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?

When you point one finger, there are three fingers pointing back to you goes the saying. The recent statement made by the brave young man accompanying the one India calls braveheart raises a few disturbing questions that we need to answer honestly if we want to believe that all the protests that happened in the wake of the night of horror that saw a young life and her dreams crushed forever have any meaning.

For the past three weeks or so we have been lighting candles, shouting slogans, ‘braving” water canons, tear gas shells and the colonial ‘lathi (baton). We have been screaming ‘we want justice’, thinking that the gallows will rid us of all that is wrong. We have been clamouring for better laws, death for rapists, more police presence, fast track courts etc. We want everyone to become gender sensitive in the bat of an eyelid: the cops, the men of the street, the politicians and their acolytes. True that we got some of our demands: the court proceedings have begun and some vague decisions taken – police women in thanas, more patrolling etc. Yet while we were yelling and screaming, rapes continued relentlessly: a married woman with children, a eight year old, a seventeen year old. While we were screaming hoarse a man died while protecting a woman just as it had happened one year back in Mumbai. While we were shouting, politicians across the board made degrading comments bet it the ‘dented and painted’ one, or the India and Bharat one, or the skirts one, or the stepping out of line one. Our politicians masters as always remained mute or at best came up with some inane explanation.

Hanging the culprits is not going to be the panacea of all ills. It will of course give a sense of justice to the family of the violated and murdered child and maybe ease our collective conscience. Is that what we want. If yes then rapes and sexual assaults will carry on with impunity. Most of them will be the kind that do not stir our selective conscience.

We need to stop pointing the one finger and look at the three fingers pointing back. The testimony of the young man squarely puts the blame on each and everyone of us. The young man recounts the night of horror and shares some of the events that were not known. What is the most poignant account is by far the apathy of the passers by: auto rickshaws, people in cars and bikes who slowed down but quickly  drove on, the posse of spectators that stood watching the show and not proffering any help: be it a piece of cloth to cover the nudity of the violated woman or reach out and help. Everyone of those bystanders is you or me, and we must hang our heads in shame. Imagine what was going on in the souls of the two young people screaming and begging for help. I shudder when I think of it. The excuse if any is the fear of harassment by the police should we reach out and help anyone. Maybe it is time to ask for a new law that protects the person who helps anyone in need. In some countries like France for instance there is a law that prosecutes anyone who does not help a person in need. Perhaps that is what we should ask for. One more thing though. We need to look at ourselves and assess whether it is only the fear of harassment that keeps us from reaching out or whether it is simply that we do not care. And more than that we should ask ourselves with utmost honesty whether as of this moment we, you and I, will stop and reach out to anyone in distress. If we are not able to answer with a loud YES, then all our candles lights, sloganeering and marches will be meaningless.

The young man also talked about the totally revolting attitude of the police who apparently quibbled and lost precious time trying to decide the jurisdiction under which the case would need to be registered. The police rushed into damage mode giving figures and stats to prove this to be incorrect. But why should the young man lie? And giving the track record of our ‘beloved’ Delhi Police this seems more than plausible. We need to be asking for rigid protocols in all cases, protocols that need to be followed to the T. Protocols that lay out strict procedures that need to be followed in all cases. But alas this may just remain a chimera as just a day or so back, a young woman who sought police help after being aggressed by an auto rickshaw driver faced the same treatment when she called 100.  The voice at the other end gave me another number – 27854799 – and said that the area I was in came under the jurisdiction of the police who would attend to my call. And the much heralded women’s helpline kept ringing. What can one say!  The question will always remain in the minds of the grieving family and in ours too: would she have made it if she had been taken to hospital earlier? We will have to live with this all our lives.

The young man also said that he had to pick the body of his friend himself and put it in the police PCR. First of all why is it that well equipped ambulances manned by paramedics are not the ones that pick wounded people like it is done in every self respecting society. Picking a severely hurt body can be fatal if one does not know how to. This is something we have experienced first hand at project why! The police refused to pick up the body of a young mentally challenged young man who lay on the road with maggot infested wounds and screaming in pain. It is our staff who did it and accompanied the body to the hospital where we had to get the press to ensure that the young man was attended to! Over and above more PCR vans can we press for well equipped ambulances for all accident victims so that precious time is not lost.

Everyone is asking for change. Change in laws and in mindsets. The perpetrators of this horrific crimes were the product of our society. Hanging them will not stop us from breeding more of the same. Rapes have not stopped post our protests. Our patriarchal and feudal mindset is age old and is carried out first and foremost in our homes. The false and misplaced sense of power that men have in India, is the result of his upbringing and is mostly inculcated by the women in the family: the granny who wails at the birth of a grand daughter and places the ‘blame’ on the innocent daughter in law; the mother who mollycoddles the son and neglects the daughter, the sister who accepts a secondary role with silent acceptance. And this happens across the board! Should a sexual assault occur within the home and the girl have the courage to bring it up, it is the women of the family who rise as one and brush away the crime in the name of honour, thereby condemning the survivor to share a space with the perpetrator. Maybe it was time we as educated people stood up for our child no matter what the consequences. Can honour be more important than the pain of an bused child. It CANNOT and should not.

Perhaps it also time we stopped blaming a girl, no matter what her age is, for the assault she may experience. This is done time and again and in all homes rich or poor. She laughs too loud, dresses too revealingly and so on. And maybe we should start educating all people, men and women about the X and Y chromosome story and free the woman from the unfair accusation of being responsible for the sex of a child. WE women do not have the Y chromosome!!! I know of an educated gentlemen, or should I say supposedly educated, whose answered shocked me when we were discussing this topic. My son can do no wrong he quipped angrily. In the country where women Goddessed are worshipped night and day giving birth to a girl child is wrong. Maybe it is time we again looked into ourselves and see how guilty we are. Time to set our house in order before casting the first stone.

Another point that may see disturbing and unsettling to many and yet needs to be made is to look at who the perpetrators are and where did we as a society, go wrong. Let us take the case of the youngest accused. Before I go on, I would like to say that I am not defending anyone but simply trying to understand what makes a child a brutal criminal and assessing where we went wrong, as at this moment we have to live with the fact that rapes and sexual assault will happen. Today’s newspaper gives an interview with the mother of this boy. His family is the poorest in the village and lives under a plastic sheet. 11 years ago when he must have been just 6 he left the village to earn a living as he was the eldest and his father mentally ill. There are 5 younger children who do not go to school and need to travel 30 km to get work as labour. Today the mother does not wish to see her son. Her only worry is that now no one will marry her daughter. Take a moment to ponder over this. In 11 years a six year old kid became a barbaric killer. Six year olds need a home, the love of their family, food in their belly, a school to go to. Most of this is guaranteed under the Constitution. He is not meant to be thrown in the  big city alone. It took about a decade for him to become a killer, his only teacher the big city. A city that has passed many laws to protect children but failed to implement them. Had the child labour law been respected this boy should have been either sent back to his family or kept in a children’s home and received education. How many children have not seen working and yet how many of us have picked the phone and reported the matter. Many children work in homes of the rich and yet no one says anything. Another code of silence that needs to be broken.

There is debate about lowering the age of the Juvenile Justice Act. This Act was implemented as it was felt that children should be reformed and not punished as adults. This per se is a very sound approach. But it requires one important element: well run remand homes where the child is given an enabling environment that would allow hom to reform. All you need is visit one of these homes and you will realise that no one can be reformed in them. is it not time to demand for well run reforms homes for the children who have turned into criminals.

