Got a call from a dear uncle with whom we often exchange ideas and sagacity I respect. He wanted to know my opinion about the RTE stipulation on reservation of 25% seats for underprivileged children. This was  favourite turf for which I had a ready diatribe. But wisdom prevailed and before launching my harangue I decided to ask why he was asking such a question. The reply I got was expected. The upmarket school his granddaughter went to had raised the already astronomical fees by 15% to meet the new RTE regulation. Now this family is not amongst the ones unabashedly mentioned by our minister in an interview defending the 25% reservation. When asked whether an increase in school fees would not be a burden on parents he quipped  90 per cent of them can pay more then 10 times the fee, that they pay for their children. I wonder which world he lives in or which parents he is referring to. The truth is that many parents scrape the barrel to send their children to better schools and this happens across the board.

Last week the coordinator of our women centre informed me that there were fewer admissions in primary classes amongst boys this year. The reason: boys are being sent to local private schools that run in the morning unlike the government schools that run in the afternoon for boys. These parents are poor and barely make two ends meet but they still want to try and give a better education to their sons. One does not have to be a rocket scientist to figure out that a class with 80+ kids and no amenities cannot impart proper education. (Needless to say girls, on the other hand, attend government schools and we have waiting lists for admission at our centre!) These parents pay fees ranging from 300 to 500 rupees a month for their sons and are not the ones that can pay ten times more as suggested by our esteemed minister. Any increase in fees would be impossible to bear. And why should they take on the responsibilities of the state. Come to think about it they are having to pay these schools because state run schools are not up to the mark. How can you study under a tent, without furniture and in a class of 80 when roll call takes the better part of the allotted time. Come to think no one should be made to pay for the inefficiency of the government. Every child born in India has the right to free and equitable education. The RTE is an absolute mess. One poor kid will land in an uber rich school, another in a small local teaching shop and yet another in a tented municipal school. Is this equitable education for all. Not in my book at least!

The minister also admitted that when the RTE was being formulated, there was a section of civil society that thought that all school should be nationalised, in other words there should be no private schools. I say kudos to them  because this is the only way to give fair and equitable education to ALL! Needless to say this was rejected. And not for the reason any honest person would  come up with but because it hits where it hurts. Too many well paced beings are making money hand over fists in education which is a very lucrative business as demand will always exceed supply even if we are talking of 10% of households. Let us not forget that for 90% the only option is state run schools even after children belonging to disadvantaged groups and weaker sections obtain 25% of the seats in preschool in private schools every year.

But coming back to my uncle and his question. What could I say but that this was expected in spite of the assurances of the minister who stated that public schools should tap corporations who are committed to corporate social responsibilities. Ha! Ha! No school is going to do that. It is not an easy task. No sir, the schools will tap the most vulnerable: ie the parents of existing students who will ultimately succumb as it is a matter of their child’s future. I do not think this is in the spirit of the constitutional right to free and equitable education.

In what is called a landmark judgement the Supreme Court has upheld the constitutional validity of the right to education (RTE) act. Actually what was being challenged by petitioners was the constitutional validity of the RTE law that requires private schools to earmark 25 percent seats for poorer students. The petitioners were, needless to say, public and private schools. The judgement is being lauded by many activists as a historical one. Wow now children from underprivileged homes will be able to access the best of schools. What an achievement! Or is it?

Let us not celebrate to soon. I would like to share some of my concerns which are in fact quite disturbing. The Right to Education Act provides for free and compulsory education of equitable quality to all children of the age of six to fourteen years.This right is now enshrined in the Constitution and thus it becomes the duty to the state to provide free and compulsory education of equitable quality to all children in India privileged and underprivileged. In an ideal situation the state should run schools that provide free education of equitable quality in every neighbourhood across the land.

Now the new RTE Act with is rather absurd reservation of 25% seats in all schools has been heralded as the panacea for all ills. However in a state like Delhi around 9000 poor children will benefit from this, for the rest the poorly run Government schools will have to do as nothing pertains to their up gradation in the new bill. In all the euphoria following the ‘landmark’ judgement one tends to forget the dissenting order of one of the judges. Justice Radhakrishnan said the duty was entirely on the government to establish sufficient number of neighbourhood schools. Sadly his voice went unheard.

