred because it ‘may ruin her chances on the marriage market’. What is this society where the victim is criminalised and the perpetrator roams free. I am sure than men who may be guilty of stalking or groping asre still good marriage market material.

True men need to be sensitized, but more than them, it is we women who have to be freed from patriarcal mindsets and learn to respect ourselves and other women. When will that day dawn?

They are back! Wonder who? The Worman’s!  They are back their prodigious smiles that never seem to need time off and can lift the worse case of blues; with their bag of tricks (new ones included) and their humongous bubbles that makes the grimmest soul become a child again. They came to us a little over two years ago and disproved once for all the adage that says; rarely is love instant. With Alan and Em you fall in love in the blink of an eye.

When they were here last they taught us, and me personally many lessons, the most important one being to trust human nature implicitly. With them we rediscovered a new vocabulary that we often seem to forget:joy, delight, fun, gaiety, laughter, giggles and so much more. When they enter your lives they bring in sunshine and when they leave they do not take it away. They leave you enough to last till they pop back again to replenish your sagging batteries. So for the past week we have been imbibing the Worman magic, knowing that they will soon leave and that we need to fill up the tanks!

Alan and Em are two big kids who somehow refuse to grow up as they see to know that adulthood brings too many hassles, most of them self created. When they are around we all become kids!

For the past and the next week Alan and Em are thrilling the children with stories spiced with strange gadgets like a remote controlled mouse or a rubber chicken, with magic tricks that leave even adults open-mouthed and with bubbles that are larger than you could ever imagine. The centres where they land are filled with cried of joy and loud laughter. As long as they are there all negativity vanishes.

Em and Alan are also the most generous souls that I have ever met and their brand of generosity is uplifting and humbling.

Knowing them has not only been been an honour and privilege but has in many ways made me a better person. I for one know that my last words to them before they leave will be : When are you coning back?

Sometimes one is asked to provide statistics to show what we are up to. At times it is donors who want to know but most of the times it is some government agency or the other who demands facts and figures. I guess there is comfort in numbers. Anyway we were asked to provide numbers recently and so an exercise of assessing numbers of students, boy/girl ratio, social profile etc was undertaken. We also decided to find out how many students had cleared their XIIth Boards with the help of project why and how many of them had topped their respective schools. Our first batch of class XII was in 2005. Since then 175 students have cleared their Boards and 13 were toppers in their school. One of our students got 99% in maths! Some may say that 175 kids is not great shakes. But to us it is a number to be proud of, more so because many of these kids were not doing great when they came to us and some were even failures. That they could overcome their failings is in itself a huge achievement. Some of our children even got awards for their scholastic performance and that is certainly something to be proud of. According to their teacher, the class of 2013 is set to bring in more laurels.

That was the uplifting part, now let us get to the disturbing one. These days I rarely get the chance of interacting with all the staff. This is because of my decision of slowly withdrawing from the day-to-day running of the project as the mantle has to be passed on, but maybe I should review the decision. Anyway, quite perchance I spent some time with Naresh, our stellar senior secondary teacher, who has  ensured that every child cleared the dreaded Board Examinations . The conversation began with my asking him how things were after the rather radical changes in the education system. I refer to the introduction of the Continuous Comprehensive Evaluation system and the optional class X. What he told me made my blood run cold. Apparently the new system is nothing short of a disaster in Government run schools. Whereas private schools have evolved their own assessment system, the State run schools have simply taken the easy way out. Prior to the introduction if the CCE, it is was difficult for s child to remain in school after class VI, as she/he needed to perform to be eligible for the next class. Now with the new no fail policy and with a little help from the teacher you can go all the way to class X and even get a certificate without much knowledge. Let me elucidate with a couple of examples. R dropped out of school in class VI.  He was a poor student and unable to keep up. Come the CCE, he got readmitted in class IX after four years. The readmission was done after paying the teacher the sum of 10K rupees. As it is the teacher who marks all papers R has and will get ‘good’ marks and even pass his Xth though he can barely read! There is another student like R. His claim to success is that he washes the teacher’s car.

Some Government school kids are bright and would like to opt for the State class X Board Examination  but they are vehemently discouraged by their teachers. I had written a piece on education which talked about the quality of teachers. The new system seems tailor made for them as it requires very little work. Would you believe me if I told you that in a secondary school in the neighborhood, children who make it to class XI are urged to join project why as the teachers admit their incapacity to teach mathematics. The reality is that without tuition no one can make it, and tuition is expensive, project why however is free!