But before that we need to look at our school system. If our state run schools were well run, many problems we see would be set right. Perhaps it is time that all schools be made coeducational so that boys and girls grow together as buddies, competitors, friends.

It is also time that sex education, and here I do not mean a chapter on reproduction often hurried through, but age appropriate sex education, starting with good touch bad touch and explaining all emotions that children, tweens and teens go through, should be imparted to every child in school.  It is time we did that and not brush these under the carpet as we tend to do.

I could carry on and on but will not.

I simply would ask each one of us to look at the three fingers pointing back and be man enough to accept responsibility.

The past weeks has seen a city angry and outraged at the brutal and reprehensible assault on a young woman. One wonders what made this rape awaken our frozen consciences and come out of our convenient and self induced torpor. Rapes are not new. In fact there is a rape in our country every 22 minutes, that is 65 rapes a day! Not a figure to be proud of. Many of these are as reprehensible as the one that happened last month. What could be worst that the rape of a 2 year old and yet we kept silent. Perhaps it was because the victims were not ‘one of us’ and we felt immune from such aberrations. The rape of the young woman that shook us all was one we could identify with. It could have been our daughter or our sister as they too watch movies with their friends and may take a bus back home. This incident was too close for comfort and thus we shouted and protested and wanted to be heard. We clamoured for news laws, for severe punishment, for safer roads and so on. I can only hope that something positive comes out of our new collective persona.

Yet there are many things that should shake our conscience as human beings. One of them is the state of the homeless in the freezing winter. There are over 300 000 homeless in Delhi, including women and children. They are not hidden. We see them huddled under flyovers as we drive past. We see them sleeping on pavements as we return from a party or a late night movie. Every year the media run programmes on their plight. And yet we remain mute or at best to ease our consciences by donating a poor quality blanket. The same state that let down the one we call our braveheart, has only been able to make a paltry 154 shelters that can accommodate 7500 or a mere 2.5% of our homeless. In spite of court intervention nothing much seems to happen on the ground. Some homeless people have no option but sleep in public toilets to escape the biting cold.

While we layer ourselves with thermals and woollies, sit next to heaters and sip a hot mug of coffee, these people just pray that live through the night, and through every winter nights. No one cares for them. For politicians they are not vote banks and for the rest of the city they simply do not exist. They are brutalised by the police and often their paltry belongings confiscated. The women are abused and the children will never see a school. They are the most vulnerable and abandoned by one and all.

They too belong to the city we live in. Will the collective conscience that has been awakened by a brutal rape, raise its voice for these defenseless citizens of India.

Enough is enough! I have kept quiet for far too long. It is time I reclaimed every right that has been usurped from me. I do not want to be killed in the womb just because I am a girl. I want my birth to be celebrated and feted. I have the right to the same education, to as many toys, and to the same new school bag every year than the one my brother gets. I want to play outside like all children. I want to wear whatever I feel like and laugh as loudly as I can.

I do not belong to anyone. I am your daughter, your sister, your wife, your mother but I am first and foremost an independent being. I am ready to learn and respect values and want the right to abide by them because I want to, and not because you impose them on me. I do not want to be told what to do, think, see, touch, feel and  hear. I want to experience everything on my own. I want to feel the the coolness of the evening breeze and the warmth of the winter sun. I want to discover the world at my own pace and through my own eyes. I want to learn and grow with the same freedom as my brothers do. I want to go to school and not be used as a surrogate mother whenever needed and saddled  with household chores. I do not want to see my studies interrupted to look after ailing grandparents in the village. I do not want to be considered as a burden that one has to rid itself of by harnessing me to an unknown man.

I want to be the pride of my family. I also know what honour means so do not throw the izzat bogey to curb my freedom and make me do what you want. I want you to trust me implicitly and you must  if you have taught me right. I am not an object or a commodity. I am a person with dreams and aspirations. Please do not hijack them or stifle them. I do not want to be judged by a kangaroo court and killed if I decide to fall in love. I want the right to fall in love like any one else.

You worship Goddesses with a fervour that sometimes seems false and sanctimonious. When you sit and chant her name through the night, do you forget that she is a woman just like me and the best of respecting her would be to respect every woman you see. When will stop being so hypocritical! Your  double standards are galling. You will protect the women in your family but consider every other woman your plaything. I am sick and tired of all the groping, leering, ogling and all other kind of abuse you are master at every time I step out of my door. You rape with impunity be it a baby or a mature woman. Do you ever think that the 2 year old you violate could be your own child. You then unabashedly throw the blame on us for the crime you commit. It was what we wore, or the time of the day we were out, the place we were at and so on. Please tell me how a 2 year old in a play school was at the wrong place, at the wrong time and wearing inappropriate clothes or are diapers sexy too! You make me sick.

If a woman is violated and we demand justice you come up with asinine fixes: do not go out at night, do not wear skirts, do not own a cellphone etc. The best one is get her married. This is not acceptable. You have such disregard for us as even your prized abuses have to insult us. How many times a day do you f**** sisters and mothers. Have you ever thought of that.

Last month you abused and violated a young beautiful woman who only wanted to live life on her own terms with such violence and depravity that the nation shook and every woman in this country, young and old felt defiled. Yes you raped us all. But let me tell you one thing: you could not and never would violate her soul or spirit,

When we were on the streets  venting the rage we felt, you kept quiet at best, or blasted us with water and tear gas and broke sticks on our back. What were you trying to prove? That you were men! You even fell as low as  calling us painted and dented to once again try and denigrate us. You took a dying child on a plane ride when you knew she was going to die. And then you brought the braveheart back in the dead of night and cremated her like you would a thief. Was it because you were too scared of the very people you come and beg for votes once every five years.

How good you are at protecting yourselves. You clamp all kind of laws and restrictions against your own people. Let me tell you: you do not look good. We wanted you to come and grieve with us, to listen to our woes and suggestions. We did not want empty words that sounded so hollow. We have seen through your game.

Yes we want justice for the young woman whose dreams you crushed. But what about the millions of women waiting for justice and who have gone old waiting. Will you bring laws that ensure we do not get raped over and over again if we muster the courage to seek justice. Will you ensure that justice will come to all those waiting. Will you change the law that would make a rapist or abuser guilty till proved innocent? But that is not where it ends. We want to reclaim our space day and night. We want to be able to move freely at any time of the day and be safe no matter what we wear. We want to be respected and accepted as equal citizens.

We do not need protection, we need freedom be it in our homes or on the streets.

This is perhaps the first time that I am at a loss of words to usher a new year. Normally one is filled with hope and dreams and resolutions. But this year seems different as it has placed on our shoulders responsibilities we all have been shirking for far too long. Somehow 2012 can be divided into two parts: before December 16th and after December 16th and though the later is an infinitesimal part of the 365 days that make a Gregorian year, the last 15 days of the year gone by have shaken us of the comfort zone we had allowed ourselves to slink in. We were rudely awakened from an almost catatonic slumber that made us believe that all was well. Suddenly the conscience we had conveniently parked somewhere in the recesses of our minds was stirred and we had to accept the uncomfortable reality that we had we had failed in more ways than one. What was even more troubling was the fact that it had taken the most brutal and barbaric death of a beautiful young girl to make us come to our senses.

It is apposite that the young braveheart has remained anonymous and unnamed. She thus becomes every one’s daughter or sister and makes our irresponsible behaviour that much more unpardonable. For years we have been passively accepting rapes and other reprehensible acts without the outrage that must be felt by any self respecting human being. We conveniently brushed these aside by telling ourselves that such aberrations did not happen in the tiny confines of our lives. We clucked away news of children being abused and hurt when we should have screamed our indignation. As supposedly educated and aware citizens we never lend our voices to ensure that justice was done. We accepted corruption, inefficiency and venality in every realm of our lives. At best these made juicy drawing room  chats and never went beyond that. We accepted the arrogance of politicians and bureaucrats  and found ways of circumventing things when it concerned us. We too surreptitiously became partners in crime.

