Some astonishing statistics have been in the news lately. Let us start with the 1 crore (100 million) dais for a politician’s daughter’s wedding. Most of the money was spent on flowers imported from faraway lands. What happened to flowers grown in the country? And come to think about it was just a one night stand. The flowers withered the next day and must have simply be swept away. Not to mention the outrageous use of official machinery courtesy you and I. And all this while his party is busy polishing its tarnished image by highlighting its concern for the common man.

But that is not all. What was a bigger shocker to me, though it may not be to others was the cover story of a prestigious weekly entitled: where’s the party tonight? The article is about the new partying habits of urban Indians, the rich of course.  I urge you to read it.Your grandchild turns eight, you bring snow to hot sweltering Chennai. The tag 20 million rupees. Your husband is busy and you are bored, you catch hold of a few friends and take off for some exotic location thousands of miles away. Every thing is good for a celebration and nothing too expensive. Millions to fly international stars, 30 million for a party, 50 000 for a bottle of sparkly. And wedding can now cost two thousand million dollars! Birthday cakes all the way from Paris@ 300 000 Rupees! Mind boggling? Outrageous? Galling? I am speechless.

Please do not think this post is a case of grapes are sour. I do not grudge anyone for spending what they earn honestly. That is your right. I only ask a simple question: where is your conscience as most of the people who are indulging in partying as if it was the last day on earth, rarely reach out to the less privileged. I am sure these people leave their ivory towers and golden gates and even if the windows of their luxury cars are heavily tinted and their eyes shielded by luxury sun shades they see the reality around them. At every red light some child must be tapping at their window; along their speedy travel they must be coming across building sites where malnourished women carry unbearable loads on their heads; and how can they not go by the innumerable shanty towns that exist every where being the only habitat the poor have. Does these not make them stop and think? Does it not disturb them?

In spite of having spent the last 12 years of my life reaching out to the less privileged in every which way possible, my heart still bleeds each time I see a little child holding his hand out. A few days back at  the Nehru Place red light a beautiful little child with light eyes and a heart warming smile came to me. She must have been 6 or 7. In her arms was a tiny baby perhaps a couple of months old. The little girl held out her hand with a smile. Sadly I had no toffees of biscuits in my bag. By then an older child who knows me told her that I never give money. The little girl simply went to the roadside and sat on the curb hugging the baby and smothering it with kisses. I had tears in my eyes. I wanted to whisk the girl and the baby away from this terrible reality but knew it was hopeless. The light turned green and we drove away.

The image of the two children stayed with me throughout the day and a big part of the night. My helplessness vis-a-vis their plight was tormenting. My mind travelled back to the first few days after the creation of the Trust and the very first thought/idea that came into my mind: the beggar children. Way before project why as you all know it when our dream was to try and find a way out of children begging. Our simple but naive idea was to get people of our city to hand out biscuits instead of coins to every beggar knocking at their car window. What was truly troubling was not the beggar children who were quite happy with their biscuit, but the attitude of the likes of you and me who could not see the core issue and how they could help.

After 12 years of having doors banged at my face when I dared seek help for the poor, I am still shocked at the widening gap between the two Indias separated by invisible yet impregnable walls. If the people who spent with alacrity and impunity spared a tiny amount for the less privileged every time they went on a spree, what a difference it would make. Spend. It is your right. You have earned the money but spend with a conscience.

How does one get people to look with their hearts. The pride in the eyes of a child when she hands you an A report card after years of failing is worth any party you can host; the fast steps of one who could not walk or the first coherent word of one who could not speak is worth more than the crores you can ever spend, particularly if these miracles happened because you were there!

When I first dreamt of project why, in the days when I was still a green horn and did not know the reality, I conjured a lovely and enabling space where slum children could come and spend time after (or before school as even after 65 years of freedom our capital city has not been able to build sufficient schools for its children and thus the same building runs 2 shifts a day) school. I envisioned a place where there would be some tutors to ‘help’ with the homework and loads of fun and creative activities. Board games, paint and colours, musical instruments, computers and whatever else a growing child and fancies. In hindsight I was a little like Marie Antoinette when she was told about the people not having bread and quipped: Let them eat cake! (Though it is said that it was another princess who uttered these words). You may wonder why I am using this simile. Well the bread and cake of French royalty are   akin to the studies and extra curricular activities of Indian underprivileged children. How could I offer them extra curricular knowledge when they were no way near getting to terms with their basic studies.

The lovely enabling space had to be sacrificed and replaced by a down to earth school support one. So Project Why became what it is! Creativity was quietly laid to rest or so I thought.

A few days ago an organisation contacted us. Their aim was to promote art and institute an Art programme in pwhy. They asked me to write a proposal in which I was to highlight all the artistic pursuits we had undertaken till date. My first answer was almost a loud None but I held myself back and promised to get them what they needed asap. Time to put the thinking cap on and revisit the recesses of my ageing memory. Quite frankly I was not expecting to find much creative activity. When I think of pwhy I see a multitude of little heads bent over books and looking extremely serious. But then    I had to get over this image and delve deeper. It just took a little time and wonders of wonders a found a real treasure trove. How could I have forgotten the three Annual Days we wad in the first three years of our existence. They were a mine of creativity from the unusual decor made with bits and pieces as we was as always short on funds to the terrific performances.