So according to this new RET Bill a handful of students will enter the hallowed ground of goes by the name of public schools in India and encompasses the uber rich school with its AC classes and marble hallways to the small local public school that barely has a ground for the children to play in. The fees of these schools range from a paltry 500 Rs to a whopping 10K per month! It is true that schools with limited facilities have been told to up grade them in a given span of time or face derecognition and/or closure. What we may actually see is the closure of many such schools and thus less privileged seats for the under privileged.Oops I forgot to mention that the government would pay private schools a monthly amount for the poor children ranging from 500 to 1500Rs. Needless to say the schools are up in arms and wondering where the missing numbers would come from. The option that jumps to mind is the increase of fees thus passing the burden to parents of ‘rich’ children. This is terribly unfair as many middle class parents scrap the barel to send their children to a good school.

I was amazed and shocked at the suggestions proffered by our Minister in a recent interview. When questionned on the issue of funds for the disadvantaged children pat came the answer: If they have their surpluses or reserves, may be part of that can be spent here. But if not that then you have many corporations who are committed to corporate social responsibilities with 2 per cent of their entire turn over for corporate responsibility. So now profit making schools stand be in line with NGOs to seek corporate funding. The whole interview is subject for a Marx movie. Do read it. The gem is: the government is in no financial position, to ensure high quality education to all our children in government school alone. We have a right to equitable education but the government is shirking from its duty to give every child this right.

Anyway let us carry on and put this whole nightmare into context. In India 20% children go to private school, the remaining 80 attend government schools or not school at all. The Bill does not do much fro the 80% except offering them 25% seats in the schools the 20% go to. Mind boggling to say the least. Try and work out the maths. I can’t! Anyway the 25 of 20% are supposedly open to all the 80%. To put this in perspective a school in Delhi received 1500 applications fro 20 reserved seats. So 1480 kids who should have got good education will have no option go to a government school. Now let us for the sake of argument imagine the school life of little Mina, one of the 20! Her parents live in a one room slum tenement, a room shared by her parents and 4 siblings. Mina is a bright kid but her parents are illiterate. She goes to a swanky school but comes home to a hell hole. Now who will help her with her homework, her school projects etc. Her classmates have access to parents, tutors, Internet et al. She does not even have a table to study on. Now let us say she overcomes every hurdle – a miracle in itself – and reaches the age of 14, what happens to her? Who pays her fees? I cannot even begin to imagine the options.

Now the remaining 1480 kids will have to go to a government school. I would like to share some data that brings to light the sad reality of the state of education in our country, and thus the options open to our 1480 kids:

Only 53% of habitation have a primary school.
Only 20% of habitation have a secondary school.
On an average an upper primary school is 3 km away in 22% of areas under habitations.
In nearly 60% of schools, there are less than two teachers to teach Classes I to V.
On an average, there are less than three teachers per primary school. They have to manage classes from I to V every day.
1 in 40, primary school in India is conducted in open spaces or tents, let alone furniture or fans..

This is a reality, and not just in remote villages but in our very own city. Even furniture, if any, is not the right size. This is what the Government has to offer in the name of equitable education. A sad joke played on voiceless children. With the State passing the buck for some and giving up on others, the right to equitable education seems nothing short of a chimera.

It is not that the State is incapable of running a good educational institution. Look at the Central Schools or the Navyug schools. They are wonderful and enabling centres of learning. This is what every government  school  should strive to be. The half baked education on offer is not acceptable. Once again the Government has proved that they thrive on reservation policies and are masters at conjuring new ‘castes’ for want of a better word. Now poor children will not only have a religion and a social caste but will acquire the new label of being or not being in a private school. And this division is unique as it may even apply to the same family! I am flabbergasted at hearing the Minister call this approach an inclusive one. Why then is inclusion reserved to a small minority of underprivileged children.