This how we have been shaken to see ourselves and what we see is not pretty. It makes us hand our heads in shame. But at the dawn of this new year we have been given a chance to redeem ourselves. I hope we will. If we do not then we are doomed.

It is a new year and I cannot but hope and pray that my family and my extended family and all my friends and supporters have a wonderful year. Is this not what one wishes fro those we love? As for myself I hope that I can walk that extra mile that would make the two Indias we live in come closer and learn to accept and respect each other just like the two little Angels in the picture, Utpal a child of the dark and Agstya my little grandson.

May 2013 bring the wisdom, sagacity and healing we so need.

2012 is coming to a close. It is time to reflect and ponder about the year gone and ask one’s self as candidly as possible whether we really walked the talk. 2012 was pwhy’s 12th year on the field, more than ample time to make the difference we set out to make more than a decade ago. I will in this post highlight some of the important moments of 2012 and view them in the light of the mission we gave ourselves when it all began. I would also beg your indulgence in case thing are not in chronological order, but isn’t that expected of a project that has always followed its heart.

Project Why has always endeavoured to keep in sync with the reality that surrounds us and put in perspective for the children we nurture. Thus I cannot but begin this narrative with today, a day when a whole nation mourns the death of the  braveheart who suffered the worst form of assault imaginable. Since that terrifying night I have been following the story with horror and dread, more so because the barbaric perpetrators come from the same social strata as the children we teach. This makes our responsibility and task that much more critical and compels us to look back at the gone years and assess the work we have done in a whole new manner. True our mission as stated time and again was and has been to provide quality education support to children from slums and give them the required skills to excel in school and in life. But was our definition of quality education broad enough? We always followed the Delors 4 pillars – learning: to know, to do, to be and to live together. But did we emphasise enough on the ‘live together’? Were we not swayed by the ‘to know’ as every parent across the board is? But it is not the moment to delve on what we cannot change. Today the people want to see a new India, one that is safe for all its citizens, one where every man learns to respect women, where laws are strong and justice delivered. Where little girls are taught how to protect themselves and sex talk is not taboo. Yes we need a change in mindsets as well as laws and mindsets can only be changed one day at a time starting at a young age. So as 2012 ends, we at project why have taken certain resolves.

We strongly believe that one of the best ways to get boys and girls to learn to accept and respect each other is that they grow together. We would like to see all state run schools become coeducational. However till that day comes we have no option but teach boys and girls at different times. However since last week we have decided that on all holidays boys and girls will come together to the project and interact in every way possible. It is heartwarming to see that though there was some reluctance and hesitation, particularly from the boys, within no time the children were working together as pals and chums.

Several workshops on self esteem and gender biases were held along the year. We will ensure that these are held with more often in the new year. We also plan to hold gender bias and sex education workshops for the staff as we realised that coming from traditional backgrounds, they are hesitant and uneasy and need to be taught how to address this issue with children of different ages.

We alas live in a society where the girl child is still in danger and needs to learn to protect herself. Therefore we are launching regular ‘good touch’, ‘bad touch’ classed for all our primary girls. We also plan to have awareness programmes with the parents and hope these will be useful.

The horrific rape that shook all of us was also discussed with the older children. They were then asked to write their feelings. I will share this with you in a subsequent post.

Now let me briefly share the main happenings of the year gone by. As always the children did us proud   and the project why results for all centres and all classes was 100%. Hats off to all children and their teachers. I guess we have by now fulfilled one of our main objectives: to contain drop out, mainstream children and ensure good results.

This year we held several workshops in all our centres: a  work shop on self esteem in our Okhla and Khader centre as we have realised that children from underprivileged homes have poor self esteem. A workshop on the girl child was also held at our Khader centre. A workshop for the teachers of the special section was held in September to introduce new approaches in teaching.

Our main workshop however was a workshop on Right to Education, held with the support of an eminent jurist and that ended in a postcard campaign whereby the children wrote of the Chief Justice of the Delhi High Court about the situation in their school. The children were charged up and wrote unabashedly about the violence and abuse by their teachers, the lack of facilities be it toilets or desks, the overcrowding of classes and the poor quality of teaching. These cards were included in a PIL with the judges demanding immediate action. Action was taken but the suspension of 2 teachers named by the student resulted in a huge problem for us as the teachers belonged to Khader village where our centre is located. Our landlord almost threw us out. It is the extremely wise and diplomatic skill of our coordinator Dharmendra that saved us from this explosive situation. Our children were also targeted in school but tempers calmed down and today the schools are functioning a tad better. This was  a lesson for all: bringing change is never easy. It needs courage and staying power.

For the women centre, it was a musical year as they had a western music workshop run by Diya, a young student from Singapore. A group of 8 children were introduced to western music and tried their hand at the guitar, the keyboard and bongos! In January 2012, Praveen one of our extremely talented student, began professional singing classes. His dream is to enter a singing reality show! More power to him.

2012 was also dancing year for the project children. It was decided to run dance workshops for all children, including the special ones.  And even though their performance would not meet  Bolshoi standards, the children had great fun and laughed to their hearts’ content.

We hope to have the children perform somewhere in 2013.

Everyone is invited!

This year it was the Okhla children who had the chance to get behind a camera thanks to the workshop run by one of our summer volunteers. You can see the pictures they took here.

We managed a few outings in spite of paucity of funds. The Govindpuri children went to the Science Museum, the Red Fort, the Children’s Park and India Gate. It was still open to the likes of you and me then. The special children went to Delhi Haat and Lodhi garden.

A group of children from Khader were taken to a movie and to an outing at the mall by some supporters.

As always we celebrated festivals: Republic Day, Independence Day, Gandhi Jayanti, Children’s Day, Diwali, Teacher’s Day, Eid and Xmas. On these days children often put up their own show with dances, exhibitions, speeches and song.

The star this year was undoubtedly our very own Santa.

We also had our share of visitors from all corners of the planet and of course our volunteer who make a huge difference as they bring a little of the world into our planet! We thank all of them warmly!

Some statistics and facts now: we are now a family of 1000! And to say that when we began we were a mere 40! We have a team of 45 and each one of them is precious and deserves to be saluted. The computer centre, library and secondary were shifted around. Secondary classes were started in our Govindpuri centre which now goes to class VII.

We would like to share two very special events.
Preeti from the special section has now been admitted to the Open school and is preparing for class X  and Shamika our special section in charge got the Karamveer Chakra award.

We are proud of you girls!

Our boarding school kids are well and growing by the day. They are good in their studies and participate in many activities: skating, yoga, dancing, music. I wish we could give this opportunity to every child.

Over 200 women completed their sewing and beauty courses this year. many of them have got employment and some of them even opened their own beauty parlours, two of them in the village. More power to you.

Planet Why remained frozen this year. All our efforts came to naught and we are now seriously thinking of alternatives. However our special children and Khader children kept the sustainability light alive.

The special children now make dream catchers that are on sale and our Khader chiildren made beautiful greeting cards that can be purchased on line. We hope these enterprises grow by leaps and bounds.

But all this would not have been possible without those who have believed in us and trusted us through the years. We hope you will continue to help us make a difference. To everyone a big thank you.

Happy 2013.