There were dances choreographed by our staff often inspired by evergreen Bollywood but executed to perfection. There were action songs by the tiny tots in an English taught to them by our Ugandan volunteer Stone and sung with great aplomb in an accent that was almost impossible to fathom where circle sounded like socko! And what about the plays written by the older children with the help of the teachers and touching on issues that disturbed them or felt important to them: importance of education for girls, alcoholism and its effects on families and dowry and bride burning. The play had even got a scene where the young bride was burnt. It took a lot of persuasion to made them change the ending and have the young bride saved by her sister-in-law! Talk of creativity! It was there in ample measure. Oops and how can I forget the piece de resistance of one our Annual days. It was a Bollywood dance but three of our senior boys and had been choreographed by the local Michael Jackson, a young man who had christened himself Michael in hommage to his favourite star.

In our shows every one performed and the most touching item was the one presented by our special children often an action song where all the class was on stage. Sometimes a kid or teacher wanted to sing solo and sometimes it was not quite in tune, but who cared, they were ours and deserved a big hand.

But the the project grew and spread out in different locations. Annual Days were given up as they were a drain on our meagre resources. Stage performances had to be abandoned. But creative activities were insidiously present though not center stage. In each of our locations however all festivals were celebrated and children put up small performances in their class space: dances, folk songs and even little plays. There were two plays in English performed by our Okhla kids and our Khader kids. They may not have been the best but they were unique as they had all been written and produced in-house and were loudly applauded.

My memory is on over drive now and long forgotten things surge from everywhere: the lovely friendship bands the children made with the help of some  volunteers and what about the candles and diyas made by the special children Diwali after Diwali? Are they not creative pursuits? And how can I forget the liters and kilos of paint and paper that have been diligently turned into works of art week after week in each class during drawing hour. True it took a long time to graduate from the mountain/river/sun/tree syndrome that seems to be the preferred theme of all Indian kids but we got some stunning paintings along the way. Should have kept them. And what about the brown paper gift bags with a child’s drawing pasted on it that we made one Xmas. They too were one of a kind.

Oh and I just remembered the lovely hand shaped Xmas decoration made by our special children and hung on their tree. A true treasure.

Our kids have made papier mache masks, terracota objects, bead jewels, finger and vegetable printing, face painting, murals and much more. The special children do face painting once a week and the results are really something!  The Khader children even painted pictures of two fairy tales for a Pantomime in Bedford (UK) and have made many drawings that were used for greeting cards. We have had a dance teacher come and work with the children. Praveen a young student from our Khader centre expressed his desire to learn singing and is now attending regular singing classes sponsored by a friend.

We have also held drawing competitions of specific themes, one of them being pollution. The results were truly impressive.

And that is not all. Some children of Khader and Okhla participated in photo workshops and mastered the art perfectly. They gave us some stunning pictures. I am sure that if I had time to scroll the tens of thousands of pictures I have, I would find more examples of the creative ventures of project why. It is simply that they got forgotten and ignored in the face of the dreaded exams and ensuing studies. We are truly all stars!

I have not seen Oh My God, the recent movie about something that touches all of us: religion! I believe  it shows us how from God lover we have become God fearing and how religion has become a business. I think most of realise this or am I being too optimist?

For the past 2 days, thousands and thousands from all walk of life are fervently washing feet of nine  little girls to mark the end of Durga puja. This is done as a mark of respect of the Goddess the symbol of the purest creative force. There are many interpretations of this ritual but one thing is certain: young girls are meant to be the image of the Goddess. So  they worshipped, venerated, idolized just for the few minutes of a ritual whose meaning everyone had forgotten. Come the said morning and in every Hindu home pressure cookers whistle, potatoes are peeled and cooked into a spicy dish and sweet halwa is eagerly stirred in large woks, flat breads are rolled and deep fried. The food is then served in nine containers and money or gifts as is the fashion now – pencil cases, lunch boxes, hair clips – are added.The feast for the Goddess(es) is ready. Every family has ‘booked’ their goddesses of the day – children of neighbours in slums and shanties, children of those who work for you and so on. The little girls are sat in a row, their feet are washed by all members of the family, then they are given the food and the gifts. Often little girls are seen going from home to home collecting their bounty of the day. It is not every day that girls are feted in India! No wonder project why classes are quasi empty on these days.

The status of women has known many mutations in India. From having equal status to men in ancient India their history has been eventful. It sad to learn that according to a recent study by Reuters India is the “fourth most dangerous country” in the world for women today. And though the are supposed to enjoy equal right to men the reality is different. In a male dominated society women suffer immensely. So is not hypocritical to worship little girls and the next moment forget that they are the image of the Goddess you venerate with so much false piety.