Coming back to how the private schools will manage the financials of having to accommodate 25% underprivileged children  and whether they would pass the burden to the parents, our Minister retorted  90 per cent can give 10 times the fee that they are paying. I think he was referring to the uber rich. Or perhaps our Minister has not got his facts right. There are many parents who scrape the barrel to put their children in good public schools. Many underprivileged parents also put their children in smaller public schools by tightening their belt till it hurts. I do not know which 90% the minister is referring to.

The RTE in its present form will not bring about equitable education to all the children of India. It is only when the Government finds itself in the financial position to upgrade all school to the required level that the children of India can hope to be educated.

The case of a severely undernourished three year old abandoned by her grandmother in a hospital  brings up the spectre of malnutrition. One can never repeat enough the ignominious statistic that should make us hang our heads in shame: 5013 children die every day of malnutrition related causes. Every day, that is 3 children every minute. While we sip our morning tea 3 children would have died. Just take a minute to ponder about this. Each time I do I get goose bumps and my blood runs cold. Every single day: 5000 children that is more than 5 times the number of children in project why!

What prompted to right this post was a recent expose in Tehelka magazine entitled: The raja who stole from the poor. Do read it! It is nothing short of shocking. What was stolen is food meant for the poor. The loot was conservatively estimated at 200 000 crores. One crore is 10 million rupees! It is mind boggling to say the least. The spoils were shared by the usual nexus: politicians and bureaucrats. The grains meant for the poor are sold on the open market or smuggled to neighbouring countries. We all know corruption exists in our country and exists big time but the idea of food for the poor being hijacked in this manner is nothing short of galling. And yet even with the cat out of the bag we all know nothing is going to happen. Maybe a lull in nefarious activities till the dust settles and new ways of plundering are devised.

I guess for things to change it is civil society that will have to take up the cudgels and move from its present catatonia. But will we. The children who die are too remote for us to be truly touched. All the programmes meant to alleviate hunger are far too often hijacked. That is the sad reality in India. We have great programmes but poor implementation. Programmes  become means to line pockets. Had the ICDS (integrated child development scheme) worked, no one below 30 would have been malnourished, but just visit any balwadis (creche) run under its ageis in the city and you will know that it has been set up not for the benefit of children but as a moneymaking and political gratification tool.

Let me once again share some statistics as I feel that it is only by repeating ad nauseum the stark reality that we may perhaps give up our immobility and act: 43.5% of children are underweight; 50% of children’s death are attributed to malnutrition, 46 per cent of all children below the age of three are too small for their age, 47 per cent are underweight and at least 16 per cent are wasted;  anaemia affects 74 per cent of children under the age of three, more than 90 per cent of adolescent girls and 50 per cent of women; non availability of food seems to be the major cause of malnutrition. In India more than 5 million children die every year as a direct or indirect result of malnutrition. That translates into one child death every 10 seconds. ONE CHILD EVERY 10 SECONDS. Do we realise what this means. Ten seconds is the time taken to type 3 words, take a sip of tea, walk a few steps. And each time we do any of these one child dies quietly, just another statistic.

On the other side of the invisible wall dustbins and garbage dumps are filled with edible stuff, plates are unfinished in parties and eating places. And that is not all: every year food grain rots in the open for want of storage space. What is even sadder is that eve in slums food is thrown with impunity as if throwing food was an essential step in social mobility. I always shudder at the amount of food that lies on the streets after the regular religious feeding frenzies that dot the year.

Our Prime Minister called malnutrition deaths a national shame. I guess it was only lip service as nothing seems to have changed. 5000 children still die everyday. What will it take to change things?

Enough is enough. It is time to set the record straight and teach the basics of genetics to men in India and maybe elsewhere too! It is time to put a stop at the suffering of women accused of the impossible and blamed for not having sons. It is time people learnt the facts of X and Y! I mean chromosomes. A woman was strangled to death for giving birth to a daughter. She was strangled by her husband of 10 years because she had yet again produced a daughter. It is time this bloke and others like him been told that actually HE was responsible for the child’s gender, he and he alone. His poor wife did not have what is needed to make the child a son. The required Y!

