I just finished reading Stolen Lives by Malika Oufkir. I came to know about her book quite inadvertently as I was sharing some memories of Morocco with a friend. I actually was talking about the baby elephant that my father, then Ambassador of India, had shipped for the King’s daughter Lalla Amina. This friend told me that this incident was part of the book written by Malika Oufkir. The name rung a bell as she was one of the playmates of the Princess and as did spend many week ends at her palace, Malika was one of the little girls I too played with.

It took me some time to get a copy of the book but I eventually did. The first pages were very much part of my life and brought memories rushing, memories I had. It was also sad to know that the baby elephant had to be shot as he did not get used to the local keeper and attacked him. But it was the rest of the book that was a real shock. When we left Rabat I must have been 8 and Malika 7. For some years our lives seemed on track but when she was 19 everything changed for her. Her father was involved in a plot and assassinated and she and her mother and siblings were locked away for almost 20 years in the most inhuman conditions. She and her family survived because of the indomitable grit of this 19 year old. She fought all odds and mounted a daring escape that eventually brought their plight to the world and the first step to freedom.

Reading her story was not easy and that for more reasons than one. First and foremost there was an immense sense of guilt at having had a privileged life while someone I shared happy and merry moments with had to go through pure hell. I know there was nothing I could have done but still it made me sad. Then I also felt a sense of betrayal as my parents and I had fond memories of the royal family and knowing that one of them could put children through such hurt – Malika’s little brother was just 3 when they were put away. I also felt tremendous respect for this woman who had been robbed of her best years and still had the courage to share her story and reclaim her life back. My life suddenly paled compared to hers and my admiration for someone I had known just as a shadow to a princess. I somehow wished I had known more of her.

I tried to find a picture from those days but could not find one with her. I am sure that if I rummage through the umpteen packets filled with sepia memories I will find some. However I did find one of Rabat and stared at the little girl I was. Strangely just looking at the picture brought so many more memories, some worth sharing. That is when the words memento mori came to my mind. These are the words a Roman general asked a slave to repeat to him as he walked during a victory parade. I guess the best translation would be remember you too will die and the best explanation that nothing lasts forever. There is a lot of wisdom in this and a lot to learn. But to me, at this instant they took another connotation: remember you will die, and with you will die all your memories unless I wrote them down. And I do not mean just happy memories or the ones that make you look good. If I have to be honest then even the darker ones have to be written.

This blog is not the right place to do so so I will write about the anou before pwhy in a blog I have decided to call memento mori.

Yesterday Ankit, Praveen and Geeta, 3 secondary school students went to an activist lawyer to voice their concern about the state of education in their school. It was truly an ah ha moment for us. The children complained about the overcrowded classes (140 to 160 kids in some cases), the ensuing lack of seating space and the inability to study. Some of the classes not having desks at all, children have to cart gunny backs from home in their already weighty school bags! No fans, no bulbs and more of the same make these schools look like one out of a Dickens novel! India @ 65 is not a great place for kids.

The irony is that on the previous day our PM had in his Iday speech lauded our achievements and called for celebration. In my humble away I would like to rebut some of the statements made in that speech. However before doing so I must agree to one statement our PM made: We would achieve independence in the true sense only when we are able to banish poverty, illiteracy, hunger and backwardness from our country. This is true in every sense of the word but what is also true is that we are miles away from that day. All we need is to scratch the veneer to see the cracks.

The PM goes on to state: It is good that we have a big stock of food grains because of the hard work of our farmer brothers and sisters, and availability of food grains is not a problem for us. Yes Mr Prime Minister, but what about the 5000 children that die every day in your India and the millions of tons of grains that rot in different parts of the country? Is it not time you did something about it!

You state that our children are the biggest strength of our country. If our children are provided with good education and are healthy, then our future would be bright. I cannot but agree with you. But please take off the blinkers other force on you and look with you heart and the state of children in your country. In your capital city nursery children are made to study on desks made for class XII children and many children brave the bitter cold, lashing rain and scorching heat under tents as their ‘schools’ have no buildings! And what quality of teaching can kids get when 160 are stuffed in a class! It is a matter of extreme sadness that your speech on the occasion of our 65th I Day should still need to mention state that now we will focus on improving the quality of education. Does it take four generations of Indians to reach the hallowed moment when one would start talking of quality education.

That the Right to Education took six decades to be enshrined in our Constitution is a sad reflection of the place we give our children. At the time when they need us the most they are sadly not vote banks. My I make a humble suggestion? Maybe the first step to take to improve the quality of education would be to increase the pass percentage from the ridiculous 33% to 50%? I know it is important to have good looking statistics to meet international approval but tell me what the future is for a young Indian who has secured his XIIth with a mere 33% when even the jobs your government advertises require a minimum of 50%? And I am not even beginning to go into the 90+% needed to enter the hallowed portals of higher education in institutions that the poor can afford. The rich have many options but what about the poor? 

You mention the spectre of malnutrition. You also state that the process of making the ICDS more effective is in its last stages and will be completed in the next 1 or 2 months. May I remind you that the ICDS was initiated in October 1975. Had it been implemented honestly no Indian under the age of 37 should have been malnourished. Does it take almost 4 decades in our country to get a sound programme functioning properly. You must be aware of the fact that very recently food meant for ICDS creches was hijacked and sold as cattle folder lining greedy pockets. How many generations will it take to ensure that no child sleeps hungry in the country you lead!

You talk of a National Rural Health Mission will be converted into a National Health Mission which would cover all villages and towns in the country. But may I draw attention to an news item that appeared in the national press a day after you spoke stating that India has 76% shortfall in Government doctors! India @ 65 is unhealthy and the scheme for distribution of free medicines through Government hospitals and health centres you propose will be yet again a great source of enrichment for wily predators.

Recently a ward boy and a OT staffer tended to accident patients and courtesy a rabid press were punished and lost their employment. But Sir if we are short of 70% of trained doctors then someone has to fill the gap till the government gets its act together. I too was outraged at the number of quacks operating in the slums when I began my work a decade ago. It did not take me long to understand that something was better than nothing and that these half baked doctors where playing a crucial role!

 You state  that you . This is indeed laudable but why is it that I like many older citizens feel weary that this too will go the way many laudable schemes have gone, the ICDS being one of them.

You say that  people belonging to the economically weaker sections would be given relief on interest for housing loans of less than Rs. 5 lakh under a new scheme for housing the urban poor.  Many schemes have come and gone without much ado and the poor in urban India still live in unacceptable conditions. I so wish you could just take time and do what old rulers did: walk the streets incognito. Then maybe you would see for yourself how people in your city live. It is to their credit that they have not lost their grit and spirit, like little Radha who manages to steer her fractured body and brittle bones in the dark pit she lives in without having forgotten to smile.

You also state that  recently the Cabinet has approved the Mars Orbiter Mission. Under this Mission, our spaceship will go near Mars and collect important scientific information. This spaceship to Mars will be a huge step for us in the area of science and technology. I love my country and am proud of its achievements but please tell me whether the scientific information you collect around Mars will be change the deadly statistics of 5000 children dying every day of malnutrition.

You say that your Government has paid special attention to the welfare of Scheduled Castes, Scheduled Tribes, minorities, women and other weaker sections. If you say so but from what I know the plight of these section of society is to say the least shocking. Every day some new aberrations comes to light but nothing changes.

You state that your commitment to make the work of the Government and administration transparent and accountable stands. Sadly the past years has seen the word corruption declined in every imaginable way. From scams where the numbers are mind boggling to the likes of me when anything beyond 6 zeros is chimera, to the tiny amounts taken by low ranked officials corruption has become a way of life. I will need a herculean effort to tackle the Hydra called Corruption.

You end with saying: It will be our endeavour that in the coming time, still more people help us in tasks like removal of poverty, illiteracy and inequality. It is a sad statement after 65 years of freedom. My mother chose to get married late because she did not want to give life to a slave child. She kept her promise and I was born a free Indian. Then why do I feel a slave in many ways and why do I feel that I have let my freedom loving mother down.

Happy Independence Day! It is our 65th Independence Day and we should have a lot to be proud of. But do we. Sixty five years is three generations and that is a long time by any standards. Certainly enough time to honour and redeem all sacrifice made by those who fought for the very independence we seem to take for granted. Kamala’s (my mother) family was one of those who have up everything to ensure that we would be born in free India. They had dreams, dreams that I had the privilege to share. They dreamt of a hunger free land, of a land that would give the most enabling environment to their children, a land that would prosper and grow, a land that would respect values and traditions. Their dreams were so well enshrined in the Preamble of our Constitution which secured all its citizens justice, liverty, equality and fraternity.

Justice social and economic, Liberty of thought belief and faith, Equality of status! One does not need to be a rocket scientist to see that none of these have been respected. Today, 65 years after independence millions sleep hungry, more than 5000 children die every day of malnutrition, there is scant respect for belief or faith; invisible and impregnable walls are erected between the rich and the poor. Corruption is rampant. Those who have the power have lost the ability to use it well. Whilst the children of India waited more than 60 years to get their right to education, bills that seek to increase the goodies meant for those in power are passed in minutes. Though more than 3 children die every minute because of lack of food, grains rot in the open across the land. Food meant for the poor children is hijacked and sold as cattle fodder. Caste divides remain ugly and respect for our brethren has vanished.  India @ 65 is not pretty.

Kamala my mother wanted her child to be born in free India. She was 32 when I was born in free India. I guess what motivated her to prefer life as an old maid to life as a mother of a slave child was a dream. A dream that saw her child thriving in a country that enshrined the values the likes of her sacrificed their lives for. Today in my seventh decade I cannot but hang my hand in shame as we have failed our freedom fighters in every which way possible. Can my tiny effort be even considered as a step in the right direction.

The India my mom dreamt of was one where children would receive good education and aspire to wonderful morrows. How can I begin to tell her that this is far from reality. The children of India have been let down hook line and sinker by one and all.

Last week I came to know of the shocking reality of the state of schools in XXIst century India. As a tribute to the one who gave me a free life I need to cast my apprehensions and start taking pro active steps in the right direction. Sitting in the comfort zone of pwhy is not acceptable any more. My voice needs to become the voice of my kids. So I am taking a few of them to an activist lawyer so that they can share their angst and perhaps be heard.