I for one do not wash feet of little girls once a year. I would rather continue in silence the work I do where I worship them in my own way every day by giving them what they need to fight for the rights so many of us have usurped.

To the idiosyncratic remark that stated that 90% of rapes are consensual, there was the added one that rapes are a conspiracy against the ruling party. I cannot begin to imagine where all this will end. But what is reality is that rapes are continuing unabashedly. Yesterday a 50 year old was gang raped by 4 men. For a person of the female sex is do not matter what age you are: 15 months or 50, you still run the risk of being raped. And that is not all, the 62 year old rapist of the 13 year old child is now being shielded by his community by offering the victim’s family money. 35K is the price of innocence.

There is seems to be no justice for the innocent victims. Instead of immediate and punitive actions against the perpetrators, one what sees is shielding the rapist, finding ludicrous explanations ( consensual rape, eating chowmein), blaming the victim (the way she dresses, she drinks, she goes out at night etc) and so on. Everyone is on a single mission: protect the perpetrator! It is time to stop this nonsense. But how? That is the question.

What all the above shows is that in the mind of the law makers, protectors and enforcers rape is a trivial crime where the victim is a much if not more to blame than the perp.

When a little girl is born she has the same rights as her male counterparts. She has the right to live, to laugh, to play, to grow, to study, to work. She has the right to be loved, respected, cared for and protected. She has the right to dream about her morrows and to see them become reality. Sadly in India all these rights are usurped in the name of false honour, false morality and social mores made by a male dominated society. Her life is controlled by a series of males: her father, her brother, her husband and even her sons. She has not much say in anything. Is she steps out of the line drawn by these male relatives she is reigned in and even branded. Her dreams remain dreams shared with no one.

When she hurts or is hurt by anyone, she is far too often held responsible and ordered to step back in line. The extreme instance is rape where the first accusation falls on her: why did she step out, why did she wear ‘revealing’ clothes, why did she stay out late etc. She seems to be the custodian not only of her family’s honour but of the honour of the entire world.

Trivialising rape is the highest insult to women. It is time this stopped!

Today is the first day of Navratri or the nine nights in which we will worship the Goddess Durga .We will worship her in each and every form from the young Kumari, to Parvati to Kali to Lakshmi to Saraswati and along the way we will beseech her to protect us, to give us wealth and prosperity and knowledge and wisdom. We will end our devotion by worshipping nine little girls whose feet we will wash and who will endow with gifts and blessings. The we I refer to here is all of us Hindus, men and women. It is also all those who normally deride and dismiss women, treat them like second class citizens, who rape them with impunity, who use and abuse them without mercy, who even kill them in the womb! The disparity between the way we revere our Goddesses and treat our women every day is glaring.  Is it not hypocritical?

True some of us do not feel or act that way but do we hot keep strangely mum and behave like ostriches when aberrations occur? What right do we have to worship Goddess Durga if we are unable to protect girls and women? Why should she bestow anything on us when we forget once the nine nights have passed that she resides in every woman?

For the next none nights Durga will be adored and worshiped in every way imaginable. On the eight or night day nine little girls will also be worshipped as many will wash their feet as a mark of respect to the Goddess, each one symbolising one of the Goddess. Yet once the festivities over these very little girls will go back to the reality of not being wanted and treated respect and love. Every little girl has the right to ask why she is being worshipped once a year and abused for the rest of time.

I guess I am a believer though I cannot accept to be part of a show that his to say the last hypocritical. I have in days gone by been guilty of falling prey to the lure of ritualism. I guess it had to be a rite of passage, mercifully a short one. I was blessed to have had the privilege of entering a world that may seem alien to many but that brought straight back to reality and showed me the way I sought.

Today I do not go seeking the elusive God I believe in, in temples and faraway pilgrimage sites. I see Her everyday in the eyes of the little children who have been forgotten by all, and yet who open their hearts to anyone fortunate enough to look into their eyes with their hearts.

For the next nine days I will worship all the little project why girls and seek protection, prosperity and wisdom. 

The horror lasted for 3 months. Just trying to imagine what she must have gone through day after day makes my blood run cold. I also cannot fathom what was the tipping point that made her break her silence and tell her father. I must salute the father who believed his child and contacted the police. The rape was confirmed. But the outcome was not what one would expect from a civilised society. The victim was arrested but one wonders for how long but the school authorities and the local political entity decided to expel the child and her sisters!

Yes you read right, the victim, the girl who had been repeatedly raped was thrown out of school. This is justice India style. Hang your head in shame or speak out the choice is yours. But this is a reality and we cannot run away from it. A young rape victim has been denied her right to education because she was raped. How that works is impossible for me to comprehend. Even the warped and skewed logic of a politician who wants us to believe that 90% rapes are consensual cannot be applied here. The victim was 13, the rapist 62. In any law book it is a rape!