But it does end here. The Government has instituted a cash reward for teachers whose pupils get 90% or more in their XIIth. Many of our kids have done so and the teachers who did nothing have accepted the kudos and the cash reward. In the case of V who had 90% in many subjects the reward story is unbelievable. Teachers came to his home very early in the morning and told him to accompany them to a function held quite far from his home. He barely got time to brush his teeth. The ceremony was held, the rewards pocketed and V was left like to find way home on his own. Thank heavens he had the sagacity of bringing 50 Rs with him!

The new education changes have widened the gap between the rich and the poor. It is nothing less than shameful and should be condemned in the loudest way possible.

However this post is not meant to be an apologia for the report or the ordinance. It is meant to highlight the way laws, ordinances and programmes are implemented in our country. As an eminent jurist recently said on television in a debate on the new ordinance on sexual assault: it is useless to put a better engine on a car with flat tyres. No law, however perfect can be properly implemented unless those who are meant to put it into effect are up to the mark: the police and the judicial system. You can cry out ad infinitum for more fast track courts but unless you have sufficient judges and courtrooms it is all in vain. You can set out the most humane protocol for rape victims at police station, it will never see the light of day unless you are able to change the cops mindsets. We still have law enforcers who refsue to register an FIR in the case of a six month baby who was sexually assaulted, their first reaction being that: the injury to the girl’s private part was caused by a rat bite. And how can you trust a police force that stand mute why a kangaroo court delivers a ludicrous punishment to a sexual assaulter. What happens to the laws.

I am also surprised at the fact that the media which normally at the front of all debates for change are still using the terms ‘eve teasing’ and ‘outrage to modesty’ when these are meant to have been banned by the proposed ordinance!

We have the best Constitution but are our constitutional right truly guaranteed? Not quite as we all know! We have a plethora of laudable and empowering rights for each and every section of society; a profusion of laws which maybe antiquated but still work if properly implemented, an abundance of social programmes that can and should have transformed our society till now. One of the schemes I have oft quoted is the ICDS (Intergrated Child Development Scheme), heralded with great fanfare in 1975. At it worked as envisaged then every Indian under the age of 38, irrespective of her/his caste, creed, economic status etc would have been well nourished, fully immunized and got pre school education. I do not think I need say anything on the issue but simply once again reiterate the shocking fact that one child dies every 3.5 minute of malnutrition.

The exampled are abundant. Let us take the debate of the Juvenile Justice Act of 2000. It has a lot of positive in it as children can be reformed but that necessitates well run reform homed with a humane approach, counsellors, therapists etc. The state of the reform homes in India is shocking to say the least. Even this morning a news item highlighted the plight of a child who was repeatedly sexually assaulted in the very home meant to care for him. I so wish we started finding our voices to counter these atrocities meted to innocent souls. But we remain mute. It is not our child that is silently suffering inside the dark walls of such homes.

Simply google for social welfare schemes in India. You will find a surfeit of schemes for one and all with fancy acronyms. If these worked then everyone from women, to children, to tribals, to the disabled  and so one should be thriving. That is not the case at all.

More laws, or more schemes or more ordinances will change nothing unless mindsets change in those who have the responsibility of implementing them, Nothing will change unless those in charge stop looking at these as ways to line their already heavy pockets.

So whether the new ordinance has teeth or not is secondary. It is time for reforms in the law enforcement agencies. It is time everyone found the conscience it has so conveniently mislaid.

Sadly the bold brave girls of Kashmir have decided to call it quits: they have decided to quit singing and music. My heart goes out to them. Young school girls with a love for music and loads of talent. Something to applaud and be proud of not be crushed by inane and incomprehensible logic. What harm can little girls do. Once again bigots have hijacked all our constitutional rights. I was all choked up whenI heard the little teenagers say on TV that they had disbanded their band because the Grand Mufti had ordained that music was ‘haram’ and against Islam. Like all children they submitted to the adult, as they always do. Is that not that tragedy of children in India. But try to imagine what was going on in their mind. Here were three young girls blessed with talent and a passion for music, who must have worked and practiced so hard to reach the competition they participated in, heard the applause and appreciation and then the thrill of winning. How happy they must have been when they shared their joy with their friends on the social networks. And then imagine their horror when abusive messages started pouring in and then a few days later the dikta of the Grand Mufti. And the crashing of all their dreams and their little voices shut for ever. As one of the girls poignantly said: I will now sing for myself. Children are meant to sing, dance and express themselves in every way possible. They should be heard, applauded and encouraged by one and all. What right does any one have to curb their creativity in the name of religion, creed or whatever else they can come up with. And above all these so called protectors of faith are no one to take away anyone’s constitutional rights. What is shocking is to see the State pander again and again to such people and groups. An Iranian girl’s band performing in Delhi was shocked by the fatwa on the Kashmiri band. Wonder what the Grand Mufti would have to say.