It is time Governments the world over, organisations and family planning programmes launched Project Y. One cannot begin to imagine women are abused, slandered, vilified, taunted, repudiated and now even murdered for not giving birth to a son, as if they had they were responsible for the same. Let us not forget the millions of little girls who are killed before they are born and after. Little Afreen is just a poignant reminder of this cruel and horrific fact. What makes it all more incomprehensible and puzzling is that this happens in the very land that celebrates Goddesses with alacrity and misplaced fervor.

And don’t live under the false impression that such behaviour is only seen in villages or urban slums. It is all pervading though the taunts may be subtler as one moves up the social echelon. Girl foeticide is rampant is middle class India where money easily subverts loose laws. There are sufficient medical practitioners willing to perform sex determinations tests for the right amount of gold. And what is worse is the absolute denial of genetic laws by so called educated people. I remember an instance when an educated person whose son had produced a second daughter and who I was trying to ‘educate’ promptly retorted: My son can do no wrong! Read ‘wrong’ as be responsible for the gender of his child. Come on! On what planet are we living. And what is it that makes us hate girls so much. It seems like we have lost our bearings completely. Would strongly recommend you see Manish Jha’s disturbing film Matrubhoomi: A Nation Without Women to visualise this reality. The film won many international awards but needless to say barely ran in Indian theaters. I guess no one wants to see reality when it is thrown at us, it is just too disquieting.

I still wonder why the X/Y story is not screamed for every rooftop. It should be. As were it to be many women would be freed from age long pain and distress and men would see themselves in another light. If men were to understand that they are the ones responsible for determining the sex of a child would they still kill their daughters? It is a million dollar question but one worth addressing.

I have been putting off writing this post for a long time but it is time I do, as much for myself as for all those who shared my dream and supported it. Sadly this dream did not become reality. I am talking of Planet Why, the guest house with a difference that would have allowed project why attain sustainability. Many of you do not know how far we went in our dream.

Planet Why was to be a green guest house with 23 rooms. Solar energy, recycled water, geothermal cooling and heating, you name it, we had it. A beautiful building in red bricks – no need of yearly painting just a good scrub needed – designed in Laurie Baker’s  inimitable style and sound principles, made it a delight for the senses and the heart. Juxtaposed to the guest house and separated by an open air amphitheatre was the children centre a haven for differently abled persons and women in critical situations. The centre also had the capacity to house a foray of activities for children of local deprived communities. Planet why would have also been a training ground for project why alumni in a wide range of skills.

 We dared to dream and dream big. The Fates did seem to be on our side. True there were some small hiccups but we were able to find and purchase a lovely plot of land. In spite of our lack of business acumen we came up with a plan that was validated by internationally renowned professionals. We meticulously budgeted for all our needs to the smallest spoon or saucer. A beautiful architectural model was designed by an eminent architect. All that was needed were the funds and even here we seemed to be on track as an investor promised us the needed amount. Even the most sceptics amongst us were on cloud nine! The dream was bound to become reality!

Alas that was not to be. The investor backed out suddenly about a year ago. I knew at that moment that the dream was dead but held on hoping against hope that a miracle would happen. But as days became months I knew the miracle was not to be. Planet Why would not happen and it was time to lay it to rest serenely and stop looking back.

However the failure of such a sound and beautiful project has left me quite disturbed. I cannot stop beating myself and wondering if and where I did go wrong. I cannot hide myself behind investors who reneged. The bottom line is that I was unable to raise the needed funds. From day one, fund raising has been my responsibility and I was unable to fulfill it at the most crucial juncture of project why. Perhaps it is because of my having chosen to become a social recluse for reasons I once found sound. Had I continued being the good spouse and accompanied my better half to the innumerable soirees he is invited to, I may have met more people with heavy wallets who could have extended help. So many ‘mays’ and coulds’ make one wonder if that was really the way to go. Given the past record of such individuals when approached for tiny sums, I do not think my pleas, however impassioned, would have made them loosen their purse strings. Perhaps my failure comes from my not having been pro active enough and depended on others. There may be some truth in this and I do not have much to say in my defence and anyway the harm is done and one cannot turn the clock back. I will have to bear the cross of this failure for times to come as I know that we will never have a sustainability option as wondrous as planet why.