My mind travels back some 7 or 8 years when I was faced with a similar situation. In one of our primary classes a girl always sat alone, never next to the others. No one spoke to her. She came and went alone. She was about 12 or 13. When I enquired upon the reason of such behavior I was shocked to hear that she had been raped when she was 3 year old, the rapist was her neighbour. he had been caught and served a sentence and was freed. But the girl had been branded forever. We took matters in hand and ensured that she was accepted by her class mates. I even got her to learn karate and she was a star. Slowly she regained her lost confidence but sadly her mother died and the family moved away. I wonder where she is now. I just hope and pray she is safe.

How long will this terrible injustice last? When will we gather the strength to say enough is enough! I feel so helpless.

Are we responsible for the arrogance of our law makers and rulers is the question any self respecting India should ask him/herself in the wake of the spate of incidents that have occurred in the past 48 hours or so. Let us begin with the premise I hope still holds true. We are a democracy of the people, by the people and for the people. We are the ones who elect our representatives both in Parliament and State Assemblies. These representatives are supposed to protect our interest and  put forth our views. I guess we are all agree on this. So in the best case scenario representatives should be a reflection of who we are and it is our responsibility to ensure that.

However the reality is quite different if we are to go by what happened recently. We are agree that rape is a heinous and loathsome crime. It is a crime against women and girls, the worst form of abuse you can imagine. No a political leader of the ruling party in a State that has seen an unacceptable number of rapes in the past month stated two days back that in 90% of cases rape was consensual! Please explain how rape can be consensual as I am unable to figure this one. The last rape was that of a 6 year old who was lured with a bar of chocolate and raped by three men. Now is accepting a chocolate consent to rape? And what about the 13 MONTH old that was raped yesterday! How can we hope that with such a mentality our politicians will take rape seriously and get the victims justice they deserve and hope for. As I write these words, a Khap Panchayat, read Kangaroo court- is busy discussing lowering marriage age for girls to solve the rape problem. It is never the man’s fault, is it?

Let us move on. Some days back a senior politician and Minister insulted a priestess. The altercation was cost on camera and it was horrific to see how he abused the poor woman and ordered that she be locked up to teach her a lesson. Now Mr Minister there are laws in the land and no one can and should get locked up at the whim and fancy of anyone, let alone a person who can only aspire to the holds without the help of people just like the woman he was abusive to. It is a democracy and not your fiefdom.

But that is not all. You agree that an official needs to do his duty. The duty of a toll tax officer is to collect the toll tax. Now some people are exempted – why is that I do not know – and need to show proof of their identity. If I told you that one such exempted person – a Member of Parliament in the occurrence, the kind of bloke you and I are supposed to put there – chose to jump out of his car gun in hand and threatened to shoot one and all in true John Wayne style. Now wonder what would have happened if you and I had tried that!

And last but not the least, should you not like what an officer is doing and want it done your way, then kidnap him! Yes you read right! That is exactly what another Minister did recently. It is true that he has since resigned, but on the other hand no FIR has been registered against him.

So it seems that when we – and by we I mean voters – elect a representative we give license to shoot his mouth, license to insult and abuse, license to brandish a gun and maybe even kill and license to kidnap. Wow that is something I was not aware of.

But let us come to the main point. We are a democracy and a democracy can only function well when each and everyone of us exercise our right to vote freely and intelligently. We are proud of being a democracy and cherish the freedom it gives us. Then why is it that most of us – so called enlightened electorate – fail to go and vote. I too have been guilty of this crime, for crime it is. We have to accept responsibility and take our role as citizens seriously.

The recent spate of rapes in the state of Haryana – 13 in just one month – have once again brought the extreme vulnerability of women in our country to the fore. It is not just the crime that is heinous and reprehensible. What is more shocking is the reaction of the law makers and keepers. Last week a young sixteen year old girl was gang raped by four men. Not able to bear the shame, she set herself on fire and died. In another case the father of a rape victim committed suicide as we was not getting any justice.

Rape is an abhorrent crime to say the least. What makes it worst in our land is the fact that it is the victim that is put to trial. Some months back following another spate of rape the administration had come up with astonishing prevention measures: women should not be working after 8pm, and should wear appropriate clothes! This time the local village council leader as come up with an even more astounding solution to rape. He feels early marriage would put a stop to rapes.  “I believe this is happening because our youth are being badly influenced by cinema and television. I think that girls should be married at the age of 16, so that they have their husbands for their sexual needs, and they don’t need to go elsewhere. This way rapes will not occur,“. Voila! Rape over! And that is not all, a political leader of the ruling party goes on to call rapes a conspiracy to defame the government. How that works is beyond my comprehension.

The bottom line is that in our country, where Goddesses are worshipped with passion and devotion women and girls are treated with utter contempt. If they are not killed in the womb then what awaits them is a nothing short of hell. As they have been branded as the keeper of the family’s honour they are divested of any form of freedom. Should anything untoward happen, they are the ones to bear the consequences. This is what the recent stories seem to tell. Rape is the worst form of crime where a man or many give themselves the right to use and abuse of a woman’s body. The tragedy in our land is that the onus of the aberration is squarely placed on the shoulders of the victim. They dress wrong, they watch the wrong movies, they have sexual needs that they need to fulfill being the latest accusation. How does all this apply to a minor who has been gang raped is a question begging to be answered.