In recent days we have see some disturbing occurrences have taken place across the country. There was of course the ban of Kamal Hasan’s film and the FIR against an eminent sociologist. But that is not all. Recently a young painter was forced to take down some of his paintings from an exhibition because it had ‘offended’ one visitor. What is really disturbing is that the police who normally take forever to register cases, seemed to be on call. Last week in the capital another exhibition became the target of violence. Thankfully the exhibition is still on.

All this is frightening to say the least. Tomorrow someone can walk into a book shop and object to the presence of a book on the shelf and go to the police and object! Where is our freedom of speech. Can we allow it to be hijacked by zealots and so called guardians of morality. We need to raise our voices and counter this dangerous trend.

Life is full of synchronicity. Three totally unrelated events occurred almost simultaneously. Whilst reading Chetan Bhagat’s What Young India Wants  I stumbled upon his take on the 3 traits that are responsible for all that is wrong in our country. Servility that is taught at school, numbness to injustice that comes from our environment and divisiveness that sadly comes from our home. The second event was a news item that flashed on the TV screen. In UP, that was till recently rule by a Dalit woman, children refused to eat their midday meal because it is cooked by a Dalit. And the third unrelated event was a list of the staff of the women centre stating their social profile. I must admit that I had never till date asked for such information as to me it is totally irrelevant, but was recently asked for a project profile that needed to be submitted to the authorities and where we needed to highlight our ‘achievements’. I must say that I was thrilled to see that ALL the staff of the women from top to bottom centre belonged to what goes as Reserved categories (SC, ST, OBC etc).

I must admit that I have always felt uncomfortable with any reservation policy. To me anything that divides society is not only wrong but can only spell disaster. I think recent history has proved that. It is true that affirmative action has been a way to deal with discrimination. India chose this way to ‘help’ its oppressed castes by establishing a system of quotas. This was meant to last a decade post independence, a time by which if all had gone as envisaged everyone would have been on a level playing field. But over six decades down the line this system continues and far from acting as a leveler, has in fact been the most divisive factor. Today, reservationsin some states has gone way above 50%, thereby defeating the very purpose it was created for. Today it has become a political a great political tool. Today the situation is such that a third generation learner having been to the best educational institutions can avail of the quota system while the poor son of a illiterate high caste individual has to compete with the creme de la creme. I remember the argument I once had with the daughter of a senior official who was a Oxford alumni and my class fellow, when she applied for the civil services examination on a quota as her father belonged to a backward community. I personally felt that she had the competence to succeed in an open examination and could not understand why she preferred to be ‘branded’. To me the success of any affirmative action policy should be to ensure that after a given time,      every one should be able to compete equally.

Apologies for this digression. To come back to the 3 events, it is sad, that even after 60+ years of Independence, caste remains such a divisive factor. The children who refused to eat a meal cooked by a Dalit are the product of the divisiveness Chetan Bhagat’s mentions, one that is taught in the homes and as long as this continues, no affirmative action or reservation policy is going to fulfill its purpose. What is needed is to have an inclusive approach based on talent and aptitude. Give people a chance to prove themselves and believe me they will surprise you. Give all the support that is needed at the starting block: schools. Extra classes, extra nutrition, extra everything to ensure that the underprivileged child catches up with her peers and competes on an equal footing. Sadly that is not the case at all.

In the case of the children refusing to eat the food made by a Dalit, the fault lies with the families where one learns about differences, about those who are not good as ‘us’. Children’s minds are impressionable.  I remember once when I was quite young hearing my father tell my mother how Japan (I think it was Japan) had voted against India in some UN meet. Though the conversations was not meant for me, I recorded the fact and stop talking to two of my class mates who were Japanese. I would have carried on, had not things been set right by my mom when at my next birthday, I told her that I was not inviting  Yoko and her sister. She was quite surprised and asked me why. On hearing the reason she laughed and set matters right. It is time we stopped this.

When we decided to set up our women centre, we chose the best person for the job. Quite frankly his cate or creed was of no consequence. I was looking for someone I could trust, someone who was sensitive to the needs of the people we worked with, someone who was hard working and so on. Over the years, from the time we decided to employ staff from within the community, these have been the criteria we look for. Never did it cross our mind to find out social profiles. Today it is with great pride that I look at my incredible team. That they belonged to what is know as reserved categories vindicates my stand. What we need is to provide an even playing field and then sit back and watch. This is the kind of Affirmative Action that is needed to change India.

When 2% of class VII students cannot read capital letters in English you need to get terribly concerned. But does one? Sadly not because that 2% is not our child or the child of somebody we may know. However the writing is on wall. The  ASER (Annual Status of Education Report) for 2012 is out and the results frightening. Class III kids only read class I books, and only 40% of class V students can do a simple division. The findings of the report are scary:  basic reading levels showing decline in many states, arithmetic levels also show a decline across most states. And though school attendance is said to be higher. what is the point of an education that does not teach anything. The report goes on to state that there is an exodus towards private schools continues that shows that shows that all is not well in state run schools.