The tragedy of our country is that those who have a voice and can make a difference remain silent and ataxic. It is time this changed or else the Independence we all pretend to celebrate once a year, will all be in vain.

It is time we took ownership of our Independence.

Happy Independence Day!

 After the rants and raves about the education scenario it is time for something more soothing and heartwarming. So who else should we talk about but one of our very special kid. Handle with care are the words we often use when referring to Radha, our little Angel with glass bones who dropped from the heavens into our lives five years ago. In spite of her heartbreaking condition and her 50 and more fractures this little lady is a spunky one. In spite of the fact that she lives in terrible conditions she is always beautiful. Even though she dreams of walking knowing she will never be able to do so, she dances like a star.

Over the years we have tried to always handle her with care but I must confess our handling is often limited to carrying her from one place to another. Otherwise the waif is quite agile and mobile. We just need to protect her from her classmate who can tend to be rowdy.

Radha has never been touched gently. The past local physios we had were too scared to touch her. I guess she is only touched by her mom and by the doctors who put her casts on when she breaks a bone. So when Cedric a physiotherapist from France came to spend a fortnight work with our kids and training our staff, Radha was introduced to soothing physiotherapy. Cedric massaged her with tenderness and Radha was on cloud nine. She even accepted the little harder exercises meant to strengthen her muscles. It was heartwarming to see her. I hope that we can now bring a little joy and soothe her fractured body. The little one deserves all the tender care she can get.

Yesterday Praveen one of our class IX students from our women centre and a keen singer and musician dropped by home with our coordinator. The reason: needed the husband’s help to change two guitar strings. Yes guitars are the new kids on the block at the centre thanks to a lovely young girl who ran a three weeks workshop for some of our kids. Praveen  was one of the star students. But the workshop was too short for them to learn all the secrets, one of them being how to tune a guitar! So had to rope in the husband who is also keen musician. But that is not the reason for this blog post. The reason stems from a brief conversation I had with young Praveen about his school. While he was packing the guitars now properly tuned I asked him how things were in school. Praveen studies in the local Khader secondary school. The answer I got was unbelievable and made my blood boil. Apparently the school Praveen attends has an acute shortage of teachers. Now you will never guess what solution this school has come up with. Read on.

So if teachers are not sufficient you simply stuff children in a single class. The result 150 kids studying in a classroom meant for less than half the number. Now how do you conjure such a trick. Simple. Put 4 kids on benches made for 2 and if that is not enough, then have one kid sit on the lap of another, and the rest on the floor. Let me remind you this is class IX where boys are 14 or 15 years old. Praveen told me all in his usual endearing way. No anger, no outrage, just acceptance. I on the other hand was stark raving mad. Mad at all I had heard but most of all at a system that made children accept aberrations. My mind went back to another incident that had happened in early pwhy days. A young girl perhaps 10 or so, was sobbing on the road. I stopped her and asked her what happened. She told me she had been beaten in class. I asked her the reason expecting something like – I had forgotten to do my homework, or I was talking in class. Not at all. The answer I got made by blood curdle. In between sobs the little girls said: I must have been bad. She did not even know the reason why she had been beaten. The fact that she had been beaten meant that she had been bad! Again a quiet acceptance of an undeserved punishment.

I asked our coordinator to find out more about the situation in the schools our children study in and the stories are infuriating to say the least. It seems the situation Praveen shared with us is the one that prevails in many the classes of his school. Over 100 kids crammed in a single class which has 48 seats. Just imagine the scenario if you can. Kids squeezed on desks, the rest on the floor. In many cases the fans do not work and the heat is unbearable. We are talking of senior boys. How can anyone learn anything in such circumstances. And how can any teacher, no matter how good, teach in such conditions. These are not university lectures but school classes where the children need to learn. And classroom studies is essential for such children as they do not have literate parents. Moreover their families are too poor to send the children for tuition. So they only learn what is taught at school and it seems school teaches them nothing. Praveen told us that if it was not for pwhy he would have not been able to perform well in school. Praveen is an extremely talented and intelligent boy. Given the right opportunities and an enabling environment he could aspire for the best. But even with our help many doors will remain closed to him for no fault of his. Today he attends music classes and dreams of winning a singing contest. We will give wing to his dreams as as long as we can and to the dreams of the kids who have placed their trust in us. But that is not even a drop in the ocean.

The girls too had their own tale of woes. In their school there are no desks at all in some classes. The only option is for the kids to bring their own gunny bags to sit on. This is XXI st century India. This is happening in India’s capital city!  That is not all, fans often do not work and there are no light bulbs in any classroom. The class average is 80 kids. Again how any learning can happen in such conditions is a mystery.

This is the tip of iceberg. I wonder what other aberrations one will find if we dig deeper. But this is enough to realise that there is something terribly wrong. What RTE are we talking about. Every single right children are entitled to has been hijacked. And children have no voice. Neither do their parents. Try and so something like this in an upmarket school and see the what happens.

In the face of a situation like this one is helpless and the adversary is deaf, blind and uncaring. I remember writing about another aberration some time back. It was also a tale of desks, this time the government had provided desks but they were too big and the kids had to learn standing. I wonder if any carpenter was brought in to saw them to size. So let us sum up the situation of schools in our swanky capital city: some have buildings, often one storey barracks with insufficient space so students are crammed into classrooms meant for half the kids; some have desks that are too high; some have no desks at all so kids have to bring their won seating arrangement; they have no light bulbs, fans that do not work, no functioning toilets; no clean drinking water and some have no buildings at all.

Why oh god why don’t they make multi storied buildings to replace the sizzling tin roofed barracks. Why is it that our capital city cannot school ALL its children and has to resorts to 2 shift schooling where boys learn in the afternoons, which is in no way the best time to learn. ALL kids should go to school in the morning! Why can’t we employ sufficient staff, why can’t fans be repaired and bulbs replaced! A city which spent zillions on a face lift for a 14 days extravaganza cannot find money to care for its children and give them the education they are entitled to under the Constitution.

I for one do not agree at all with the second hand solution that is purported in the much heralded Right to Education Act where kids are treated with different yardsticks with the 25% reservation in upmarket schools. I am allergic to the word reservation in any form. Why should some kids get admission in a super A grade school and other in a B or C or F grade one. The only sane solution was improving the state run schools but as you have seen these seem to be getting worse by the minute.

If I were the CEO of this city or in charge of Education I would hand my head in shame and do something about it on war footing. But I know this is a mere chimera and in today’s scenario things will not change, far from that, they will sink lower. Small efforts like ours can only help a tiny number of kids. We need change big time. And I feel helpless and immensly sad.

Next week we plan to approach a well know activist and see if we can make Praveen and his pals’ voices be heard. Only time will tell. But time is a commodity children do not possess. For the it is often always too late.

The last episode of satyamev jayate was aired last week. It was a collage of the life and work of some less than ordinary people: a young college student who ran a village school after his classes, an old man who performed the rites of unclaimed bodies, a young rape survivor saving children and women from the flesh trade, rehabilitating the children of sex workers, a woman working to restore the dignity of the handicapped, a vegetable vendor who dreams of making a hospital for the poor is fulfilled. Most of these stories have been told and retold. You can find their traces on the net. There are millions of unsung heroes in India. I remember how moved I was by the story of Mahadeva has buried over 70 000 bodies, giving each a dignified send off. Mahadeva ensures that you will rest in peace.

The stories you saw on the last episode of SMJ are but the tip of the iceberg. I was first introduced to this shining India by the wonderful website run by my friend and mentor DV: GoodNewsIndia. I must say that these stories have helped me carry on my work through difficult times.  DV’s tag line is: News from India : of positive action, steely endeavour and quiet triumphs ~ news that is little known. He stopped publishing for a couple of years but I am glad to see that GNI is back with a bang!

We need to hear such stories. I do at least. I very much wanted to see these stories published as comic books for children. Our children need heroes to inspire them; they need role models to emulate. I had even asked a friend to draw the Mahadeva story! But no one showed any interest. I still wish someone does.

Will the SMJ heroes be remembered or will they just have that short moment of glory. I do not know. I hope they are remembered but sadly know it will be otherwise. In 2005 I was chose as Citizen one of this city. I remember the letter I wrote to the editor of the paper that had instituted urging to to a step forward. The letter was in one of my earliest blogs.  I just want to recall the last words of that letter: “our city, which lies too close to power for its own good, has lost its heart, maybe we can help it find it again…”. Will a programme like SMJ help us find our hearts?

One of the most bewildering things over the last decade and more has been the total lack of support  financial or of any other kind from what I could maybe call my peers. By this I mean my fellow Indians who hail from the same social strata as I do and better ones. I can say with authority laced with sadness that not even 1% of our costs have been met by such people and that is not from want of asking. When I set up project why way back in 1998, it is to these very people that I turned. The husband’s classmates from a prestigious school, members of illustrious clubs the husband belonged to and so on. I must admit in hindsight that I had no such contacts having led a rather nomadic childhood and teenage. Anyway all I was asking at that time was a mere 100 rs a month. The result was abysmal. Again barely 1% of those I contacted responded! It did not take me a long time to seek other pastures. That this worked is amply proved by the fact that we are still in existence!

The attitude of the what we call rich Indians has always appalled me. I cannot forget the scathing remarks made by a chi chi lady when I told her about our boarding school programme. She was outraged at the very thought of the child of a rag picker studying in the same class as middle class kids. This was absolute anathema! I can also never forget how ladies from a very reputable social club brought heaps of well packed toys for our children; the catch was that they were all broken toys. When I called the lady in charge to inform her of the same she retorted: Oh, but these are toys for slum kids. What she meant was that broken toys were good enough for them. I told her that my kids played with proper toys or not toys at all. I also asked her where I could send all the toys back! Time and again ‘rich’ people have dumped their garbage at our doorstep in the guise of charity! I have been outraged more than once. Now I simply refuse any such donations. We need to keep our dignity intact no matter what. Rich India is not yer ready to accept the kind of charity I believe in and which is so well described in St Exupery’s words: Charity never humiliated him who profited from it, nor ever bound him by the chains of gratitude, since it was not to him but to God that the gift was made. Till then I will take solace in Hade Bejar’s words: The fragrance always stays in the hand that gives the rose.