It is sad that instead of being condemned by one and all, a reprehensible and depraved crime like rape becomes a political issue. I have no words to describe how it makes me feel. The country has a democratic system and an independent judiciary and the law is in the hands of judiciary and nobody else said one leader. We all know how the law works. We all know how humiliating the process is for the victim. Some countries have chemical castration of rapist. Maybe we too should consider that. It is time that women were treated with the respect and dignity they deserve.

How many times have you seen your favourite film? I wonder. Personally I am not a great cine fan and rarely go to the movies. I did once, but cannot remember having seen a film more than 2 or at best 3 times.  Often the extra times were to please a friend and were not my cup a tea. I would have preferred spending the two yours reading. So if I told you that in the past few weeks I have seen a single film so many times that I have lost count you would not believe me. But this I a fact!

Now before I carry on I must admit that this new fad, if I can call it that, is courtesy the new man in my life: Agastya my grandson. This little man has changed my life in more ways than one and managed to make me do things I never dreamt I would. One of them being seeing a movie n times. It all began like this.

One day my husband showed the little fellow bits of Mamma Mia on his computer and the little one got hooked. After that day, every time he was allowed to watch the screen, he wanted to see Mamma Mia. I honestly thought he would get tired of seeing the same movie over and over. No way. So for the past month or more I was treated to Mamma Mia day in and day out. He would get up in the morning and even before saying Good Morning, would turn his endearing eyes to his grandpa and say ” Put Mamma Mia”and if the old man did not comply then he would turn to me and say ” Nana is not putting MM!” So MM it was early morning and MM became our good night song.

But that is not all, in between viewings of MM, I was made to discover other things: Doraemon and Chotta Bheem. I must confess I have never been a cartoon nut even in my younger days but lo and behold grandma had to get hooked on these two cartoons and rather than resist and turn my face around and pick a book, I decided to follow the little leader and watch these shows. I must say rather sheepishly that I got somewhat hooked and found myself following the stories. Utpal watches these shows too and never got me to follow them as the fleeting images I saw as I came in and out of the room were never enough to make me want to sit down and watch. But having to forcibly, well not quite, sit with Agy made me watch and enjoy the episodes. The endearing cat robot  Doraeomon comes or the daring little Chutki became part of my life too. Grandma had to rock!

My little boy flew away yesterday night after a last viewing of Mamma Mia. The house is so empty but my head is ringing with Abba songs. I am missing my little man. May be I should simply go to my room and watch Mamma Mia!

Square foot for square foot your maid’s rent is probably higher then yours. The rents for shanties and jhuggies across the capital have hit the roof. People are paying 30 rs a square foot for flimsy tenements not larger than 10 square feet with no bathroom, kitchen or running water. This fact was revealed in a study by the the School of Planning and Architecture’s (SPA) National Resource Centre.

We have experienced first hand the skyrocketing of rents over the past decade. Ten years ago you could still find a shanty for 500 rupees a month. Today the same space is nothing less than 2000 Rs. And migrants have no option but to rent such jhuggis are rooms in any part of the capital is nothing less than 5000 Rs a month. A poky, windowless room with an apology of a bathroom  goes for 5K in the Govindpuri lane where we are located. And Madanpur Khader village that till recently had rooms @ 1000 a month and provided shelter to migrants is undergoing a mutation. With medical tourism at its height and Apollo Hospital a stone’s throw away, landlords are evicting their poorer tenants, knocking off the old structures and erecting swanky guest houses and service flats for the relatives of long term patients. It is a roaring business with many takers. The erstwhile tenants are now running helter skelter to find alternative accommodation in a city that has none.

We may turn up our noses in disdain and even disgust while passing through a shanty town. We may feel that such aberrations have no place in a city like ours. But have we ever stopped to think as to why this has occurred? And above all do we realise the strong link that binds us to the inhabitants of these shanties. But let us begin with the first statement: how and why have we reached this situation. Have you ever wondered if our city has adequate provisions for housing its poor? Big cities normally have poorer quarters with high rises. We have zilch. Many years back private houses had the ubiquitous servant quarter that were meant to house those working within the premises as well as their family. So your maid husband could be an plumber, electrician, carpenter or simply an employee in a shop. Then slowly the concept of large well constructed servant quarters was transformed as people redid their houses taking in the servant quarter space to make a new flat that could be rented. The servants were relegated to tiny rooms on the roof often with just an asbestos sheet to ward the heat or cold. The room was barely sufficient for one person.