Yes I, the Indian woman, am dented and painted but not in the manner you politicians think! I am dented – and here I would like to use the verb ‘dent’ in its meaning ‘diminished’- from the very moment I am conceived. Even as I entered my mother’s womb, I knew everyone hoped I was a boy. If it was discovered that I was indeed a girl, I ran the risk of being brutally aborted and my tiny life ended in a pool of blood or a garbage bin. The day I was born, I was greeted with wails and tears and my mother cursed for not having born a son. You see the X Y chromosome story is understood by no one, or I guess they do not wish to understand as how can I boy do anything wrong. In my country giving birth to a child is wrong.

As I grew up I was often bewildered at what I saw. My brother always got what he wanted and I did not. I was often chided and put back to place. My brother got better food and even a better school bag. he even went to a private school while I had to go to the municipal one. I was often made to miss school as there was always something to do t home, and after the birth of my younger sibling, I became a surrogate mother even though I was just 6. I often heard my parents talking about me in disturbing words. Was I really a burden?

Imagine my surprise when as I grew a little older, I who loved playing on the street with other children, of being told that I had to remain in the house. It was not only my mother or father who scolded me, but even my younger brother, the very child I had carried on my hip for so long, never complaining. If I laughed too loud I was told to tone down as ‘girls’ were not meant to behave this way. If I peered out the window my brother pulled my braid and told me to ‘behave’. I never figured out what I was doing wrong as others laughed and peered out of windows.

I soon learnt one indubitable truth: a girl was controlled by a male – father, brother and the elusive husband that loomed large from the very moment I began understanding things. Time and again I saw my father abusing my mother in every way possible and saw her keep quiet or at best shed a few tears. I felt a boiling rage inside me and wondered why my mother did not react. Slowly I understood that this was the way things were and we as girls had no other choice but to comply. As my brothers grew older I even saw them abusing mother. I realised that we women were diminished in more ways than one.

If I was lucky I would escape the groping and harassment that many suffer within the confines of the so called safety of my home. It could be an uncle, a neighbour or even a friend. If I did gather the courage to speak up, then I was likely to be introduced to the deafening code of silence that is invoked in such cases by the very one who gave you life. That is when another stifling word was added to my vocabulary: ‘izzat’ – honour- ! I suddenly became the repository of the honour of my family even it I was the one who had been damaged and taken advantage of. I had to bear a shame I could not fathom. That is when I realised that we women had to live a double life and put of a show for the world to see. That is the day I knew that we dented women also had to be painted. Painted in the shades of patriarchy and its biased and baffling mores. I learnt to slowly reconcile myself to my station in life.

In spite of missing many classes to tend to chores at home, in spite of not being given the tuition so easily proffered to my male siblings or the books I needed, I studied hard and passed all my examinations. I guess it was the attraction of extra money that made my male handlers accept I take up a job. I was over the moon as it was a step to the freedom I so longed for. I stepped out of the house on that first day with a song in my heart and a head filled with dreams. How was I to know that another set of men would appear and remind me once again that I was just a woman in a world that belonged to men. The journey to my workplace made me open to sneers, lude remarks, groping and misplaced gestures. I learnt to make myself as small as I could and hope that I would reach my destination safe. Anger boiled inside me but I learnt to control it, in a way all women learn to in this land. That is also part of the paint job. If God forbid, something would have happened, I knew what awaited me. The ‘izzat’ scenario again from my very own, and had I gone over that then more abuse at the hand of law keepers and justice givers. If a woman is raped, she has to accept to be raped over and over again and even then she never gets justice.

Had I met a boy and fallen in love like every girl has the right to, I ran the risk of being killed by my own father or brother again in the name of ‘izzat’. So if I did fall in love, I knew it could only be covertly, till the day the men in my family found the next man to hand me over to. But those few days of love would be my silent rebellion and my few moments of freedom.

One fine day I will be told to get ready and look my best as a boy was coming to see me. Once again I could not but realise that I was a mere object. Should the boy like me, then I was to be hitched to him with a great relief from my family. Their duty was over, the burden passed on. Thank God the ‘izzat’ was intact.

Life would have come full circle. I would get pregnant and so conditioned was I, that I too would wish for a boy. I too would be chided for giving birth to a girl. I too would bear the abuse of my husband. I too would curtail the freedom of my daughter, buy a better school bag for my son and so on. I too would one day teach my daughter her place as a dented and painted object in a land where we venerate Goddesses.

Since last week concerned citizens, students, women, children, senior citizens gathered around India gate and then decided to move towards Rashtrapati Bhavan to voice their anger, concern, hurt, indignation and outrage at the horrific incident that occurred a few days ago and at the increased insecurity for women in the city. They wanted to be heard. They wanted to be reassured. They wanted harsher laws for crime against women. They wanted to share their angst with those they elected. And that is why they approached the hallowed gates of our first citizen and meet him. After some persuasion a small group was allowed to meet  one of the President’s men. They were informed of the protocol regulations and told to seek an appointment. My question is why could the President not meet these kids! Was the situation not important enough to break protocol. It was not.  The letter the kids wrote hurriedly and with hope; it must be still lying on some table along the protocol journey.

The crowd were swelling and the mood angry. Kids are kids and the young are known to be in a hurry. They are not like our antediluvian politicians. They fretted and got restless. They pushed and shoved like the young do. A simple meeting would have calmed things down. But instead they got hit by water canons in the cold, had tear gas lobbed at them in scores and even got lathi charged – a preferred show of power of our cops – and pushed back. No one came to meet them or talk to them. Their anger rose and more water and tears were sent their way. And as the news spread on Live TV, angered people joined the groundswell and sadly many lumpen elements. The mood got angry.

It was a spontaneous crowd, the kind one has never seen. It was not a protest organised by a political party where people are paid to come. Here every single protesters felt the anger and the hurt. It was perhaps for the first time that we saw true democracy where the electors wanted answers. No one in power recognised this reality. Had they done so, the events that ensued.

In the late evening the Home Minister finally address a press conference. We were subjected to believe it or not praise for the police! Praise for those who had earlier used water cannons and tear gas shells! Then we were given the vapid platitudes we normally get when any aberrations occur: setting up for commissions, empty promises and more of the same. And that is not all: we were told that the minister himself and his second in command had 3 daughters and thus felt the pain and anguish of us all. Who are you kidding. First of all nothing would ever happen to YOUR daughters as they come under the hallowed and super protected category of VIPs. And had it ever happened, god forbid as this should never happen to any one, the rapists would have been killed in a convenient encounter. We were also introduced to a new concept, one that is unacceptable: the gradation of rape. There are rapes, rare rapes and rarest of the rare rapes. Believe me Mr Minister every rape is and should be considered rarest of the rare as it is the most cowardly, heinous, ugly, disgusting, despicable crime.

The day ended. The protesters were angry, the authorities felt smug.

What the young were looking for was their statesmen and leaders. For the first time young Indians – students, professionals – concerned parents, and simple citizens had come out on the streets to express their anger and hurt. For years we have born stoically all the aberrations thrust upon us. We have turned a blind eye to issues like gross corruption, poor governance and arrogant behaviour. We have waited as patiently as we could to see laws enacted and waited helplessly to see them implemented. We have paid our taxes and have reconciled ourselves to poor amenities. We even performed our civic duty by voting every time we had to.

 Saturday the 22nd of December 2012 was a red letter day for us, simple Indians. It was the day we wanted to see our Leaders and share our pain. It was a day when we still believed in them. It was a day that comes just once. Our leaders did not see the writing on the wall. How wonderful it would have been if our First Citizen broke protocol and accepted to meet a few young Indians. How healing it would have been if our CM had come and sat with the young protesters. How uplifting it would have been if one of the younger politicians has broken all rules and come and met the very people who make them leaders. Then all the ugly incidents that ensued would not have happened.