Oops I sort of forgot what prompted this post.The husband showed me a letter he had written to the co-members of the upmarket golf club he belongs to. Th story goes something like this: caddies of the club are daily wagers who make money by caddying for members. At best I guess on a good day they would caddy twice, but I am sure some days they do not get even a game! Their caddying fees are fixed by the club committee and each members has to pay them at least that sum. Some time back the committee decided to up the fee by a paltry 20 Rs. Keeping the inflation we all know of the sum seems measly. One would think that no member would have objected. At best you play 10 games a month so all that is asked of you is a mere 200 rs. One would also think that 200 rs is nothing for members of such a prestigious club! Not at all. Some members were up in arms! Needless to say that to be member of this club you have to be moneyed. The letter the husband wrote is one I am terribly proud of as it defended the rights of the voiceless caddies.

Why wonder why rich people are so much against the rights of the poor. It is a reality that we have to learn to live with.The build invisible yet impregnable walls to keep the poor out, they put up gates, they behave like ostriches when faced with disturbing statistics, they drop their coin in the beggar’s bowl but never have the courage to look into their eyes, they have their charity agendas (feed the poor on particular days, send your rubbish to an NGO, attend page 3 NGO dos etc) and feel they have done their bit. When will they learn to see with their heart and understand the meaning of this old proverb: A bone to the dog is not charity. Charity is the bone shared with the dog, when you are just as hungry as the dog..

Sunday morning is indulgence time. I normally go to the local parlour to get a pedicure and manicure. The hour or so spent there is the one luxury I allow myself. But unlike other women who spend their time chatting on their cell phones or reading magazines totally ignoring the staff working on their hands or feet, I like engaging in conversation with the staff. It gives me an insight into yet another world. I always let the others lead the conversation.

It always begins with a chat on the weather: the incredible heat, the delayed rains, the clogged streets post a deluge and so on. This week it was the eluding rain! Then after a short while he asked me whether I was planning to go to Jantar Mantar for the Ana Hazare protest. I guess he remembered that I had gone last summer. I told him I was not. After a few more moments he brought up the topic again and said that he felt that Ana Hazare was doing all this to get his statue erected after his death. I was perplexed as I could not understand what he was getting at. I really wanted to know so I asked him why he had said that. The answer was to the point. For him Ana Hazare did not have a family and hence would be forgotten by one and all unless he did something that would make the Nation remember him. Hence his need to do something big. I guess this is a way of looking at it.

Ana Hazare brought the topic of corruption and then very quickly the one of price rise. I guess they are linked in the perceptions of the common man. Every one present joined the chorus to complain about the price rise in vegetables, food, petrol, electricity. Life was becoming very difficult for one and all particularly for people like Kailash and his colleagues who were at the mercy of their employer. If they ask for a salary increase they run the risk of losing their jobs unlike unionised workers and state employees. Kailsah who always has to come up with something unique stated with humour: thee politicians shouls come and spend a month living like us to understand the harsh realities of the common man adding with a twinkle in his eye: and we would love to spend that month in their homes! Reminded me of TV shows like trading places!

While scrolling on my Facebook page I came across yet another murder of a woman as she failed to give birth to a male child. An apparently happy marriage went down the hill when the second child was born. It was a little girl! The taunts of family and friends were too much to bear and the husband more so after the second daughter and the he kicked his wife to death. The blame for the gender of the child was once again laid on the innocent shoulders of the wife. What this incident shows once again is the total failure of all campaigns aimed at removing the prejudices against the girl child.

Not matter how many Satyamev Jayate kind of programmes we have, mindsets will not change unless issues are addressed in a different way. I have written about this issue many times. My approach is slightly different as I feel that we have first and foremost to free women from the scientifically wrong burden of determining the sex of the child. The X/Y story has to be told loud and clear. The fact that women do not have the Y chromosome and therefore cannot produce a son has to be screamed from every roof top. The softer approach of trying to enhance the value of daughters has failed miserably. Programmes like Satyamev Jayate is just a middle feel good show. An extremely interesting critique of the programme can be found in this article that I urge you to read. The author states: Every Sunday we watch programs sanitised to suit middle-class taste buds. We cry. We feel a little guilt, but hardly any anger. If we’re feeling extra lucky, we’ll send an SMS so that our Rs 2 goes to the cause. We might even donate to the said NGO once in a while. But the reality remains unchanged. Post the episode on the important of daughters one has heard of umpteen murders of wives who failed to give birth to daughters.

So where is the solution. One should maybe try and dissect the situation with dispassion. Why are daughters unwanted? And please do not give me the c*** about lineage and succession and upholding the name. Women do as well if not better. And if that were the reason then for Pete sake we are not all kings or feudal lords. Girls are unwanted because the skewed marriage drama we have is unfairly loaded towards the girl’s side. I wonder, as I have written before, whether there would be male foeticides if the whole marriage game was turned on its head! So girls seem to be unwanted because you need spend on their food, clothing, education etc and then also on their weddings. Then there is the terrible mindset of girls being the holder of the family’s honour. Let us be honest and word it differently: if a girl steps out of line you may have a pregnancy on your hands whereas the boy goes scot-free. So maybe these are the issues that need to be talked about.

Everyone knows that women are essential to life itself. The mothers of the so beloved sons will one day go looking for brides for them in the hope that they produce them grandsons. Is this not an absurd situation to say the least. Maybe it is also time this absurdity is brought center stage. The mother we all love are also girls. Where would we have been had they been aborted!

The situation is becoming perilous and something needs to be done. Let us begin with the X/Y story.

Sadafulee means always blooming! It is the name of a flower that blooms no matter what the time of the year. What a spirited plant. Sadafulee is the name one of our most caring supporter decided to give her new venture set up to help the children of project why. I can only borrow Kashmira’s words to describe this unique jewelry store: This venture comes from my passion for art and for helping underprivileged children. I plan to donate most of the proceeds from this store to a charity working with slum children in India. I am hoping the universe will help me grow this store to help the children to “always bloom”!

Kashmira and I met on line about three years ago when we were facing one of our financial crisis and needed to find a way to raise funds. If I recall well it was at the time when we were trying to set up a sponsorship programme. Kahsmira was not only one of the first persons to take on a child but also promised to help us raise the much needed funds. Since that time we remained in touch and Kashmira was always there for our kids.

Some time back she talked to me about a new venture she had in mind: crafting hand made jewelry to raise funds for project why! It was a beautiful thought but I must admit sheepishly that I thought that it would never truly take off. I was so wrong. In no time she had set up her venture and I started seeing pictures of lovely jewels on Facebook. And some time later she sent me a link to her store: I was wowed! The jewelry is beautiful and I wish I owned them all. But what makes each and every piece precious is the love that is woven in every bead.

I am humbled and overwhelmed. It is so easy to write a cheque but to spend your precious time in creating something to help children is unique. Kashmira is unique! And if you really want to know how much love gos into each piece read her blog. This is a true labour of love, one that is blessed.

Every piece sold helps a special child smile, a child remain in school, a child who cannot walk aspire to a bright future, the son of a fruit seller get a job in a bank. Every piece sold allows small miracles happen. Every piece sold will allow project why to be always blooming.

I hope you  will help sadafulee bloom and own a very special piece of jewelry and make Kashmira and our dream come true.

To know more :
The Sadafulee Store
Sadafulee’s facebook Page
Sadafulee’s blog

I have been hearing about Chotta Bheem for quite some time. It began with Utpal and then kids from the project. I figure out it was a cartoon serial aired on TV channels for children. I also saw kids with CB school bags, CB pencil boxes and more of the same. I have never liked cartoons or animated films, even as a kid if I recall well. The only comic strips I did read would be Tintin and Asterix. I preferred losing myself in a good Enid Blyton and other adventure books.

My kids saw their share of cartoon movies and Disney films. But I rarely sat with them. For me it translated into ‘alone time’ and was often spent reading.The children grew up. Then one day three and a half year ago I became a grandmother and my life changed to fit the tune of my darling grandson.

He is with me for his summer holidays and is now into cartoons, his favourite being Chotta Bheem. So for the past weeks now bye bye news, bye bye Masterchef, bye bye all other shows. TV time is now Chotta Bheem time. Twice a day before afternoon siesta and bedtime. And quite willingly I watch episodes after episodes of Chotta Bheem and wonder of wonders find myself enjoying them. I think what I enjoy is the little fellow’s presence next to me, his giggles and his questions. I could turn my face the other way and read a book. But that would cheating myself of some extraordinary moments that come once in a life time.

As for the content of Chotta Bheem, it is quite interesting and good clean viewing recommended to all, particularly grandmothers.

The Karnataka Government has earmarked 170 million rupees for prayers for rain! True we need rain and need it desperately. Many of us urbanites do not know what drought means to the farmer and the villager. For us in towns it translates into food inflation that we bear grudgingly. When our taps run dry we grumble some more and call for a water tank to fill up our tanks that seem growing in size by the day but never put breaks on our consumption.

The humid heat makes us long for rain clouds but then again we have our air conditioners on!  But for the farmer rain is life. Everyone is praying for rains. But the Karnataka Government decided to it go for it king size. 170 millions of rupees will be used so that every single temple in the state – 34 000 – propitiates the Rain GoBlogger: Project Why – Edit Post “Pray for rain @ of 170 millions”ds! This is no joke.  So water will be poured on Gods while His children are dying of thirst. Where are we heading and what have we become!

I am a believer and I too pray everyday in the sanctity of my home. I must admit I too seek divine intervention but I do it quietly and without any fuss. I have always been appalled at the quantities of milk and honey poured on stone statues and by the feeding frenzies that occur with obsessive regularity at given times of the year and result in vast amounts of food thrown on the streets. Each time I come across such instances I cannot but remember the 5000+ children that die everyday of malnutrition related causes. Wonder how many could be saved if the milk poured on the Gods was given to them. And I wonder how many lives could be saved if the 170 million rupees meant to propitiate the rain Gods were used to alleviate poverty.

But coming back to the main issue that is water and the rains, would not the rain Gods be appeased  and would shower us with rain if we committed to treat water with respect? If we pledged not to waste water and above all if we wowed to harvest the rainwater we so desperately seek?

Water is the worst crisis looming at the horizon. It is time we realised that and did something credible. Maybe then the rain Gods would be appeased and would send us the rain we so desperately need.