When migrants came to Delhi  many many decades ago they looked for space to live. They often found  some vacant space and erected bamboo poles and a plastic sheet begin with. They knew the space was illegal and so did the authorities. But the later did not evict them as they saw a way of lining their pockets. The poor migrant had no option but to pay. When the numbers grew the political parties started looking at them as potential vote banks they needed to woo. They were given an identity in the  form of a voter’s card and soon became legal! This game carried on. The migrants felt emboldened and the flimsy structures were soon replaced by more concrete ones and then just as the rich did, they too decided to become landlords: roms were built on top of the one they lived in and rented to newcomers. This happened in every slum in the city from the larger ones and even the legal rehabilitation colonies to the tiny ones that often sprung up on small pieces of empty land across the city. These are the rooms that now fetch a hefty rent.

These places house the people who are the backbone of the city and as I said earlier people who are closely linked to us. The ones who carry out repairs or even build our homes, the ones who look after our every day needs and care for our very own, the ones who make our lives a tad easier. Have we ever stopped to think about where our maid  or our plumber lives? I think we should.

The shanties and hovels a large part of the city live in are homes to those who stay in them. I have been always impressed by the care taken in setting them up: the kitchen corner with shelves lined with gleaming utensils, the sole bed that always dons a bright cover, the school bags of the children that hang neatly in another corner and so on. The space is squeaky clean. I have visited many such homes and been warmly welcomed each and every time with smiles and warm cups of delicious tea.

But these living conditions are abysmal and appalling. Any city that expects any of its inhabitants to live in such conditions should hand its head in shame. The surroundings are dirty and often dangerous. Many such homes are build next to factories and often lower than the roads. Many factories discharge their chemical in the open drains where children often play.

It is time something was done for these people and time for the city to embrace its own with the dignity they deserve. But for that the Government would have to build proper housing. I do not think that is about to happen if we are to believe today’s headlines: Government plans to sell surplus land to ease fiscal crunch!

 Six years ago a supporter and friend asked me the following question: Excuse me saying this, but why don’t you sell this house.. imagine how many heart surgeries it would sponsor.  I answered the question then to the best of my ability stating that liquidating an asset, no matter now big was against the essence of pwhy. The question was disturbing to say the least and remained in my mind. Yesterday a very young volunteer asked me a similar question. His was perhaps less direct as he wanted to know whether I felt guilty staying in such a large house after seeing the conditions in which the children of pwhy lived.

Six years later I was on the rack again and though I gave him an answer I hope sounded sincere, I realised the need to address the question once again as I presume it is one that undoubtedly comes to many minds but often remains unsaid. Yes I live in a big house, this is an indubitable fact. The house was built by my parents and being their only child it came to me with a rider though. It was to be in my custody and then revert to my daughters after me. So legally it is not mine! But the question has a deeper meaning that needs to be addressed. I think what people want to know is whether I feel guilty living a privileged life or to put it in kinder words whether pwhy has changed my outlook and directions in life.

I have said loud and clear that for me pwhy is the repayment of  a debt. I realised how privileged I was when I visited my ancestral village in 1983. The village my family hails from is one of the most backward you can imagine. When I visited it it had no proper road access and none of its girls had been to school. Had my ancestor not left this village I too would have been uneducated, married in my teens, grandmother in my thirties. Instead there I was a diplomat’s daughter, smothered in luxury, highly educated and so on. That is when I realised that there had to be a big payback time. What it would be, I did not know then, but that it would happen was certain.

The years went by, but the feeling never left. I carried on with my responsibilities waiting for the opportune time. It dawned in 1998. My parents were gone, my children grown and my wandering the world done for once for all! I was in my late forties and felt it was time to sink roots and redeem my pledge. Pwhy was born.

I did not know what shape it would take. Only time would tell. And somehow from the very moment it too seed, it seemed as if destiny had it all chalked out. Every step was taking me in the right direction. When friends and well wishers tried to put a spoke in the wheel proclaiming that the task at hand was too huge, I retorted that all I wanted to do was change life.

But I am not here to tell the pwhy story. We are talking of guilt. Honestly I do not feel guilty about having a big house. It has been part of the plan. It is something I cannot change so I humbly accept it. But things have changed for me. And the biggest change has been that for the first time in my life I feel complete.

What has changed for me is that I am humbled each and everyday. Humbled by the love and generosity that has come my way, humbled by the miracles I see unfold, humbled by the love I am given in ample measure. 

Every morning my grandson Agastya comes with me to Project Why before setting off to his school. We land up at the gates of the Project roughly the same time as Radhey brings the special kids in his auto rickshaw. And almost every morning Radha is sitting in the rickshaw waiting for someone to pick her up and take her to class. Now Radha sits in the corner that is Agastya’s spot and normally when anyone sits in that corner, Agastya has a tantrum. You see no is meant to take Agastya’s spot be it in the rickshaw, the dining table or any space he has claimed. But strangely when he found Radha sitting in his spot, Agastya said nothing but simply went and sat beside her. He stared at her malformed legs for a long time, questions puzzling his tiny mind but said nothing. He simply gave her a huge smile. A teacher soon came and picked her up. She waved bye bye and Agatya waved back.