One may wonder why this rape incident struck such a chord in the hearts of so many when so many rapes and other aberration occur. It was probably the straw that breaks the camel’s back. The story of the young woman so brutally raped was the catalyst that made us scream ENOUGH IS ENOUGH!

The next day genuine protesters were back. Some had even spent the night despite the cold. But the police swung into action and pushed everyone out of India Gate and surrounding areas. However how far can you push people. They had to be let in. Protests continued. Against the rapists but also against the cop’s behaviour. Sadly lumpen elements joined the show and very ugly scenes ensued. The brutality of the police was shocking: women, young students, senior citizens – no one was spared. It was vicious, barbaric, more so as the main issue that was being addressed was the safety of women. Need I say more.

The next day the entire India Gate area was shit to Indians. Even morning walkers were not allowed in. An alternate place has been given and young people are still protesting. But there are less people. I guess many parents must have not allowed their girls to join in after the terrible events of the previous day.

The Home Minister spoke again. According to him every demand has been acceded to. I guess he is in sync with the powers that be: commission set, empty promises spouted. He also insulted our intelligence by trying to make us believe that the unruly happenings were politically instigated. A terrible sense of deja vu! He has missed the point though as this time we are protesting against this very attitude. When asked by a reporter why no one from the government did not go and meet the young people on the first day he was  horrified: how can they come and meet us. It has to be the other way! He missed the point again: this is the attitude we are protesting against: the VIP culture, the disconnect between those we elected and us. We were also subjected to more platitudes. The Congress President and the heir in waiting missed a golden opportunity to reach out to the very people who could have made all the difference in 2014. Now it is too late. Nothing you door say can make us forget the terrible images of December 23rd 2012.

And finally when the Prime Minister did finally condescende to speak to the nation, a blooper or Freudian slip said it all. It was all a show.

We need statesmen and leaders. Till then nothing is theek hai!

(I begin this post by urging you to spare a thought for Aruna who was sexually assaulted and brutalised almost 4 decades ago. Since she lies in a vegetative state abandoned by one and all: her fiance, her family, her friends and even the justice system. She waits in a dark room for death to release her from her terrible ordeal. This is what happens to victims of rape and sexual assault.)

She went to a movie with a friend in a swanky South Delhi mall.. After the movie she boarded a bus with her friend. What happened next is nothing short of a nightmare. She was  gang raped by six or seven men including the bus staff and mercilessly beaten with an iron rod. Her friend who tried to protect her was also beaten. She was then stripped and thrown out of the bus. As I write these words she is fighting for her life in a hospital. As always the authorities – in this case our Chief Minister – have promised strict action, whatever that means. Five of the six suspects seem to have been arrested. I only wonder what punishment will be meted out to them.

This happened in a city which is ruled by a woman, in a country where one if not the most powerful political person is a woman. The incident occurred in a posh area of the capital city makes it that much more alarming. In any civilised city one should be able to go and see a movie with or without a male escort and return home safely using public transport. That is what this young girl believed! Then things went terribly wrong. Many questions come to mind all begging for answers. First and foremost how was this rogue bus allowed to carry passengers? How does a passenger know whether the bus she is getting on is a genuine one? How were so many drunk staff on the bus? Maybe the transport authorities should look at that? But these are not the real questions. What really needs to be asked is why is our society churning out so many men who feel they have the right to view women as commodities, use them and then throw her away like a used object? Why do such men brazenly feel that they can get away with it?

What is horrifying in this case is the brutality meted out to this young woman. The doctors have stated they have never seen a victim of sexual assault subjected to such brutality. What could provoke these men to behave in such an outrageous manner. I heard on a new channel that they wanted to teach a lesson to the girl. A lesson for what! For being out at night; for being with a man; for fighting back; for having broken the unsaid covenant that says that women ONLY are the keepers of a family’s honour. Many questions that need to be answered one by one if one has the will to do so.

Everyday women are abused, raped,  molested, assaulted sneered at, leered at and more of the same. Many, too many, remain silent. Some cases come to light because of their being out of the ordinary like the one of the young woman. Then the show begins: politicians find a new way to espouse their agendas; the media to increase their TRPS; civil society to vent its pent up anger. The question is how long with this anger last? The authorities are masters at the waiting game. This too shall pass as everything seems to.

I think it is time we gave a thought to a woman named Aruna that we all seem to have forgotten.  It was on the 27 November 1973, almost 40 years ago, that she was raped, sodomised and strangulated with a dog chain. She has been living in a vegetative state for 4 decades, abandoned by all: her fiance, her family, the justice system, collective conscience.  Aruna’s story movingly recounts what happens to a rape victim in reality.

We clamour for quick justice for the perpetrator; but who gives justice to the victim. Even if she is not physically mutilated, she is emotionally shattered. Our system is such that if she wants justice then she has to accept being raped over and over again: by the police, the defence lawyers and the whole caboodle that makes our weak and spineless justice system.

When I was a young woman I too lived in Delhi. That was 40 years ago. I worked at the radio station and my duty hours were at night. An official car use to come and fetch me at 9 pm and drop me back at 2 am. Sometimes the cars broke down in far off places as we had to fetch people from many locations. I often would be the last one in the car but when I look back at those times I remember an array of emotions: anger, frustration but never fear. Delhi then was safe. True there was some Eve teasing and misplaced comments but not the chilling fear we are experiencing today. In those timed a stern stare would make the person look away. In those days we went out alone or with friends. I remember how we sneaked out of college at night to have paranthas at a known outlet and came back safe. We saw evening movies and caught public transport back without feeling scared. If we felt a tad apprehensive the presence of a male – pal of relative – was enough to set things right. Even the parents approved.

The recent incident has put an end to that sense of security. The girl who is fighting for her life was with a man. And  she was so brutally and inhumanely aggressed because she dared fight back. It seems that the perpetrator resented to having been bitten by her and flew in a manic rage.

Come to think of it, even the Taliban views women as  safe with a male escort. But that is not the case in India today. Women are unsafe no matter what. When they get molested or abused, authorities are quick to find fault with them, it is always what they wear, where they go etc that is the cause of the reprehensible behavior of their male counterparts.

What make men take such liberties and feel they can get away? One of the obvious reasons could be the fact that most of the cases of harassment go unpunished. Perpetrators seem to get away with alacrity and impunity. But there is more. It seems that our society has become one where though we still loudly praise Goddesses in all shades and hues, we treat our women with abject contempt.

The men that committed this heinous crime were one of a multitude that inhabit a city that has seen an exponential population growth in the past decades subsequent to the wave of migrations that we have witnessed courtesy the ever growing need of a city aspiring to become a world class one. For that to happen it needs hands willing to get dirty and those come from across its limits. The perpetrators of this week’s crime were a bus driver, a cleaner, a fruit vendor, a gym trainer. Young men eager to spend a Sunday on the prowl in their pals bus. Now rape is a power game and power comes courtesy hooch so easily available across this city. (The government seems on an overdrive in opening watering holes in every nook and corner of the city!). The perpetrators in question have been well honed in the art of denigrating women as they belong to homes where women have scant authority. They come from homes where their mothers are beaten by their drunk fathers and little girls are killed before they are born. They come from a section of society where boys are treated like demi Gods and made to believe that they have license to do anything. They come from a place where one’s whistles at the passing girls or sings cheap film lyrics that denigrate women. They come from a place where if women dare step out of line they need to be chastised at once. So when a young woman dares challenge them all their misplaced manhood is violated and they act the only way they know. That is not all. The move to the city has brought into their lives realities they cannot process or handle. It is a recipe for disaster and one sees the outcome in every aberration you hear about each and every day: children and women raped and assaulted. The question is how to we address the crux of the problem. Education? Awareness? Gender sensitisation? But what can you do when even the basic chapter on sex education is not thought in state run schools. The teacher often asks the student to read the said chapter.