Were you to approach any of the Commissions set up in independent India presumably to redress torts, what you would get after few days of your filing a report is a printed letter informing you that the Commission has taken note of your complaint and directed the pertinent authorities to give an Action Taken Report by such and such date! This very official and officious letter is probably all you will ever get!

During a recent TV debate post the Gauwahati incident, the Chairperson of the National Commission for Women proclaimed that she has asked for an Action Taken Report (ATR) and was waiting for it! The long forgotten words jolted my mind! Yes, I too was the recipient of a letter stating that an ATR had been solicited in the case of my complaint no: xxx! Many years ago we had started a small outreach at the gypsy camp that was located along the main road next to a busy intersection, the kind of location always preferred by these gypsy iron smiths as it enables them to sell their ware. It was a heart warming place replete with love, dignity and abundant common sense. I soon was to discover that the place was illegal ( I wonder how illegal any place that has survived 3 or more decades, has a postal address and voter’s ID cards for its inhabitants is). I also found some old tattered official looking papers that had promised relocation to these nomadic tribes.

Remember, these were early days of pwhy and I was still naive and gullible. I had been told by the chieftain of the clan, a man I had profound respect for, that their camp was regularly bulldozed and then after greasing some palms allowed to be re erected. I witnessed one such bulldozing and my blood ran cold as one child was retrieved in the nick of time! I had heard about all those wonderful sounding Commissions one being the Human Rights one. I took pen to paper and poured out my anger, indignation and compassion seeking intervention from those meant to protect torts. My complaint, as that is what such writing is called, was duly received and I was informed that an ATR had been sought. In those days I thought I had conquered the moon and my lohar friends would soon be safe. Silly me! A few days later I got a strange phone call from the local cop station. I was incomprehensible as what i was asked is whether the lohars were bothering me as they ! You can imagine my bewilderment! I did not know what to say.  To cut a long story short all my attempts failed: PIL in court, appeal to the CM etc etc.

We managed to buy some time though and withstood some storms. But then came our greatest adversary: the Commonwealth Games and Delhi had to be made beautiful. On 28 August 2010 the camp was destroyed once for all. The tribe got shelter in different parts of the city but I lost my friends. I wonder of the city gained in beauty. I know I learnt my lessons and never approached a Commission again. I know what an Action Taken report means not forgetting that a member of the Commission made the unforgivable blunder of revealing the name of the victim.

So to get back to the Guwahati case I wonder what the NCW will achieve with this report. This brings us to asking ourselves the role and effectiveness of such commissions which are, let us not forget, funded by tax payers. Are they convenient institutions that allow the ruling party to reward or rid itself of someone. Perhaps. So one needs to review such bodies and give them teeth and independence. Then perhaps those they are meant to protect will be truly heard!

We, women, are sick and tired of being told how to dress, how to behave, what to eat or drink, when to go out etc. Where are our constitutional rights! If we are to hear the Baghpat Panchayat or Ministers post the Gauwahati incident, we are responsible for every aberration that befalls us: eve teasing, molestation, rape etc. I would say something is wrong with our men. Maybe that is the question that needs to be addressed. Whether the reports we have been bombarded with in the past days are genuine or media created is another question. But the bottom line is that we women make good copy! And the sad reality is that brutalising women is the rule rather than the exception.

What is frightening is the brazen reporting of such incidents by a somewhat irresponsible media. And what is terrifying is that in India today when cameras roll the culprits do not hide themselves and scoot but shamelessly play to the gallery. And what is scary is that people watch the show, just as they would in their drawing room in front of a screen, rather than stop the abuse.

But what is the most petrifying is the new found regressive belief that women are the keepers of social morality as is evident in dispensations like those made by a Minister who says with impunity: “Women should dress in such a way that they invoke respect in others”. And my blood boils, curdles and freezes at the same time when I hear the National Commission for Women Chairperson, a woman, state: be careful about how you dress!

Something has changed in the fabric of our society. From a caring people we seem to have mutated into a voyeuristic one. We enjoy seeing gore and abuse, the more the better. And this new appetite is being fully exploited by TRP hungry media. One wishes they restrain themselves before it is too late. One wonders if the young girl who suffered terrible abuse in Guwahati would have been let off where the cameras not rolling.

I cannot but feel sorry for the 41 year old hospital staff who was made the fall guy and lost his job courtesy another media circus.  The man was the sole earner of a family of 10. The media made him a ward boy/sweeper whereas he was an OT assistant with 19 years experience. He did what we was told and paid a heavy price. It is sad but true that in many hospitals Doctors go AWOL and other staff are made to pitch in. They often do a great job and even save lives. They are not the culprits. The real culprit is the administration and the rulers who have not been able to get their act together even after six decades of freedom.

In my early days working in slums I too felt outraged at the number of quacks that operated in the slums. But then with time I realised that they were often the only care givers and often did a reasonable if not good job. The alternatives were not viable. The better Doctors, if any were to expensive, the government dispensaries few and poorly manned, and the hospitals too far and too time consuming.

Apologies for the digression but too many things are cluttering my brain. But let us get back to the main issue: that of women and their fundamental rights! This attitude of making women responsible for any and every aberration is not acceptable. There is something wrong with men. Maybe legalising porn, sex shows and other such things would reign them in! If not, then let us just lock them up and loose the key.

You learn at every age. I have always been weary of persons who profess that they know all. I shun them like the proverbial plague. They have no place in my horizon. I on the other hand always profess that I am willing to learn till my last breath and from the tiniest and humblest. This week I walk the talk.

Agastya my lovely grandson is here on holiday. He has spent the last six months in the US of A where he lives on and where he has been mastering the English language. Two days back at dinner table he got very agitated and kept shouting: this is my spot. Poor grandmother, aka me, was totally lost and could not figure out what the little boy meant/wanted! You see her English came via French and fine tuned in apna India so is not the best. It took her a little time and the little fellow a lot of gesticulating to eventually figure out that he meant that teh chair he was pointing at and that was occupied was his place, no sorry, his spot.

I feel great. I know a knew word and I may use it hoping others do not understand it. I am all ears and rearing to learn from my little Angel boy!

Raja is the new kid on the block. He joined our special section a month ago. He is 19 and has Down syndrome. He also has the most incredible eyes. As he has never been to any school he is a tad shy and likes sitting in his corner but a little coaxing works wonders and he is ready to participate in all activities. His favourite passtime is watching a balloon painted on one of the walls of the specials section and make faces at it. I wonder what he sees in the balloon but he certainly communicates with it. It seems to be his imaginary friend!

Everyone loves him in class.

Watch our dear Funny Face

Preeti turns 18 today! She was a bit sad because her family decided not to celebrate her birthday and even refused to give her the tiny amount of money she wanted to buy samosas for her classmates. An 18th birthday is a special one. Had she been born on the other side of the fence, there would have been a big celebration with friends and family and treats and presents. But in her case no one in her family wanted to mark the day. It will be a just like any other day. When her teachers and class mates came to know about this, they decided to surprise her and celebrate. So, without her knowledge plans were made and Saturday was party time.

On the menu samosas of course and Pepsi and sweets. The kids had a ball. They laughed and danced and then laughed some more and danced some more. They gorged themselves on fun. Once again Radha and Preeti proved to us that you can dance even if you cannot walk.

I am sure Preeti will remember her 18th.

It is sad that parents of special children born in underprivileged homes do not realise that these children are just like others, with the same dreams and hopes. Preeti had polio when she was young. This should not have happened but I guess her harried mom must not have given her all the vaccine doses. And to crown it all she was hit by a car and broke her legs. There was no physiotherapy which meant that she also lost her muscles and hence can not be fitted with calipers. Her home is located in a slum and you access it through a tiny, uneven mud road. When it rains or a drain clogs, Preeti is housebound. As she walks on her hands there is no way for her to wade through the filth and reach the main road where our transport picks her up. Some of you may wonder why we have not bought her a wheelchair. To understand you would have to come and see the reality. No wheelchair can reach her home, or any slum home for that matter.

In a civilised and humane society Preeti would have been in a normal school and could have aspired to any profession. She is a very intelligent and smart kid. But in India she could not be mainstreamed and thus never went to school. We have now enrolled her in the Open school and she will soon be sitting for her class X Boards. She is learning English and speaks quite well. We discovered this when she spent time with Andi one of our volunteers. We will leave no stone unturned to ensure she has a bright future.

I do not know why I remembered a long forgotten song by Simon and Garfunkel. It was 7 O’clock News/Silent Night by Simon and Garfunkel. It was a beautiful yet chilling song, a grim comment of events that occurred in 1966 in the US. If you have never heard it, do so.

 I was reminded of this song as I heard today’s news bulletin: in East India a young teenager was molested by 20 men for half an hour whilst people watched; in a village in North India a local council has decreed that women under 40 cannot leave the house unescorted, cannot go to the market and cannot use cellphones; a man kills his wife for not giving him a son; handicapped women are raped and even murdered in a rehabilitation home; food for meant for undernourished and starving children has been sold as chicken feed; a hospital that caters to 12 villages never had electricity, yet another child falls in an open drain and dies…

Enough! I can hear hear no more. I am ashamed, outraged and incensed. What is happening? And above all what are we doing. When will we come out of our catatonic state and act. When we will leave our comfort zones and do something. When will we have the moral courage to get up and scream. How many more such cases will it take for our collective conscience to awake.

This is only the tip of the iceberg. There are many other such aberrations that go unheard. What kind of nation are we? What has happened to our social fabric. Have we become inured to anything? How can we sleep at night and look at our face in the morning without batting an eyelid.

How can we continue voting to power people who have sold their souls to God knows who? A girl is molested for 30 excruciating minutes on a crowded street and we, I say we because we are part of that crowd, watch and say nothing, maybe even ‘enjoy’ the show! Women are suddenly deprived of their freedom and we remain mute. Oh I forgot, there is a logic of course: it is always the victim that is put in the dock! A man kills his wife for not producing a boy and we, yes we who are educated and know that the poor woman can never produce a male child as she was never endowed by the Creator with the magic Y – I mean the Y chromosome – cluck our disapproval in the comfort of our drawing room, prevaricate a little and then have a nice drink and go to sleep. A deaf and dumb woman is raped by the very people who are meant to care for her and again we say nothing. Oh sure some of us go on TV show and get their minute of fame while they mouth politically correct words and then go to their homes and continue their empty lives till their next appearance. We have time and again come face to face with the terrible statistics that reminds us that 5000 children die everyday of malnutrition then why does not our blood boil when we hear that food meant for them has been sold by vile middlemen as chicken feed!