As we left the centre he asked me what had happened to her. Now what do you tell a 3 year old. How do you explain osteogenesis imperfecta to a toddler. How do you tell him that it is an incurable condition that will ultimately take the little girl away. So you do your best and simply say she is hurt, badly hurt. That is what I did. She was hurt and could not walk. He accepted my explanation but his face remained serious. I wonder what was going on in his head. After some time he simply said: but she will walk tomorrow.

Oh how I wish these innocent words coming from the mouth of a child could be true. What would we all not give up to see Radha walk. But the sad and bitter reality is that she will not, even the God of lesser beings cannot conjure this miracle.

Every morning as we set off for the centre my darling grandson asks me whether Radha will be there, in his spot. He looks forward to that brief encounter probably knowing without knowing that she special, truly special. And I take comfort in his words: but tomorrow she will walk knowing that that tomorrow will never come.

We will take a few blows, but do not throw us out of school are the chilling words many pwhy students told their teachers last week, a day after the High Court heard a petition on the abysmal plight of the schools they study in. The story goes like this.

For the past months or more children have been regularly complaining of the state of the schools they study in. From lack of basic facilities like toilets and drinking water to cramming of students in classes – in some cases 150 in a class meant for 50 -, from corporal punishment to teachers absenteeism, from broken ceilings to non functioning fans, the complaints were many each more shocking than the other. This was supposedly XXI st century India, the India our rulers would like to showcase as a glitzy and shining land, yet the accounts of these children seemed to be out of a Dickens’s novel. Moved by their concern I decided to get in touch with a lawyer friend known for his social activism. He asked me to bring the kids to his office in the High Court. The children shared their woes and were asked to write them down, get them signed by as many as possible and send them to the lawyer. Days passed and we kept waiting for the children’s letters but none came. Instead we got a litany of excuses. The penny dropped: the children were scared of writing their problems. It was time to act again and empower our kids

I rung the lawyer up and he told me he would come and talk to the children of their rights and organise a postcard campaign where children would be given postcards and would be urged to write their woes. The cards were to be addressed to the Chief Justice, Delhi High Court. So on a bright Sunday morning a post card campaign was organised in our women centre and heaps of children shared their concerns. It was touching to see them write what they had carried for so long in the hope that someone would hear. They has just one wish: to be able to study in the best conditions possible. The post cards were written and handed over and a few days later a petition was filed in court and heard by the Acting Chief Justice. The government was given 4 weeks to file their reply. The voice of voiceless children was finally heard.

But the feeling of achievement was short lived. The next day itself the furore of the school fell on these kids. A sample letter was written of the blackboard for all to copy. The letter said that an NGO – us I guess! – had plied them with toffees and biscuits and ‘forced’ them to write these letters. Some older kids were even beaten resulting in them saying: We will take a few blows, but do not throw us out of school ! The fear of being cut off the rolls loomed large.

We will take a few blows, but do not throw us out of school  are words one must ponder on as they reveal how much these children want their education. In spite of the fact that corporal punishment is against the law, they are willing to take some blows as long as they remain in school. The scare of being thrown out of school is used and abused by their teachers. They know they hold a trump card however unjust. I cannot but remember the young girl I found many years ago crying on her home from school. When I asked her what happened she told me had been beaten by her teacher. When I asked her why she replied she did not know. And how can I forget the secondary boys’s answer to my question: what would you change in your school? I would have bet my last rupee that their answer would be: we would stop the beating. Imagine my schock when they said: we would tell the child the reason for which he was receiving a beating. Acceptance of beating without reason is nothing short of scary. And nothing has changed over the past 12 years. Kids are still being beaten in schools and have simply learnt to accept it. How would this translate in their adulthood is question begging to be asked.

The state of Government run schools has deteriorated over the years. This is sad but true. If one side of the spectrum has witnessed a proliferation of private schools of all shades and hue, the other has to live with degradation and decay. One wonders why as the State runs perfectly good schools like the Central Schools. Why then is not each and every school of the same as calibre as Central schools?

Today we are a city that prides itself of having an Ice Bar and Jimmy Choo and Louis Vuitton outlets. But in this very city an innumerable amount of bright and innocent children are being denied their right to a good education, the only way they could better their morrows. Is it no time to do something for them!

“Have the people stopped eating and drinking because of the drought?” is what an MLA on a junket said in his defence. Thirteen such MLAs are on a South American spree, many with their spouses and you and I are paying for it! Another MLA defended himself with these words: “There has been enough rain in my constituency and farmers are busy cultivating crops. Due to the recent rainfall, our canals are full and plantations are lush. So, I am rid of all guilt.” The cost per legislator is 600 000 Rs and on their way back they have a two day shopping stop in West Asia. These are the people WE elect to represent our needs and issues. I guess we bear some of the responsibility. The crassness of their remarks is nothing short of shocking. The study tour of course consists of Tango classes, a lesson in Mayan culture at Machu Pichu and discovering the Copacabana beach! All this whilst those who elected are busy surviving

This is one story.