Before I end this post allow me to dream a little and share with you what Planet Why was meant to be.

The building on the left side of the picture above is the Planet Why Guest house. It has 23 rooms, each one being decorated in a minimalist and functional style reflecting the rich heritage of India. Each room is wheel chair friendly. The building is eco friendly and has very little carbon emission. On the ground floor is the reception manned by Preeti, a physically challenged young girl who has a smile to die for. A small lounge and coffee shop would serves wholesome organic breakfast to the guests and meals can be ordered in advance. Airport pick up is ensured and handled by well trained project why alumni who double up as enthusiastic guided ready to make you discover the real India. An efficient housekeeping team consisting of challenged persons, project why alumni and local residents under the watchful eye of seasoned professionals ensures that the place is spotless.


The right side building is what we call the ‘children and women centre’. It is home to Preeti and many of her physically and mentally challenged friends. A place where they work, laugh, and live together. It is also home to women in distress who come for a short or longer time to rebuild their broken lives. But that is not all. The centre offers a host of activities for local children and women based on the successful project why model: after school support, computer classes, creative activities, tailoring, beauty classes and more. It is always buzzing with activity. Special workshops are also held for project why alumni in order to get them ready for the outside world. 

In the kitchen professionals and trainees are busy preparing meals for the residents. They also make mouth watering pastries and delicious breads they have learnt from a French baker during a workshop. These are sold to regular clients across the city as a means of supplementary income.


. Guests can also learn Hindi and Bollywood dancing.

Planet Why is a no profit organisation that support project why activities.

That is what Planet Why was meant to be. You can imagine how difficult is is to let go of the dream.

If you are born a girl in India nothing can prepare you for what you may endure. You see no one wants girls. So in the very first months of your life, instead of hearing soothing lullabies and being rocked to sleep, instead of tender caresses and loving words you may be burnt, bitten, bashed, smothered and even killed. Ask little Afreen just 3 months old who succumbed to the ignominious treatment metered to her by very one who gave her life. Her crime: to be born a girl. The perpetrator: her own father. The motive: his desire for a son. No one wants little girls. If they are not killed in the womb itself they are likely to be brutalised, abandoned, unwanted, ill treated, abused, traded and always reminded of the fact that they are a burden.

But another tragedy counterpoints Afreen’s. The silence of her mother who watched her baby being tortured by her husband for three long months. Afreen’s mom is just 19 and in a country where women are too swiftly shifted from their parental homes to the husband’s with a one way ticket the options were few, silence being the easiest. The alternative was unthinkable. Where would she go? It  is only when the child was almost moribund that she found her voice. But it was too late for Afreen.

The plight of little girls in India is disturbing. Last week we were ‘treated’ to three shocking cases in a single news item: a baby girl left at a busy bus stop, she was barely 3 days old; a severely malnourished 3 year old girl abandoned in a hospital and a custody battle for a girl child born in a hospital but not accepted by her own mother! This is the tip of the iceberg, the few cased that have made it to the headlines. Little girls are unwanted. They are more likely to die then their male counterparts. A girl child aged between 1 and 5 years in our country is 75% more likely to die than a boy. A girl child does not get fed the same way as her male sibling, does not get the same support for education. She is often a second class citizen in her own home. Little girls are unwanted. That is the sad reality in a land where Goddesses are revered and worshiped. Little girls are not.

 It is time we did something. Simply watching such news items and clucking sympathetically is not enough. I wonder if such news items make it to page 3 parties. I do not think so. And the reason is that these little unwanted girls are born on the other side of the fence. How can we be so heartless? These little girls are voiceless and need us to lend them our voice, to take up the cudgels for them, to fight for their right to LIVE with dignity and love. What is the use of our so called education if we cannot find compassion?As long as we remain silent such aberrations will continue. It is time many mindsets were straightened the first one being the fact that women are responsible for gender determination. You will be surprised by the number of people, even supposedly educated ones,  who believe that men have no role in determining the sex of the child. Millions of women are repudiated for the simple fact that they are unable to bear sons. But women do not have the much sought after X chromosome. I wonder why family planning programmes never highlight this reality. Were they to do so, many women would be freed from terrible pain. It is also time that the importance of girls in society is given prominence. I find it impossible to understand why little girls are not viewed as potential wives and thus mothers. The very men who hurt little girls have mothers.