The city is in damage control mode. Old laws yet to be implemented are suddenly revived:  ban on tinted windows in vehicles, more patrolling etc. Will it change anything? I for one remain sceptic. There will be a lot of hue and cry for a day or a week and then every one will revert to old ways.

It is heartwarming to see the outrage across the Nation. But can we sustain it till we ensure that things change? I do not know. But that is not enough. What needs to change is our attitude to women. Can we hope that the young men protesting on the street will be as vocal when their parents demand dowry or their sister choses to marry a person of her choice? Or will the traditions and misplaced code of honour silence their newly found cause.

There is a long way to go. Are we ready to walk the talk.

What does it take to get people to open their hearts? I am at a loss to find the right answer. This is why.

It has been almost a month since a little crew of very special children decided to craft dreamcatchers. A little background first. It has been our endeavour at the special centre to try find something that children with special needs could craft and sell. This is because the ones I call children as some have been with us for more than a decade, are now young adults and like all young adults they too want to earn a living and become independent. We have explored many avenues but they all fell short in some way or the other . Some were too heavy to mail – our waste material mats -, others too fragile – our painted earthen pots –  and so on. And of course we needed something that was not seasonal. And one more thing, we wanted everyone to participate in its making in some way or the other. That is when I thought of an object I had stumbled upon quite by chance and warmed to immediately: dream catchers. I had always been attracted to the wisdom of Native American tribes and found solace and comfort in many of their sayings.

Dream catchers are meant to filter out bad dreams and let good dreams and thoughts enter our minds. The legends are many but the bottom line is that dream catchers filters out bad forces, and help us stay on the right path in life. Is that not what all of us want! I for one believe that dreams come true and thus the dream catcher is something right up my street. Moreover it was lights and unbreakable thus solving the problems we had with our earlier ventures.  The idea was opportune and God sent as it came when we have Emily with us, a young volunteer who knows how to make dream catchers. And above all is this not the right object for our very special bunch of dreamers who can all participate in some part of the making of dream catchers. Ok they may not look perfect but remember they are made by those we far too often tend to forget or ignore.

Our dream catcher crafts persons are a motley crew of people with a huge heart. Some cannot walk, others cannot hear or talk and yet others cannot understand the world in the same manner we do. Yet they put their heart and soul in the beautiful dream catchers they create and in with each turn of the thread or feather hung they add their little prayer just for you. They wait with bated breath for orders as with each dram catcher sold their future seems a little more secure.

Behind them is a marketing team: Emily, Shamika, Rani and yours truly. We set up a Facebook page and an on line payment option. We all thought that with the thousands of friends we had, orders would pour in, particularly as it was Xmas time. But that did not happen. True some die hard friend and supporters reached out and placed orders. But that was it. Irrespective of the number of reposts, the results remained the same: a deafening silence.

 I guess people have lost the ability to see with their hearts. Wonder if anyone could tell me why.

This morning I went to INA market. For the uninitiated, INA is probably Delhi’s treasure trove for food, and a cornucopia of pleasures for the senses in every way possible. The abundance of colour, fragrances and aromas make it a sensorial delight. You can amble for hours feasting your eyes on the beautifully arranged vegetables, the mounds of assorted spices, the stalls of fish and meat and so much more. For me INA has become a kind of pilgrimage since the day my father breathed his last, as it has he who made me discover this unbelievable place. So today, his 20th death anniversary I found myself amidst fish and vegetables, remembering the man I so loved. Ram was not just my father. He was so much more: my friend, mentor, guide, my confidante, my first and perhaps last true love and even my partner in crime. He taught me so many things, actually most of what I know today. Ram was larger than life. A master in the art of living on the one hand, and in diplomacy on the other. One of the youngest recipient of the coveted MBE, but also a Commander of the Wine tasters. With him I rubbed shoulders with the high and mighty and dined at the finest tables. Thanks to him I discovered the pleasure of reading and was primed in to every art form possible. It is Ram who also took me to every corner of the countries we lived in and imbibed me with many cultures.

But that was just one side of Ram, probably the lesser one. What he truly taught me was the art of looking with one’s heart. Our visits de the INA did not end with impersonal shopping sorties. Far from that. Most of the shopkeepers he frequented were known to him at a personal level. For many he had provided pro bono legal help. He knew about their families, their problems, their achievements. To them he was topi wala sahib, the men in a hat, as he always wore some kind of head gear. So every trip to INA was never a short one. True we came back laden with baskets of fish and poultry, fruits and vegetables and often a warm treat for Mom  who shunned food shopping. But we also came pack with precious human stories that made the experience unique. When he died, many of the INA shopkeepers closed their shop to attend his funeral. And when I gathered the courage to go back to INA after his death, I was overwhelmed by the number of persons who stopped me to say: Topi wale sahib bahut yaad aate hain – we miss the man in the hat so very much. And the bonds remained as once when I went to Papa’s preferred meat shop to get some meat for a party, I was shocked and rather annoyed when the owner ignored me whilst attending to another customer. The mystery was solved when the customer left and Abdul Bhai turned to me and said with a broad smile: the meat is not good enough for you! And though I came back empty handed, having just got a cup of warm syrupy tea, the moment was one to be cherished as it brought memories of Ram in abundance. So imagine my surprise when today, after 20 years I found the meat shop owner at his shop, a rare occurrence as he has aged and now leaves his sons to run the business. For me it was a boon: an occasion once again to reminisce about the topi wala over yet another cup of luke warm over sweetened tea!

This truly special moment made me realise what my true legacy from Ram was. It was not just Ram who taught me about life but also topi wala – for want of a better name! If Ram initiated me to the high end of life experiences it was topi wala who taught me about life itself. From the pleasures of caviar laced with non alcoholic bubbly to the delight of a rustic roti eaten with mustard oil and salt, he made me discover the true meaning of things. From the pleasures of the intellect via books and art to the soothing lull of a bhojpuri berceuse, from dining with royalty to sharing the table of the house staff, he ensured that I remain grounded in reality at every given moment.

He taught me to always keep an open mind; he taught me to learn from the smallest and the humblest, as that is were one found the truly inspirational stories and real values. When he left this world I was to say the least shattered. I mourned him for many years and simply gave up on everything. Life simply seemed to have lost all meaning. I was rudderless and lost. In hindsight I feel terribly ashamed of the time I lost. It is not what he would have wanted me to do. But I needed time to pick up the pieces and rebuild myself into something that would appear whole. I know if he were here he would have given me a kick in my butt and told me it was time to put all the lessons learnt to the test. But I am not as strong as he was, or he thought I was. I needed time to process the loss and reinvent myself. It took 8 long years: from November 1992  to June 2000 when I met Manu. I wonder today if Manu was not sent by an exasperated Topiwala ! The bottom line is that something happened that day. It was as if I had finally awoken from a long slumber. The rest is history and there for all to see.

Sometimes people wonder why I taken on every challenge that comes my way be it opening a new class or mending a broken heart. You see, for me it is honouring Ram’s memory in every way possible. He for one would not have wanted me to chicken out of any situation and I intend to agree. So the road ahead is long and filled with challenges. I will walk because I knowRam walks by my side!