The media will play its role but then every story, no matter how disturbing will loses its flavour to the next one. Politicians will make the required noises and do F**** all! Vote banks politics you see! Commissions created for God knows what reason as they seem to have scant power will inform us pompously that they are sending a team and will give a report that will ultimately gather dust in some cupboard. Wonder why these Commissions are set up. Oh yes for political reasons as they look good on paper and often help rewarding people who have served their masters well. The Courts may take suo motto cognizance and issue a decree that will go unheard. Were not open wells and drains to be covered.

It is time we as humans, as citizens, as voters, as tax payers acted. We need to put a stop at all this. At girls being humiliated, women being tortured, children dying be it of malnutrition or by falling in an open drain. The time for hanging our heads in shame is over, the time for prevaricating is over, the time of remaining silent is over, the time of feeling helpless is over. It is now time for the collective conscience of this country to get up and scream and be heard!

The question is will we? We have blood on our hands. Are we too blind to see it!

10 Sundays ago at 10.59 am India waited with bated breath for a much hyped TV show anchored by one of Bollywood’s superstar. A clever and well planned ad campaign had preceded the show not quite revealing what it was all about. Hence everyone was intrigued and rearing to find out what Satyamev Jayate  was all bout.The atmosphere reminded us of circa 1988. Come Sunday 11am and India was glued to the box. It was Mahabharata time. Sacred in more ways than one!

The question on every one’s mind was would history repeat itself. It remains to be seen.

So 10 weeks ago SMJ episode 1 was aired. Daughters are precious was the theme of the day. Everyone was moved and angered and shared the range of emotions that were displayed in the clever script of the show. India was outraged. At least for the duration of the show. I too watched the show and shared my opinion on the subject. However without being cynical and based on my experience of more than a decade I knew that things would remain the same. It would more than one show, however star stuffed, to change things.

Yesterday’s news confirmed my worst fears! A man killed his wife for not having borne him a son. They had five daughters between the age of 3 and 13. We will all feel duly outraged for some time and forget the problem till the next aberration happens. We will then again feel outraged and then forget once again. And this will continue till the facts are set right. This will continue till the Y chromosome story is not told.

I wonder why all our family planning campaigns, our save our daughters crusades and the same have never highlighted that a woman CANNOT determine the sex of a child as she is does hot have the needed chromosome. This fact should be given prominence in every which way possible. It should appear in posters and hoardings, in street plays, in songs. The Y chromosome story needs to be told loud an clear if we want to save our girls and protect our women.

The picture you see is that of the balconies of a new housing complex in Mumbai called Aquaria Grande. These flats are for the uber rich and you guessed right have all been sold! The price in the range of 40 million rupees! This post is not meant to be a grapes are sour kind of thing. People can spend their money; I only wished they did so with a conscience. When I see balconies of hundreds of flats turned into pools of clean water I cannot but remember some worrying and disturbing statistics the first one being the 5000 children dying everyday of often water related diseases such as diarrhoea, cholera and hepatitis as millions do not have access to clean drinking water. Aquifers are being over pumped and water contaminated. There is a water crisis looming large and many states are facing severe drought conditions. Sadly we have a poor track record of management and conservation. In water starved Delhi rain water harvesting is practically non existent whereas it should be made mandatory keeping in view the construction overdrive. But every year abundant rain water is simply washed away. This has been aggravated by the obsession of cementing every nook and corner. Even trees are not spared and often wither away slowly. This was not the case some years back when we still had paved sidewalks that allowed the earth to breathe.

That water is a huge problem is a reality we cannot run away from. This is aggravated the poor management of this invaluable resource. It is time we all learnt to respect water. But that in unfortunately not the case. The easy availability of water through pipes and taps has made us forget the real issues. A friend told me once that if we still had to manually pump water and/or walk miles to access it, we would learn to respect its value. We simply take it for granted and raise a hue and cry when taps run dry. The rich simply get tankers at astronomical prices. The poor fight for it.

This picture was taken in Delhi. It shows what happens when the much awaited tanker comes in a slum area. It is nothing short of a battle royal that has tempers rising and often comes to insults and blows. Needless to say the meeker return with an empty bucket. The writing is on the wall. A recent magazine chose to entitle an article on water issues: Boiling point.  According to the article the rise in population and the depletion of ground water are the main reasons for the prevailing situation. An eminent activist hits the nail on its head when he states: There is no shortage of water in terms of rainfall. We, as a country, have failed to make use of it. But that is not all. Read on:

Policy paralysis and an appalling lack of management has turned burgeoning India into waterless, despairing India. Eight-year-old Poorni in Karnataka has decaying teeth and limbs that struggle to move due to dangerous fluoride in the groundwater. Sand contractors like Sanjay Singh Yadav, 40, make money in Bihar as the rivers dry up. Riots have broken out over borewell use, leading to death, imprisonment, deprivation and despair to families like that of Ramkumar Yadav, 60, in Chhattisgarh. Hindu Rao Hospital, one of Delhi’s leading municipal hospitals, cancelled 40 surgeries in a week between June 16 and June 23 due to lack of running water. Politicians are accused of diverting scarce water to their constituencies in Maharashtra, leaving others to fend for themselves.

The above quote explains it all. One just has to read between the lines. Much of the situation we are facing is man made and we must bear the responsibility. We all need to respect water. Think about the liters of clean water we flush everyday in our homes. I can never forget the day when we were installing a western style toilet in our women centre. A bunch of kids were hanging around and watching the operation. When the plumber walked out having finished its installation the children approached the toilet and inspected it for quite some time, their face puzzled. Then one boy exclaimed: I know what it is, it is a small well!

We all need to ponder on these words. It is time to start respecting water before it is too late. And maybe a good step would be to raise our voices against balconies that double up as swimming pools!

Akeel and Shakeel are two young lads ages 17 and 16. Were they born on the other side of the fence, they would have in swanky schools, have had loads of friends and fun. They would have watched movies in malls, and gone for treats at different places. They would have their own computers, cell phones and tablets and God knows what else. I have lost touched with the ways of the young a long while ago.

Shakeel the elder brother is in class XI. A keen student he gets good grades and comes to pwhy regularly. Nothing special one would say. But that is not where it ends. Shakeel is the sole supporter of his family: 4 siblings and his parents. His elderly father has been ailing for some time and has stopped working. His mother a simple housewife takes on some sewing work at home. Many garment manufacturers sub contract work to women at abysmal prices. You would agree that this pittance cannot feed a family, let alone educate the children, provide the medical care needed for the father etc. It is left to Shakeel to take on the responsibility. But he is one of a kind. Not wanting to give up his studies Shakeel took on a night job in a factory where he earns 5000 Rs a month. In the day he goes to school, comes to pwhy and even attends our computer classes. In between all this he catches a few hours of sleep. Thanks to his earnings his family eats and his younger siblings go to school.

Akeel the younger brother pitches in too as he helps his mom with the sewing work and support his brother’s dream: to see all the siblings educated! Wow! I just feel humbled. There are no complaints or recriminations against anyone; least of all the Almighty. There is simply a dignified acceptance of a reality that needs to be addressed and met in the best way possible without losing one’s smile.

What a beautiful lesson! All I can say is Chapeau Bas!

“People surrounded by money but unable to use it properly die of happiness thirst.” -Paramahansa Yogananda. This quote appeared on my FB page one morning. It made me smile and also wonder what the opposite of thirst would be as as I for one will die of happiness surfeit or overdose. For I for one will OD on happiness!

I have never been surrounded by money, alas, but there was a time when I had some and that is when I decided to begin pwhy. I never regretted the decision, even when things get tough and bleak, and they do more often than I would like. I guess I used my little windfall properly. But let us get serious and try and figure out what this quote truly means. To me the meaning is clear. It simply means that if you have then you must give and if you do give you get surrounded by happiness. The barter is more than fair.

There was a time when I sat on the other side of the fence and my ‘giving’ was more a kind of lip service, the politically correct thing to do. Every month I wrote my cheque dutifully and sent it to the chosen destination but in hindsight there was scant joy or happiness. It was more a kind of obligation that was steered by the head and not he heart. I truly discovered the joy of giving when pwhy begun or rather when I started dipping unabashedly into my pocket to meet the daily needs of the new baby I had brought into the world. And the more I dipped, the better I felt. Wonder why? Simply because every penny spent brought a smile on a little face. It was pure magic. And every smile warmed my heat and filled me with incredible happiness. I felt tiny and huge at the same time. And with every day my needs became smaller, my problems inconsequential, my pains and aches non-existent.

True there came a time when the pocket became too light to be dipped in and ways had to be found to replenish it so I embarked on a journey aimed at trying to get others to walk the same road. The results were mixed. Whereas on the one hand total strangers came forward, on the other people one hoped would help simply slimed away. I must admit that this is something I never understood and/or was comfortable with. It was as if I had failed to show them the worth of the equation. Maybe I should just once again share the quantum of happiness you get from giving.

We all at some time or the other feel empty in some way or the other and thus feel the need to fill this void. Some of us shop till we drop, others party, yet others opt for spiritual options and a few even get tempted by artificial paradises. The emptiness is given fancy names from depression to just the blues. Sometimes this happens after a painful loss as was my case and I too tried some of the above. But to no avail as the more you try the more empty you feel. The reason simply being that all these pursuits are self centred. My salvation came from a simple illiterate woman who told me to turn my grief to something positive. That was how pwhy came to be. The rest is history. As pwhy grew my emptiness vanished and in its place came an immense sense of well being. My world became filled with smiles and every challenge that came my way was just that: a challenge that had to be met.

This is how life has been for a decade now. No aches and pains, no blues or greys, just love and light and joy. I am ready to OD on happiness!

It was her birthday. Little Mahi was playing with her friends near her home. The little children were busy playing and laughing and no one saw the uncovered borewell and Mahi fell into it. Her little body hurled downwards and crashed 70 feet below. She was alive as her cries for help were heard by one and all. But her helpless parents and family could do nothing to help her as there was no way to reach down to her. They did the next best thing call the authorities. The police took 90 minutes to come and all the king’s men (army, metro, commandos, firemen etc) took 90 hours to bring little Mahi’s body out of the dark hole. Her soul had left for a better place much before her
broken body was recovered.