Come to think of it the real problem is as always money. Our society has instituted a form of marriage where the girl’s family bears the brunt of all expense from the dowry to the actual marriage festivities. Were we to turn the situation on its head and have the boy’s family bear the financial burden would little boys be done away with? But jokes apart maybe it is time to bring some balance in wedding celebrations that have become not only outrageous but galling. Why can marriages not be simple affairs and not business transactions where the boy and girl becomes commodities. Maybe we as educated people should take the lead. But will we?

Will the death of little Afreen open our eyes? Or have we mastered the art of looking away to perfection? Only time will tell.

gifts of the heart

It is said that your 60th birthday is a special event. I do not know what this really means but mine was truly an exceptional and unforgettable one! Would you believe me if I told you that it dawned with the news of the passing away of the father of a dear friend. Many would say it was a bad augur. But quite the contrary. The demise in question was excepted and the true crowning of a well lived and happy life. It was a beautiful death. It was also a gentle reminder of its inevitability and of the indubitable fact that our time is limited and hence we would be wiser to spend it in gratitude and not waste it in unnecessary pursuits. So the morning began by paying respect to the departed soul. It was an intense moment but a powerful one.

Then it was party time. And what a party! It began with a visit of the office where the staff had decided to celebrate big: balloons (yes for the old biddy) and streamers and when I sat on my chair and the fan was switched on petals fell on me. Wow I had never been showered with flowers. Then a cake, home made and delicious and my first set of gifts. Before I go on I would like a little aside to unravel the mystery of the picture you see on this blog. These are my most precious gifts. In front you can see a strange contraption with an old picture of Utpal. Well that is gift that Utpal made for me before he left for school. Utpal loves makings things from anything he finds so this is an assembly of an old CD, some thermacol box, a lot of glitter and an old picture of his. It is a pure marvel as he spent hours finding things, putting them together, breaking and remaking it till he was satisfied. And then before he left he brought it to my office and gave it to me with a huge hug. Needless to say it occupies centerstage in my office. The bouquet is not one bought from a flower vendor. It is the gift from the Okhla kids and each flower has been painstakingly hand made. I do not know how long it took, but I am overwhelmed by the gesture. The cards are precious too: one was made by the special kids and everyone of them signed it and the other by the tiny tots of the creche.

But where was I? I think at the first cake of the day as there was one more shared with the special children where we had more flowers and heartwarming hugs. The next stop was the women centre was there was yet another cake. It was here that I also had a mind blowing experience. I was distributing sweets to the children when I asked the tiny class I and II ones what they thought my age was. Fifteen said one! I shook my head with a smile and promptly another one who thought his pal had been politically incorrect jumped up and said ten! I laughed and told them I was sixty. You should have seen their faces, somehow sixty seemed too far fetched and one of the boys put both his hand on his face and said Bap re bap which I guess is best translated as Oh my God! I guess to them sixty was way beyond their imagination and belief!

After all the project why festivities and all the wonderful gifts I came home. Shamika and Rani had planned a party for the evening and the kitchen was out of bounds to me. Now this was a new situation as I am quite the control freak when it comes to parties in my home. Feeling a little lost I decided to treat myself to some retail therapy. It was nice to spend time just ambling around. Not finding anything I came home and decided to open my computer and answer some mails. Here again another surprise. Hundreds of birthday messages on FB. For one who has been an only child growing up in nomadic manner and having few friends it was a joy. People from the world over finding time to write such nice words to someone who has always been private and now almost a social recluse it was indeed a wow moment. I was overwhelmed. I realised with a smile that I was at least not a virtual troglodyte.

Evening came and I spent more time than usual getting ready. I knew some of the people that were coming but the girls had another one up their sleeve. They had managed to shepherd the whole project why Board, even the ones that lives thousands of miles away. Could I have asked for more! The meal was out of this world and I was speechless. A beautiful table, food to die for. Shamika and Rani had surpassed even me! Time to retire old girl! The night ended in laughter, reminiscences and plans for the future. For that blessed moment everything seemed possible.