A rather irksome and totally unwarranted incident occurred a few days back needing my intervention. It was a rather unwelcome moment, as I do not like playing boss! But it  did need my attention as one of my dearest staff member had been deeply hurt and I absolutely had to show my displeasure to the instigators. I did,though I did not like it at all. But when you are in a position of supposed ‘power’, you have to exercise it when you see your carefully erected edifice in danger of crumbling. Everyone is looking at you to set things right and you have to walk the talk.

However this post is not about the incident which I hope is done and gone and will not have any ugly repercussions. This post is more about how this occurrence brought to the fore my role at project why. It is true that I was the one who created, founded and seeded project why. That was more than a decade ago. In those early and somewhat benign days, project why was a small organisation, with a handful of staff and volunteers. Its outreach was small, the beneficiaries few and the problems fewer. Funding simply required me to take out my cheque book and sign a cheque as one has to be in existence for a stipulated 3 years to get all the registrations and other official stamps to be eligible for serious funding. The papers were in process and one could only wait. That was the time where I spent most of my days with the children. It was also the time when one could sit with a cup of chai and dream big. I remember the lunches shared with Manu in the warm winter sun. I also remember how I spent my day sitting on a red plastic stool on the little street where we were located, ‘lording’ over what was project why: behind me a small mud hut that housed our English classes and across the tiny street  the pavement under a plastic awning that was our first class for special children. Those were moments of intense satisfaction and pure joy. Today I sometimes find myself yearning for them, knowing in my heart they will never come back.

Time passed. Formalities were completed. Project Why was ready to take off and my role would change surreptitiously with each passing day. True I still spent a lot of time at the project having graduated from my red stool to a small office in a mud hut next to a family whose income came from slaughtering pigs. I today wonder how we managed to carry on day after day in spite of the howls of the pigs! But we did. Somehow we human have the capacity to bear anything if the need arises. I simply remember murmuring a prayer each time a pig was put to death. The project was now larger as we had been given the use of the derelict park nearby. From 40 children we were now a few hundreds. And though I still spent time with the children, fund raising seemed to be what I found myself doing day in and day out as we had the nasty habit of taking new challenges without thinking where the funds would come to meet them. Actually this is what is called seeing and thinking with your heart and we were masters at that.

In the initial days we were lucky to be supported by several expats in Delhi: the French community, the Irish and the British. I can never forget how the then British High Commissioner’s wife and dear friend came with a posse of gardeners and a truck laden with pots, plants and bags of organic pesticides. You see we had been given a park but its previous inhabitants were pigs and we needed to make it fit for human kids. She spent the day with her hands in the mud, much to the horror of her staff and to the surprise of mine. By the end of the day we had a clean park with new plants and even flowers. That was our space for a couple of years till the authorities decided to bulldoze us with the false promise of building a centre for us. The centre was build but given to an outside organisation. Thus began our nomadic existence. The expat community organised many events for us: a ball, an Irish evening, a Parisian night and thus we could not only carry on but grow. But then our friends left and the successors found other projects. It was the end of our Page 3 status and back to the grind for me. Mercifully it was the time we got our permissions and could start raising funds seriously.

As I said no more page 3 status but nose to the grind! I had always been a disaster with money and related matters. That was probably my bete noire. But then it is said that the Gods have a way of getting back to you and the one who found it infradig to ask for money, even what was owed to her had to master panhandling in a jiffy as hundreds of smiles dependent on her just doing that. By that time the easy option of dipping into one’s pocket was gone as no inheritance, however large, is eternal. Blissfully this was when a wonderful soul dropped by and decided to help us big. He set up a support group for us in France and a chunk of our needs was taken care for. But there was always a shortfall to be met. And having become a sort of recluse, I found myself happier creating of network on the world wide net. The initial days were laborious to say the least. I was an Internet neophyte and I remember writing individual mails not having found the magic of bcc! The mails were long and often recounted the day to day activities of  pwhy: the challenges, the achievements, the failures. I chose to be as transparent as possible and relate things as they were. It was a mind numbing task. Then one day, one of the recipient of my mails took pity on me and introduced me to the magic of blogging. That was an ah ha moment for me in more ways than one.

Dreams have an uncanny way of becoming reality particularly when they are heartfelt. They often strike you out of the blue when you least expect it. When I was a young girl and even later in life, I always wanted to write but never found the right avenue. I never knew that I was at the threshold of my dream the day I began to blog. Blog I did, a tad hesitant at first and then with more confidence. The proof almost 1500 blogs on my site and counting! Along the way I also wrote a book; the next is on the anvil. That was an aparte I needed to write. Apologies for that, but let us carry on with my supposed role. As you may have guessed I had graduated to chief fund raiser with just one skill in hand: words. In hindsight it seems I did pretty well as we managed to create a worldwide network that today supports   our work. However it needs constant cosseting as any prolonged absence is quickly noted. This method is somewhat relentless, you are not allowed to have a writer’s block.

Somewhere along the way I became aware of the fragility of this approach to fund raising. It was time to think long term. Planet Why was conceived and ‘marketed’. But to no avail as I was unable to raise the funds needed. My words were not good enough. I really missed the page 3 days but getting them back was not possible.

Today I am still the sole fund raiser juggling two hats: the short term and the long term! Not an easy task and one that has to be completed before curtain time. So no respite there.  I still go to the project everyday, even if it is just for a short time. That is because I want my team to get the confidence to work independently without the somewhat smothering presence of AnouMa’am. But I too need my feel good shot! I need to see my little ones and hear their laughs; I need to see my special kids as they always make me walk the extra mile effortlessly. I need to imbibe the spirit of pwhy, the very spirit I help create. I need to feel humbled and elated at the same time and sometimes give myself a pat in the back.

I have a dream. I want to see project why become sustainable and freed of the need of an ageing woman. I want to spend time with the kids, sharing their joy and pain. I want once again to sit on that red stool and watch pwhy live. Today I need my very own dream catcher.

 Good dreams slip through the hole, and bad dreams get caught in the web.. says an old Chippewa tradition… whereas the Lakota tribe believes that good thoughts get retains in the web while bad ones slip through the hole… which ever way you look at it, I wish I had a dream catcher today. I wrote these words way back in 2008. That was a time when problems were abundant, some insurmountable, and I resorted to every trick in the book to try and conjure miracles.Then slowly things settled to point where problems simply vanished and sadly dreams too. Things were on even keel and the ship sailed on calm waters. One simply forgot dreaming. Till a few days back when the very special kids of project why decided to make dreamcatchers to remind us that dreams can change lives, dreams can make miracles happen, dreams are precious and above all that dreams can brighten the todays and all the tomorrows. As I was handed over the very first dreamcatcher, I woke from a deep slumber as I realised that I had forgotten to dream, so ensconced I was in my comfort zones. It was a huge wake up call. It was time to dream again. Dream of all that was still unaccomplished, of all that had to be done. I held the dreamcatcher and beseeched it to let all the good dreams flow through as I knew that each and every dream held within it the seed of its realisation. I for one would never stop dreaming.

But the special children had more in store. They want to ensure that everyone dreams, and dreams only good dreams. So these precious dreamcatchers made by children who may not be able to walk – do you need to walk to dream – or talk – who said words were needed to dream – or see the world the way we do are for sale! You can order them by going to their Facebook page and they will reach you where ever you are. And there is one more secret that remains to be told: these priceless dreamcatchers will allow these incredible kids to become self sufficient. Isn’t that enough to motivate you to order your own unique dream catcher. You can also gift one to those you love, hang one on your Xmas tree and tell all your friends about this new venture.