The findings of this report should shock us as it shows that even after more than 6 decades children of Independent India have not been given the right to equitable education and that is truly a shame but I am sure that many of us did not even read the articles that appeared in the press a few days back, or even if we did, it would not have struck a chord as our children mercifully go to swanky private schools. Yet we need to give this a thought and raise our voices. Education is the only way India can change for the better and quite frankly no education seems better than what a large number of children are getting.

I received an email from a lawyer activist who has been relentlessly advocating for better schools in our capital city. He recently visited a school in outer Delhi and “found that hundreds of girl students sitting in ground and on the school roof in open in bitter cold weather. Those found sitting in the classrooms were taking exams in total dark rooms without even electric connections, I am told by the teachers that nearly 1200 girl students are studying in the morning shift and the equal number of boy students are studying in after noon shift. The school appears to be running in a dangerous building for the last three years.” This is totally unacceptable by all standards. What is the use of a right to education if it is not guaranteed by the State. Why should children be studying in the bitter cold or scorching sun or giving examinations in pitch dark rooms. This school has 2400 children who are been denied their right to equitable education.

But they are not the only ones. Many State run schools in our capital city are in a pitiable condition. The schools pwhy children go to are no better. A few months ago our children were brave enough to highlight this reality in a postcard campaign and face the music thereafter. But in hindsight it was a good move as some things did change for the better. This once again proves that nothing comes easy in our great democracy. Our ‘rulers’ are masters at making laws that sound good on paper but meet many obstacles when implemented. Many of these pertain to education.

Let us begin with the decision of doing away with class X Boards and introducing ‘continuous comprehensive evaluation’ which is supposed to have  inbuilt flexibility for schools to plan their own academic schedules as per specified guidelines. Sounds great does it not? But to enable proper implementation of this scheme you need teachers who are capable of coming up with innovative ways. This may happen in ‘good’ schools but what about Government schools with 100+ children per class and unmotivated and even brutal teachers. For such a scheme to be successful, one should have first created the resources needed. As I said it looks good on paper! Seems that is all the lawmakers want. Never mind what happens on the ground. The same can be said about the ‘no fail policy’ till class VIII. Whereas public schools will ensure that their students meet the required standards in each class, Government schools simply promote their kids from class to class and that is why we have class V or VI or VII kids unable to read or solve a basic arithmetic sum. We have had many suck kids come to pwhy. Mercifully continued support has helped them bridge the gap and perform well. This is heartwarming as well as disheartening as one thinks of the millions of kids who cannot get the support they need and hence may simply drop out and never get the education they aspire for. And even the doing away of the Xth Boards seems to be have been a wrong move as many class XII students feel they would have been better prepared had they sat for the Xth Boards. The changes heralded 3 years ago seem to have somewhat failed. And though a CCE approach seems to help average students, it is a failure in a mark oriented system. Such changes should only be made once all needed resources are in place. The reality is grim: of the 800 000 aspirants who sat for the Central Teachers Eligibility Test in December, only 1% cleared the test! This exam is mandatory for teaching class I to VIII and is taken by those who have cleared their BEd! Alarming to say the least. If you are interested you can view some of the papers here.

Now let us talk about the RTE Act and some of its aberrations. First and foremost free education is only for children between 6 and 14. Why not till the end of of schooling? At 14 a child is somewhere around class VIII. Now with the no fail policy you can imagine what kind of education an underprivileged child will have! But that is not what I consider the weakest point to me. For me, if free and quality education is the right of every child born in India, then it is the Sate’s duty to run enabling quality schools in each and every neighborhood. The 25 % reservation for economically disadvantaged children in ALL private schools is an abdication of the state’s responsibility and an easy way out. Makes one feel that children have the lowest priority in all decisions! The drawbacks of this approach are many. First and foremost we all know that these seats will never go to the true beneficiaries. We all know how easy it is to get all sort of false certificates! I know of financially  sound middle class parents who have availed of this though they could well afford to pay for their children. I am sure that a survey of the social profiles of children admitted under this category would show that it is not the poorest of the poor who are now in swanky schools. The poorest of the p[oor, if in school, are forced to attend crowded state run schools with scant facilities. This whole approach to quality education is wrong. The state has chosen a backdoor option that reeks of reservation. Why should kids be branded! And what about the zillions of children who cannot avail of this facility. Where is their right to quality education? Not to mention the question that beg to be asked: what after the child reaches the age of 14!

That the system is flawed is evident in what is happening today to children seeking Nursery admission. Nobody seems to know what is happening! It is time we all lend our voice to this cause! Will we?