There is another which is even more insensitive. At the London paralympics our athletes do not have coaches or escorts living with them in the village but officials and their wives/daughters are enjoying their stay in the games village! A wheelchair bound athlete needs an escort to help him gets dressed, go to the toilet and get ready for the event. But our officials do not understand that or should I say do not give two hoots. We all know how the disabled are treated in our country. I guess the paralympics are just one more option for regular junkets and not really an apportunity for brave athletes.

In a country where 5000 children die every day of malnutrition do we need to pay for junkets for our elected representatives and officials. A question that needs to be answered but who will?

The Human Development Report of 2011 states that Gujarat is the worst among the high per-capita states in the country in fighting malnutrition. The state is placed even below Orissa, Uttar Pradesh, West Bengal and Assam. That the CM of such a state chooses to trivialise the issue of malnutrition is appalling, distressing and totally unacceptable. Malnutrition is not a lifestyle issue in India but a terrible failure of all concerned and something we that should make our heads hang in shame. The Gujarat statistics are nothing to be proud of: 41% children underweight, 55% women anemic! That the CM wants the world to believe that this is due to vegetarianism or beauty consciousness is sickening.

5000 children die every day of malnutrition! They are all under 5 and in no way beauty or figure conscious. The 415 underweight children of the state do not have the luxury of refusing a glass of milk. They never get any!

No Chief Minister or any other political or administrative person has the right to pooh pooh malnutrition. Malnutrition is undoubtedly something every self respecting Indian should be ashamed of.

 At the recently held convocation of IIT Bombay the Prime Minsiter said that “his heart is pained” by the high cut-offs for college admissions. “We are placing limits on opportunities for our youth,” he said. I agree one hundred per cent!

Yet there is another statistics I wish our honourable PM also looked. I am referring to the abysmally low figure needed to pass an examination, and particularly the class XII Boards. It is just thirty three percent! You will be surprised to know that in some Government schools the curriculum is not completed because as I was candidly told by a school principal: all they need is 33% we cover 40% of the curriculum. I was to say the least speechless. So you need over 90% to accede to a good and affordable university education but all you need is 33% to pass your secondary school examination.

The equation is skewed and incomprehensible. The only ‘logical’ explanation seems to be that is that University education is not for the poor. Le me elucidate. A first generation learner is often the child of poor illiterate or semi literate parents. She or he has no option but to study in a state run school. The state run school often offers second class education and with the no fail policy till class VII the child goes from class to class till class VIII! Then many of them muddle through and can manage a secondary school certificate with 33%. Not an impossible task as she/he is a master at learning by rote and has access to a plethora of badly written guide books that do the job. Now armed with the precious certificate the student does not have many options is she or he wants to go for further studies. The 90%+ institutions are closed to her. The private institutions are out of their reach. Study aboard is an impossibility. The student may get admission in an evening course or a correspondence or distance course but these are of little value.

33% does not even give you the possibility to apply for a job as most of them ask a minimum of 50%. Your parents who do not comprehend the meaning and importance of marks are baffled at the fact that the education they gave you at great sacrifice and with great hope is not opening the doors they hoped for. What is so frustating is that that majority of these kids CAN do well if given the chance. For the past 12 years a few hours at pwhy has enabled many of these kids to get marks in the 70s and even 80s. But even those are not enough to get a good college education.

So Mr Prime Minister you should only be pained at the cut off marks for admission in higher education institutions but shocked at the abysmally low pass marks your system adheres to. I know that everyone in the country cannot aspire to higher education but the very Right to Education that you have given to all the children of India should at least help them break the cycle of poverty in which they were born. And talking of shocking figures why is it that this very RTE stops at the age of 14 when a child is nowhere finishing his school even if he or she is bright and talented. So 14 is another figure that should pain you. Your system does not even grant her/him the right to complete school. Moreover with the poor quality of education offered this fourteen year  old has few doors open to her/him.

Your speech sounds very rosy and hopeful when you state: Our government has opened new IITs, new IIMs and new institutions for teaching and research in the sciences. We have increased investment in school education. We have increased scholarships for the disadvantaged sections of our society. We have set up new institutions in different parts of the country so that our children can get the best education available closer home. The ground reality is something else! The new IIMs and IITs are again for the the chosen few.

As stated earlier, higher education is not for everyone. But at the same time opportunities should be given to one and all. At present the school education we are giving is worthless. It cannot give any job opportunity. In some countries skill are imparted at an early stage and students can opt for a school leaving format that introduces the candidate to the work environment whilst still in school. The Bac en Alternance offered in France has the student working for part of the week and studying in school for the remaining days. So a student interested in catering would be working in a kitchen for 3 days and studying for the remaining 3. Once he or she has passed the final examination the student can apply for a apprenticeship in the chosen field and work her/his way up. A wide range of options are open to her/him. Skills like plumbing, electrical work, carpentry, beautician, stitching and tailoring etc should be introduced early so that at the end of school the student is ready for employment. Unless some such option is created education in India will remain useless and futile.

So there many statistics that should disturb anyone who holds the interest of children at heart, specially the PM.

 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..

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!

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!