I hope death was quick to come and release her pain. I cannot begin to imagine what she must have gone through in the dark dark hole, with barely any place to breathe, let alone move, all alone and frightened. One must salute the men who braved all odds and fought night and day to bring her out. They did their best but everything conspired against them: the hard rocks that took days to break, the inhospitable terrain and lack of oxygen, the stifling heat… Yet they soldiered on. But sadly all they brought up was Mahi’s broken body.

The blame game is now on as always. The news was juicy and made good copy and TRP numbers yesterday. Today some other news will replace it and Mahi’s death will be forgotten to be remembered only when the next child falls in another uncovered borewell or drain and this will happen, there is no doubt on that. Six years ago Prince fell into a borewell and was rescued alive. Subsequent to that activists managed to secure a supreme court order that directed the administration to ensure that all such borewells and drains were suitably covered. But nothing happened. Wells were dug with impunity and alacrity and still are. It is all a catch 22 situation. The administration fails in providing water. People find their own ways. The authorities turn a blind eye and  extend greedy palms and the game goes on. You see everyone is happy: the ones who get the much needed water and the ones who can line their bottomless pockets. No one is the wiser till another child falls. How many children will have to die before someone takes action. No one knows.

In more ways than one, ours is not a land for children. No one cares for them. The proof: 5000 of them die every day. Their schools have no roof, they are used and abused. The list is endless. We remain mute at best or megalomaniac at worst. The proof: Aquaria Grande the new housing complex in our commercial capital that boasts of balcony swimming pools in a land where children die because of water borne diseases as they do not have access to safe drinking water or simply by falling in an uncovered borewell!

Has our conscience gone AWOL?

PS A friend pointed me to a wonderful idea to cover these deadly pits: plant trees! She mooted the thought way back in 2009 but found no takers. Maybe it is time to look at this again and find a way.

You sometimes do not realise that your kids have grown, particularly when they are of the special kind. I must admit rather sheepishly, that ever since they special kids moved into their new space on the third floor of the building opposite ours I have been somewhat absent from their lives. The reason is I find myself citing is of course my creaking knees. A rather pitiful reason I must confess particularly when I think of our special kids who make the climb with a smile whether they are a tad wobbly (Umesh) or walk on their hands (Preeti)! The truth is I have just been lazy.

So a few days back when I did make the trip to the special class it was an eye opened in more ways than one. First and foremost I realised how much I missed seeing the lovely smiles and hearing the heartwarming greetings of these lovely souls and more than that how much it meant to me as I suddenly felt uplifted and revived. This has not happened for a long time. Seeing these special kids was a treat I had simply denied myself for too many days.

Another thing hit me that afternoon as I watched the children busy in their art and craft activities. I realised that many of them were all grown up. Yes more than a decade had passed and though some still looked small, they were now young adults. And time has come for us to accept them as such. My mind went on overdrive as I started making plans for them in my head, keeping every one’s likes and abilities in mind. These children were now adults and should be entering the working world, never mind their disability. The older girls could start marketing their weaving. Why not make table mats and bathroom mats out of waste cloth? And why not start a small in house catering service that could maybe one day mutate into a proper catering service.

It did not take any time to set things in motion. The very next day the older girls and Anurag who loves cooking set up the pwhy special cafe. The first task was to find clients! And that was easy as many of the staff were delighted by the idea of having hot home made food. The students with the help of their teacher made a menu and took orders. A shopping list was made and the needed ingredients bough and lo and behold the very next day 3 warm lunches were made and served on time. The clients were thrilled and orders placed for the next day. Things will get a little time to settle down but I am sure than in a month or so these fabulous young cooks will be able to cater to larger numbers. They have proved beyond doubt that they are ready to become business men and women.

But catering is not their only venture. The girls have been learning weaving for  quite some time now and can make stunning pieces from discarded cloth. We are now thinking of getting this activity organised and making table mats, floor mats and wall hangings and try and find markets for them. The weaved pieces are really bright and colourful and could make lovely gifts for one and all. I hope many of you will support this venture.

The older boys will be making newspaper mats for our creche children. Many of the boys have limited motor skills but with supervision and help they will be able to make these mats that are used by our tiny students at lunch time. We are also thinking of teaching them how to make paper bags.

For me this week has been very special. To see that our children have now grown into responsible adults in spite of their challenges is precious. I know they will make us proud. They never fail to!

Would you believe me if I told you that food meant for starving children was siphoned by middlemen and sold to dairy and poultry farms as feed for livestock? I guess it is so outrageous that it is hard to believe, yet it is true. This shameful fact was revealed recently in a sting operation by a leading channel. One only wonders how long this had been going on and, without being cynical, how quickly it will start again. The food in question was packaged supplement meant for angawadis (creches) in Maharashtra. The state has almost 100 000 anganwadis and spends 1280 crores Rs (~10 billion) a year on such supplements! Mind boggling! And we are talking of one state! Let us not live under the illusion that this happens only in Maharashtra. Actually such programmes are a boon for wily middlemen. The beneficiaries are voiceless toddlers and could never complain, as for others I am sure there mouths are kept shut via their pockets!

Anganwadis were an intrinsic part of the ICDS programme launched in the seventies. The package on offer was targeted to the 0 to 6 age group and was aimed at arresting malnutrition and ensuring a holistic development of young children. Had it worked then the 5000 + children that still die every day of malnourishment should have been history long ago. That it did not is apparent. 2 million children still die every year. The huge budget allocations have been hijacked and have made many humans rich and if we are to go by today’s news, many pigs and cows fat!

This is just a small example of the ground reality we either chose to ignore or are simply not interested as it does not concern us. Every year grains rots for want of proper storage. We remain mute. Time and again disturbing statistics stare us in the face but again we look away. The walls we have erected around us are impregnable and opaque, or is it our vision that is skewed to perfection? Have we not worked out ways to handle such matters in a manner that eases our conscience: see a beggar child and either look away or roll down your car window and drop a coin in the proffered hand, but keep your eyes away as if you look into the innocent eyes you run the risk of seeing with your heart and that believe you me is dangerous. If you come across child labour, be it in a tea stall or even at an acquaintance or neighbour’s home you will at best discuss the aberration in the comfort of your drawing room. How many of us pick up our phone and call the authorities. No one I know! I have even heard people reacting vehemently at a news article on child labour and then ordering a tea from the young boy manning the stall without batting an eyelid.

On a lighter vein, many of you may have got an email that did the rounds some time ago about incredible India where a pizza arrives in 30 minutes, the ambulance doesn’t, where there are more mobile phones than  toilet where car loans are cheaper than  educational loans and where food grain rots as people die of hunger. The list was longer but all in the same spirit. I do not know how many of us read it before junking it and how many really pondered about what was written.

Today’s newspaper has another incredible headline: a young student who has just passed her XIIth Boards was eligible for Harvard but not for Delhi University. Now the said kid has presumably well to do parents who can afford to send their child beyond the seas. Now this student must have marks in the 90s and still cannot secure admission in a good and affordable institution. Then what about the kid from a poor home who gets brilliant marks. She has few options if any!

The state seems to have abdicated its duty towards its poor though every political party heralds loud and clear that it is the messiah of the poor. And to prove that moots innumerable pro poor programmes that look good on paper only and land up lining many pockets before paying some kind of lip service. Imagine if even 50% of the funds reached the real beneficiaries. The sad truth is that we are still quibbling about the definition of poverty is it 28 rs a day or 32! Would it not be saner and more efficient to identify beneficiaries of programmes and open an account in their name and put in the amount due to them. But there is a hitch: how will money be made? So this is a big no no.

Take another issue that is in the news: the creamy layer definition. Now we all know that reservations have been made for students from OBC categories in various institutions. Now the hitch is to define the creamy layer that is excluded from the reservation. One would believe that such reservations would benefit the poorest of the poor. Not quite as the quibbles now are about the definition of the (ill) famed creamy layer that needs to be excluded. Let it be known that it has gone from 250 000 to 450 000 rupees per annum and is likely to be increased to 600 000! That means that a salary of 49 000 per month would ensure your child a seat in the OBC quota! So these reservations are not for the poor, far from that. In my humble opinion someone earning that amount can give his child a sound education enabling her to compete at par with others. But who cares for the poor?

This is the land we live in.

I for one will never give up on this land!

TV’s prodigal child is three episodes old. I am talking of SJ hosted by a leading film star. I must admit that I was taken in by episode 1 as it touched a raw nerve though I did have my reservations. It was a little too glitzy for my liking and sounded a tad false and failed to address the real issues. Post episode 1, I learnt that the anchor was charging a whopping 3.2 crores per episode. I must admit I was saddened and somehow the show lost its charm at least for me. Seemed that social responsibility was the new kid on the business block.

Call it synchronicity but some days later I came upon an article entitle: How My Conscience Was Abducted in Dantewada. In the garb of social responsibility, the Essar Group recently organised a storytelling festival for the ‘benefit’ of children in this Maoist-dense area. What emerged most starkly was the stench of corporate propaganda. The article is written by a story teller invited to tell stories to a bunch of tribal kids in a language they did not understand and who felt his conscience was abducted. The scenario goes something like this-  the protagonists: a corporate in desperate need of a new coat of veneer, an event management company desperate to conjure a sense of celebration in an alien place, hundreds of bewildered children gathered to hear stories in a language they do not understand and a bunch of bored officials present to give the stamp of officialdom; the stage: hurriedly white washed hall with buntings more appropriate to an upmarket literary festival than a story telling for tribal children. The children were made to listen to corporate  propaganda and incomprehensible stories, feat made harder by the pangs of hunger as the organisers has miscalculated the numbers. Pictures were taken to adorn the CSR pages of websites and publications, a huge budget was earmarked for those in power to spend. All in a all a success except for the children who still did not quite fathom what was happening. The question that begs to be asked is: is such a farce needed? My answer is a big NO! Such efforts are to my mind pathetic and revolting. Corporate Social Responsibility at best eases some consciences, makes good photo ops and lines pockets. The supposed beneficiary is left bewildered and empty handed.