My daughter Shamika was awarded the  Karamveer Chakra by iCONGO yesterday evening. This award was instituted for the real unsung heroes, the people who work silently and in the background to make change possible. She more than anyone else deserved the recognition. her citation read: Shamika was 9 when she first told her mother she wanted to work with special children. She could not finish school and at 15 began volunteering with children with autism. It did not take long for everyone to realise that she was made to take care of children with special needs. She trained for 6 long years and brought smiles to many children but soon felt she wanted to do more. Shamika joined the Project Why special day care centre when she was 19. For the past years she has been looking after 20 children with special needs and bringing joy and laughter in their lives. She passionately believes that special children need to be treated with respect and dignity and can have a future if we care to give it to them.In spite of her young age she can take on any parent and fight for the rights of her children. She has proved that you do not need degrees or pieces of paper to care for those in need. What you need is the ability to look with your heart.

Every word stated is true but there is so much more in the life of this young woman of substance. Shamika has always seen with her heart and continues to do so every minute of the day. My thoughts got back 31 years, on that beautiful morning when I first held her in my arms. She was beautiful. Like all moms I counted her little toes and little fingers and looked into her tiny face. I knew she would be very special. Many had hoped for a boy as I already had a daughter but in the nine months I carried her in my womb I knew she would be a girl. That is what I had prayed for and my prayers had been fulfilled. She was an adorable baby and a delightful toddler. But it did not take long for me to realise that she was different and would not fit the mould. She tried poor child, as best she could. Those were difficult years when too pushed her mercilessly to fit frame that was too small for her. She was made for far larger things. Even today I am not proud of myself though I could find million of reasons to justify my actions. It would take many years for me to hear her deafening yet silent screams and  have the courage to break the mould. I am glad I did and though everyone was dead against my decision to have her drop out from school, I knew it had to be.

It was time to fulfill Shamika’s biggest dream: to take care of special children. I did to the best of my ability. The rest is history. There was no looking back. From the moment she entered their world, things fell in place and her course was charted. She was home safe and sound.

Shamika put to test the very essence of motherhood, wherein a mother is the one who can and should hear all the unsaid words of her child and having heard them, take on the world if need be. Shamika made me do just that. I can never tell her how proud I am to be her mother. To be a mom is to stand by your child against the whole world if the need arises and I stand very humbled yet very tall. Shamika also proves that you do not need to walk the well trodden road to succeed. Success comes to the one who has the courage to walk the road less travelled.

I am so happy that she has got recognised by the world at large, she more than anyone else deserves the honour. I know the world awaits her. I also know that I will be by her side for as long as God allows it. After that I will watch her from the heavens above.

PS The husband and I are the worst photographers in the universe. These are the two pictures taken yesterday.

Utpal spent Diwali at home, like he has been doing for many years now. It has been four years since his mom vanished and six years since he has been in boarding school. Things have not been easy for this little braveheart as he has had to deal with many disturbing questions, questions that do not sometimes have obvious answers. The most poignant has been: where is my mother? The only answer I could honestly give is: I do not know. One cannot and should not lie to children, even if one knows one is hurting them. So Utpal gets the truth even if it sounds shallow and flimsy. His mom did leave one fine morning. No one knows where she went. For the past three years the little chap has been trying to deal with this absurd reality. What can a 7 year old do? He tried being aggressive, impossible, demanding and challenging, hoping against hope to get our attention and make us tell him what he needed to hear but we remained mute: we had no answers. His behavior become so impossible that we had to seek help.

It began with sessions with a counsellor. Each session was a nightmare: he refused to go, kicked everything in sight, banged doors and howled. Nothing worked: cajoling, bribing, scolding. The situation was hopeless and we all felt helpless. At home questions after questions were thrown at me. Every attempt to soothe was met with a counter question that stunned me. The sessions with the therapist were going nowhere. It was time to take out the big guns. A visit to the child psychiatrist was scheduled. The verdict: SMD (Severe Mood Dysregulation). Popples was put on medication. His sessions were to continue. The outcome was miraculous at the beginning. Gone were the mood swings and the pouts. But not the questions. They were still there, crowding and choking his little mind. They surfaced many a time and were met with the same answers. We did not have new ones.

Time went by, interspersed with sessions with the therapist. Slowly the fears were expressed and then dealt with. Utpal realised he had no home. We had to build him one, with a family and all that it entailed: love, care but also discipline and counsel. It was not easy. True a piece of paper had made me his legal guardian almost 3 years ago but it was just a paper. We all had a lot to learn, to deal with and to conjure. It was an adventure with unknown morrows. They had to be crafted one day at a time, one challenge at a time. I would have given the world and more to know what was happening in his little mind. But I could not rush matter; he had to take his time.

It isn’t easy for anyone, let alone a 9 or 10 year old. Imagine having to close a chapter of your life, however bad and then walk into a new one, however good. Many may think that the choice is obvious: from slum to big house! But that is not the way it works. Slum was where mom was and that made all the difference. And the big house does not have mom. The challenge was huge. Would we be up to it?

Slowly we began to notice imperceptible changes. One had to find a way to his hurting heart and be accepted. The biggest achievement was when one day he came to me and said quite candidly: Maam’ji you are old, you will die. The rest of the question was left unsaid but I guessed it: What will happen to me! I was on cloud nine. The battle was won, he had adopted us.

This Diwali, Utpal was an angel. He took interest in every aspect of the festivities, from helping to make sweets, to purchasing ornaments, to decorating the house. He even made a beautiful paper garland for the temple. And he sat doen for prayers and shut his eyes, I knew he had come finally come home.

I was reminded of Dorothy Sayers’s words: I love you- I am at rest with you- I have come home.

Welcome home little man!

This picture was taken this morning. Diwali morning! For this young rag picker it was just another day. He had loaded his rags on his hand cart just like any other morning and was now going to set about sorting the trash so that it could be sold by the evening maybe just in time for Diwali prayers with his family of he was one. There are many children like him, children who should be in school and not rag picking or panhandling at red lights. Children who are born with the same  right are our children and yet who do not have anyone to ensure that their rights are protected. Laws are passed, and more laws are passed: Right to Education, Prevention of child Labour and so on and yet one does not have to be a rocket scientist to see that millions of children are denied these rights every single day. These kids are not invisible as many would like us to think. It is just that we have lost the aptitude to see them and by we I do not just mean you and I, but the very people who make the laws aimed at protecting them.

Even today as we will whizz through the city to make our last minute shopping or drop the now proverbial box of sweet and/or Diwali gift – ranging from a set of cheap glasses brought from a China market or a box of the finest crystal from branded stores – we will not see the little girl who taps at our car window, and even if we see her and even give her a coin, we will not get outraged at the fact that a child of India, protected by the same Constitution we have such pride in, is begging. We will not remember the laws that exist and certainly not ask ourselves what we can do to make sure that the childhood of children that are not ours is protected.

How quick we are to take up the cudgels on behalf of our children if they are slighted in the least? How we run to school to meet teachers and principals if we feel that our child has been hurt? Then why is it so difficult for us to feel a light empathy towards the child that begs at a red light or the one that works at your neighbour’s home? These are questions that have always disturbed me and continue to do so each and every time I see a child in pain. How I wish I could take each and every child and give him what he truly deserves: love, security, care, education and the right to see his dreams come true. Even after 12 years of working with underprivileged children and trying to fulfill their dreams, I still feel extreme sadness and helplessness.

It is only when we all feel responsible for all that is not right that things will really change.

Happy Diwali