How the receiving side feels was best portrayed by one such recipient. We too have had our own first hand experiences be it the lady from a prestigious club who brought a few sweaters on a hot September morning and her personal photographer in tow. She insisted that the special kids wear the sweaters in spite of the sweltering heat, so that she could have a photograph for the newsletter of her club! Or how can I forget the man who in response to our appeal for help for Raju’s open heart surgery wanted to know why we were spending so much money for just a poor child. Charity has become a lucrative business.

On the other hand, call it synchronicity again, I stumbled upon another TV show called the  Secret Millionaire. True it is what is now called a reality show – the flavour of our times – but it rings true. The blurb of the show states: Millionaire benefactors say goodbye to their luxury lifestyles and go undercover in deprived areas to find out who needs their help. I was impressed by the part of the show I saw, but still a bit cynical and weary of reality shows I decided to catch a few more. It was truly inspiring. A millionaire spends 9 days in a destitute area to look for causes he may fund. It is bye bye credit cards and fat wallets. The protagonist is meant to survive on the minimum wage, often in a decrepit flat a far cry from his luxurious abode. He has to cook – or buy street food -, wash, clean and above all  find organisations worthy of his help. To achieve this he talks to people in pubs and other places and once he has a list of organisations he goes on to volunteer in them. This enables him to assess the real situation. At the end of his 9 days he reveals his identity and makes his donations.To justify the presence of cameras, people are told that a documentary is being shot to highlight the issues of the community. The show looks real and touches the heart. The millionaire is often shown coming back to the area weeks later to reconnect with those he helped. I must admit I too had a lump in my throat. If it is all scripted then it was a darned good job!

I could not help remembering a reality show that professed to get rich young Indians brats to experience life in a slum. Now one would think that they would live in an actual slum. Far from that. In line with the Big Brother set, a ‘slum’ was created for them.I remember watching one episode where the kids were in a large room with beds (I presume harder than the ones they were used to) and fans (no ACs). This was a bizarre depiction of slums as I know them. Wonder if any of those kids could have survived in Radha’s home which is a hole in the ground, about 12 square feet, with an asbestos roof and mud floor. In that ‘hole’ live 4 adults and 4 children. One must not forget that little Radha suffers from brittle bone disease.

 I also wonder if any of our millionaires would agree to give up their comfortable lives and spend even one night if not in a slum, let us say in the likes of a DDA Jantadesi version of the Secret Millionaire. I guess production houses knew it was doomed to fail as they would find no millionaires willing to participate. I guess we have some more growing up to do. Our rich are more comfortable with the CRS version of charity that does not entail dirtying one’s hand and is a perfect way to ease consciences.

Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa! For the past weeks I have been writing about issues that irk me and in the bargain have completely obliterated the essential: the essential being project why! I guess I was stricken by a bout of the comfort zone syndrome: in this occurrence the fact that all is always well at project why. So April passed and I failed to mention the stunning results of our kids and then May came and went and with it the dreaded Board exam results. This was before Internet days, when pwhy teachers went to schools to check the lists and I waited cellphone in hand! The whoops of joy and oodles of sweets that followed were indeed ah ha moments. Then year after year all our students passed and slowly the dangerous comfort zone took over. I have no option but the proverbial kick myself in the butt!

So here I am with egg on my face trying to make amends. The kids have never let us down be they in class I or XII. It is their ageing Ma’am who is at fault. Time to redress the tort. So without more delay I am thrilled to share with all of you the achievements of the project why family.

Let us begin with our Okhla centre. All the children primary and secondary have passed their examinations. That means a whopping 260 kids! What is truly brilliant is that this year we had our first batch of class X and they ALL passed their Board exam. Akeel even topped his class. And Pooja and Brijesh topped class VI and little Sapna topped class1!. Now this may seem no great shakes to some. However if I were to tell you that our Okhla centre is located in a garbage dump, the closest primary schools is a kilometer away and the secondary school 5 km away (yes this is in Delhi and next to a new swanky five star hotels, that there are no NGOs in the area, that parents are often working long hours in factories and care very little if not at all for their children’s education. The children are left to their own devices.

That is why we had decided to start a centre in this godforsaken area way back in 2005 even if it meant clearing up space in a garbage dump. I remember having paid for 3 or 4 trucks earth from my own pocket as finances were short then and how could one explain to our donors the sudden need for tons of earth. We were meant to be an education organisation were we not! What had prompted me to do so was the fact that children in that god forsaken dump were being used by mafias and politicos to fulfil sinister agendas. Okhla was not easy to set up. Our ‘school’ then a shack with a bright blue plastic sheet held up by bamboos was regularly destroyed and doggedly rebuilt by our valiant staff. But slowly things settled and we could put up walls, then a tin roof, then an extra room and thus have a primary, secondary and even a computer section. We were in business and our best supporters where the children themselves as they soon took ownership of their school. They are the ones who demanded a secondary section when the first batch reached class VI and insisted on  computer having computer classes. When we meekly suggested that computers may not be safe in the centre they loudly retorted that they would make sure that nothing happened. And in spite of conditions that no insurance company would ever agree to – a rickety door, walls that would collapse were they pushed – they children kept their promise. Today the computer centre located in a tiny space is the only one in the entire area and a great success. What a way we have come. I had almost forgotten this.

Now on to our Govindpuri centre which began only 2 years ago after we had to close down Sanjay Colony and Nehru Camp. From a mere 30 students we now have 104 and from a primary outreach programme we almost surreptitiously mutated into a secondary one as we now have classes VI and VII. One of the biggest USP of this class is that Anita, one of our teachers is a project why alumni. She joined us in nursery way back in 2000! And now for the results: a whopping 17 kids stood first in their respective classes with Saifin even getting a scholarship. Kudos to all.

Now let us get to the famous Boards classes X and XII. All our students passed: 28 cleared their Xth and 12 their XIth. In class X Pooja secured 87.3% and in class XII Akansha topped with 95%! Wow! Well done girl!

At the women centre all children passed their examinations. That means 298 kids in all and we had nine toppers. Not bad at all. This year we will be having our first class X batch. Fingers crossed. But that is not all, our women have not done badly at all. The sewing and beautician classes are also bearing their fruits. 3 students have opened their own beauty parlours, 2 in their villages and one in the nearby slum. 9 women work door to door and 2 have secured jobs in beauty parlours. Most of our sewing ladies work from home but 9 of them have got jobs in boutiques and export houses.

So you see there are many stars at project why. Time to get our very own red carpet!

Let me ask you a riddle. What is the government budgetary allocation for a mental patient? You would never guess! Its is thirteen rupees a year! Yes13 rupees a year is the budgetary allocation for a mental health patient in India. This startling and absurd statistic was revealed in a heart wrenching article entitled Damned lives and Statistics. I urge you to read it. You will be stunned beyond words. But let me share some stats: there are 100 million people in India who suffer from some form of mental illness. Of these 10 million need hospitalisation. There are only 43 government mental hospitals all in a pitiable state. There are only 4000 psychiatrists and 70% of them work in the private sector in urban areas. I leave you to do the maths and work out the absurd and nonsensical figures.

It does not stop there. Here is another riddle. How do the state run mental hospitals deal with body lice? Answer: they strip the patient and spray her with insecticides meant to kill cockroaches. The conditions of mental hospitals are indescribable. Any adjective I can think falls short of the reality. Patients live in inhuman and jail like conditions, locked in hot and dark cells, with stinking toilets and unpalatable food. In some institutions they are even fettered.  Some cosmetic changes have been done and the exterior may look nice, but inside it is a living hell. And to crown it all funds that come to the hospital for food, clothing and mattresses are siphoned off by the officials. They even take home the bedspreads and curtains. A horror story but sadly a real one.

Mental patients need care and understanding. They need therapies and counselling. They need enabling environments to help them heal and reintegrate normal life. In the conditions prevalent today they are sure to wither away.

The alternatives are no better. Many mental patients are taken to faith healers. They are chained, caned, smeared with chili or branded with hot coins. All this to exorcise the demon believed to possess them. In some cases they are dumped by families in faraway places in illegal asylums where they are abused and tortured and even used in organ trading. And yet most of these poor souls can be treated with proper medication and psychological support. The fact that the state does not care for them is criminal to say the least.

Private psychiatric care is exorbitant and only a few can afford it. Some of the institutions can cost up to 5000 rs a day. This is where the rich dump their addict child who has become an embarrassment! For them a lac fifty thousand is chicken feed I guess. For those who do not have the money the options are few. I was horrified when a friend told me the story of a disabled woman who had been hidden by her family till the day she died. My friend lives in a posh colony in Delhi and this poor woman lived in the house opposite hers. She had never known that her neighbours had a disabled relative.

Mental patients may need hospitalisation and treatment but this is only short term in most cases and the patient can easily get back to normal life. I recently had to admit a student in a psychiatric facility – one of the only place that is affordable – and was shocked to hear that many patients were simply abandoned by their families and had spent not months but years away from their homes in spite of being cured. This how much we care for our very own if they happen to be mentally challenged.

But even those who care deeply for their challenged ones face huge problems.I recently bumped into a friend who has a 17 year old autistic son. She is an ace parent and has done everything she could and more for her child. Now the boy turns 18 next year and the institution where he studies does not take children after their eighteenth birthday. Now my friend knows that this young man cannot spend the rest of his life at home and needs to be in an enabling environment which will allow him to progress. Sadly there are very few options and long waiting lists. She is a working woman and needs to find a solution. She candidly asked whether I would open a day care centre for people like her son. I wish I could!

The article and the words of my friend stirred many thoughts that I had been trying to shut off. What would happen to my bunch of challenged souls. Planet Why fell off the map. And yet Planet Why was what would have kept the Munnas and Radhas, the Anjalis and Champas smiling all the way to their golden years. Now their morrows are tenuous and depend on my ability to secure them. I cannot begin to imagine any one of them in a state run facility or rejected by their families. It cannot happen. I pray for a miracle and hold on to the Planet Why dream. Will someone hear my silent prayer.

The latest buzz across the country seems to be Bollywood star Amir Khan’s latest talk show Satyamev Jayate. The first episode titled daughters are precious took on the issue of female foeticide. I guess it was, as many have held, a safe bet. Female feticide is an issue that does move one and all, or so one would want to believe. At least the programme would get women on his side! I did not watch the show when it was aired but saw it on line. Though one got to know some startling facts the most shocking one being that female infanticide was started as a government scheme in the 1970s, during the population explosion in India, the show failed to move me. I for one do not get starry eyed in front of super stars! True we were treated to all the pathos imaginable: heart wrenching stories of women who had born the brunt of the terrible practice, even a woman who had been bitten repeatedly by her husband, startling statistics, bits and pieces of sting operations and needless to say the tears shed by both the audience and the anchor.

The entire show was, unfortunately aimed at bashing different sections of the population: the perpetrators be it the family or the medical practitioners, the indifferent or even collusive  administration, the antagonistic judge and so on. Each story was accompanied by the required exclamations of surprise or horror. We were also introduced by satellite link to a bunch of almost middle age lads from a village in a state known for its skewed sex ratio who merrily informed us that they were bachelors for want of women to marry. The motley band seemed more kicked by being on a reality show then by the seriousness of the issue. But some interviews with local activists brought us back on course as they shared statistics, the practise of bride import and above all the terrible plight of these ‘foreign’ women that scarily resembled the plight of the young protagonist of Matrubhoomi who is married to one but shared by all brothers in a terrifying reinterpretation of the Mahabharat. What is scary is that a film set in 2050 tells the story of what is happening today! It is a must watch!

The show did have its required effect if we are to believe the hundreds of thousands of SMSses. The pulse of the India audience was tickled pink as the show was high on emotional drama. And the aftermath was expected with Amir Khan being labelled the India Oprah (sic) and satyamev jayate a movement! A little OTT in my humble opinion. The show ended with a pledge to take up the issue of female foeticide in the state where a sting operation had been undertaken against doctors who are a party to sex determination. At the time of writing these words the Bollywood star had met the political one to set things right. I presume it means booking the medical perpetrators caught on camera.

But let me get back on track as this post is not meant to be an eulogy or attack of the new kid on the TV block. What prompted me to write this post was to share my take on the abhorrent practice of female foeticide and my humble suggestions. Bashing anyone will not stop female foeticide. Dredging facts and figures will again not get anyone to change mindsets. Appeals and projects to ‘save the girl child’ have and will remain unheard. Th bottom line is quite different and the question one has to ask one’s self is why are girls unwanted. The answer is simple: they are a financial burden mostly because of exorbitant marriages. Reason gets clouded by the burden of costly nuptials. All else is forgotten. That they are potential wives, mothers strangely becomes secondary. And to make matter worse, by some absurd interpretation of scientific laws, sex determination gets reinterpreted to suit a patriarchal society and the woman is made to bear the unfair and unsubstantiated burden of being responsible for ‘making’ girls. A girl is unwanted in our land but there is also another side to this dark coin: the same girl, if she survives and gets married will be punished in all sorts of manner if she gives birth to a girl. In India across the social board it is believed that women determine the sex of the child. The show’s anchor did make a en passant remark on sex determination but it was lost in emotion.

So let us try and take it from the top. We in India  a country where women are worshipped as Goddesses by one and all do not want to have daughters. Seems strange doesn’t it? Yet we, rich or poor, literate or illiterate, dislike daughters so much that we are prepared to kill them in the womb, throw them in drains and rubbish bins, leave them in hospitals or dump them in the cradle of orphanages, and even kill them. We punish there mothers in every way imaginable from subtle taunts to murder. If we do decide to raise them, we give them minimum care: less food then their brothers, less medical care, cheaper of no education. From the time a girl child is born she is labelled paraya dhan

So it all points out to two issues: the marriage expenses and the sex determination. One is social, the other scientific. And the need of the moment is to address the two in an empowering manner. True that many want a boy in a patriarchal society boys are preferred and there is always the matter of carrying on the name etc. Quite frankly it works with kings and nobles but how important it is in a family that can barely survive is a matter of opinion. But the sense of false pride remains and is evident in the way the birth of a son is celebrated in the poorest of homes. The girl on the other hand is often welcome by wails and long faces.

To set things right it is important to try and free the woman from the weighty and unfair burden of being held responsible for the sex of the child. The XY chromosome story needs to be told. It needs to be told to one and all in wide ranging campaigns on the scale of family planning ones and polio eradication ones. I personally feel that it should be told in a way that empowers men. Wow how great you guys are, you have the power to decide the sex of the child. You must take ownership of this scientific reality, this gift God has given you, what incredible power. You get the picture. What I am trying to say that one must package the message the right way. I am sure that it will change some mindsets and at least free women from unjust and cruel abuse and maybe even give daughter a better deal.

But we still need to address the dowry issue as it all boils down to money. We all knows that laws have failed and even if some have been punished the practise of dowry is alive and kicking. True people have the right to spend their money on weddings and nuptials but the problem occurs when you are made to spend money you do not have. The problem arises when boys are commodities the girls’ families have to pay for in cash and kind, where it becomes of matter of honour, negotiations and brokering. Many will say it is an infernal spiral you take for your son and pay for your daughter. All this is nothing short of repulsive but so ingrained in social mores that changing the equation will take time and patience.

Today, dowry have lost their relevance. Girls are educated and have equal inheritance rights. They are assets to the family they marry in and should be considered as such. What shocks me is that the young and educated are party to this inane custom. They should be the ones to herald change by putting their foot down and insist on simple weddings. But marriages have become showtime. It is OK for those who have the required resources but for others it is a millstone around their neck. It is time religious preachers who appear on TV channels and have and blind followers take up such issues instead of preaching superstitious rubbish. It almost makes me want to don saffron robes! These are people who have the power to bring about change and yet they do not. They are busy perpetrating customs that enrich them by robbing the vulnerable.

Project Y (excuse the pun) has to be launched. I wish I had the resources, the contacts and the capability of doing it. Women have suffered too long, it is time they got their rightful place in society.

Saffin is a student of class VI at our Govindpuri centre. He is a quiet and hard working lad with many hidden talents. Believe it or not he writes poetry and had three of his poems published in his school magazine. Two were in Hindi but one was in English. I share it with you:

Project why has been under the magic spell of five incredible young students from a business school in France. Mélissa, Jonathan, Francine, Axelle and Elodie landed at project why 4 weeks ago. As always it was my duty to welcome them and get them started. I normally spend time talking about our work and the volunteering options on offer and normally the volunteers are taken on a tour of the project before deciding what they will do ultimately do. But this time seemed different as these kids seemed rearing to go!

Presentations made, it was time to introduce them to the project. And we did. All it took was one look for each of them to decide where they wanted to go. Axelle and Elodie picked the women centre; Jonathan and Melissa chose Okhla and Francine adopted the special class.

For the next 4 weeks or so each of them went eagerly to their chosen place and gave the children not only their time but part of their hearts. Even when they were unwell, and they all got treated to a bout of the famed Delhi belly, they pumped themselves with pills and potions but never missed a day at work. They were always ready before the scheduled time and always had exciting plans and ideas to share with the children. It could be games, discovering the world or simply a bit of physical exercise, the kids always wanted more.

But that was not all. These wonderful volunteers came laden with gifts. Toys for the little ones and a huge purse meant to purchase what was needed. Thanks to their generosity and the generosity of their institution and friends project why was able to purchase much needed coolers and fans to beat the summer heat, oodles of mats to replace the tattered ones,  stationery and much more, and even repair the roof of the women centre. But still the purse remained heavy and it was decided that we would keep the money and use it as and when needed.

It was a joy to have these incredible kids as they more than anyone else truly understood the secret of the Little Prince’s fox:  It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye. These kids only saw with their hearts. They did not see the dust, flies or heat but saw the smiles on the children’s faces and their eagerness and enthusiasm; they did not see the lack of resources but saw the abundance of love. They simply saw the essential!

Each one of them gave their very best and more. And for us it was a true joy to have them as we too became better simply being with them.

I hope they carry happy memories that will spring up time and again and make them remember us. We one our side will always remember them fondly.

Here are some statistics that should shock us and makes us act. Sadly they don’t but I will still share them with you:

• 11 million children are homeless in India, 100 000 children in Delhi alone in spite of 70 shelters
• 3 out of 4  street children between the age 5- 12 are physical abused
• 300 000 to 500 000 children are forced into prostitution every year
• There are approximately 2 million child commercial sex workers between the age of 5 and 15 years and about 3.3 million between 15 and 18 years.
  They form 40% of the total population of commercial sex workers in India.
  80% of these are found in the 5 metros.
  71% of them are illiterate.
• 95 in every 1000 children born in India, do not see their fifth birthday.
  70 in every 1000 children born in India, do not see their first birthday.
• More that 50% of India’s children are malnourished.
• 44 000 children go missing every year.

A recent programme aired on a national  TV channel revealed the truth about how India treated their children. Scary! It is time we did something about it. Before it is too late to even hang our heads in shame.

The recent municipal elections came and went without much ado, particularly in upmarket colonies. We were blissfully spared the din of past elections as well as the zillions of posters that plastered every available wall space. This was courtesy the new campaigning laws. At best a few leaflets were dumped in mailboxes. However it was another story in densely populated areas as the ones where our centres are located. These areas had their share of loud campaigning, slogan shouting and drum beating. We were treated to several padyatras – at best translated as political walks – where the garlanded candidate walks through lanes and by lanes preceded by drum players and followed by a motley crew. It is quite laughable as one wonders if the site of a heavily garlanded candidate with folded hands and a plastered smile urges one to vote for her/him.

This was also the time when Akash, one of our new students in the special section, went AWOL time and again. When asked the reason for his absence he smiled in his inimitable way and answered quite merrily that he had gone to raise slogans and was paid 200 rs a day to do so. Now Akash is a young mentally challenged adult. He has joined our centre recently. Prior to that he never went to school or any institution and was a free spirit roaming the streets and viewing life with the mind of a six year old. It is people like Akash who are lured by politicians to be a part of the slogan shouting cavalcades. Akash cannot begin to fathom the meaning of elections and democracy. Yet he has a voter’s card and proudly went to exercises his franchise. What a farce!

Anjali another student from the special class went ‘electioneering’ too and earned her 200 rs bounty. She went to vote I presume for the party who enticed her with goodies. It is sad but true that mentally challenged persons have the right to vote but do not have the  right to inherit or even open a bank account. What hypocrites we are. Anyone is a good enough vote bank, particularly of one that is amenable and compliant.

So elections were earning time for our two challenged students.

And in slums, in spite of all the  electoral commission’s diktats it was also party time as booze and snacks were distributed with alacrity and  impunity. This is election India style!