It took me long to get to sleep. Too many sensations to process. When I woke up I knew everything would be allright.

Thank you for the best day in my life.

Oh and how can I forget the special song via skype that my darling grandson had composed for me and the most unexpected phone call from Utpal who had managed to convince his warden to allow him to wish me a happy birthday.

I could not have been a better birthday.

 OK so I turn sixty in a day! I go to sleep Tuesday and on Wednesday morning I enter a new decade. Well this has happened many times in the past but this one is loaded. I am supposed to become a senior citizen and if I am to go by an article in the front page of today’s newspaper I become part of they grey brigade where women are supposed to take the lead. What awaits me if I am to go by the article is a host of terrible things ranging from depression, to fractures, to hypertension, to loss of hearing and God only knows what else. I somehow refuse to accept all these labels. I am no spring chicken but I am no doddering fool either. I am just one year older.

I must confess that the body has been sending messages now and then: the bones creak a little and the gait has slowed down but the mind is as agile as ever, even more so as it imbibes new things every minute. I still read three books a week, having even mastered the art of reading in a moving auto rickshaw – you should try it as it makes the ride less nerve wrecking – and above all run my project 24/7. So all this talk of senior citizenship leaves me cold. I am who I was yesterday and who I will be tomorrow.

But six zero is a nice round figure to perhaps take stock of one’s life, give one’s self the well deserved pat on the back or rap on the knuckles before moving on. It still gives you time to correct your errors and make amends. So let me get off the spinning wheel for a bit and look back at the twenty one thousand nine hundred days I have walked this earth. If I were to think of one word to sum my existence I would chose the word serendipity. My life has been full of good fortune and happy coincidences. Be it the years spent with doting parents as a child or the years growing up in different places soaking various cultures and flavours, be it the years spent at my mom’s knee learning about the land of my ancestors or those shared with a passionate father absorbing foreign traditions and ways. I was fortunate enough to treat all my senses to the widest and wildest feast imaginable counterpointed by unforgettable lessons in humility and compassion. That did give me a head start.

The ensuing years were again serendipitous. Be it love or career it all worked perfectly. True there were some hiccups but they were all part of the game. Everything seemed on course. Lovely children, more travels, what more could I hope for. But there was more though it came at a price. The loss of my parents left me rudderless and lost. For a few years I locked myself and lost the key but then serendipity struck again and a fortuitous encounter transformed my existence. Manu seared my soul and gave meaning to a life that till that moment has seemed plentiful. My learning was still incomplete, actually come to think of if, it appeared rather paltry. It was time to put everything to test. Would I pass the test life was throwing my way.

I did give it my best shot. The outcome was the setting up and nurturing of project why. When I look back at the last decade of my life I feel humbled and elated at the same time. My life wich seemed at the brink of despair following the loss of my parents acquired a whole new meaning. Loneliness that had threatened to devour me was replaced by abundant love that came my way by sheer magic. With it also came new challenges and responsibilities. In the eyes of Manu and all the other children he brought into my life I saw immense love but also hope and dreams, dreams that looked impossible, dreams I had to conjure. Every day henceforth saw the realisation of these dreams, tiny ones at first: meals and a bed for Manu, report cards with good grades, exams passed with flying colours. I do not know when the dreams became mine and thus more ambitious: a home for Manu, more report cards and successful exams, a home for women in distress. Was I becoming hubristic. I do not know. Nothing seemed impossible.

So we embarked on an expansion mission 40 kids became 100, 400.. there was a brief moment when we touched 1000! Thank heaven we had a guardian angel who brought us back in line courtesy a few gentle and not so gentle blows. Those were hard times: the labour court, backstabbing and slandering, encounters with political and slum lords. But we survived, a little bruised but somewhat wiser. Slowly all the dreams seem to actualise as we opened our women centre and our residential programme for disabled children.

Along the way came more challenges. Our first open heart surgery case. But the Gods were smiling and we managed to repair 18 broken hearts. And how can I forget Utpal and Mehar, two little Angels whose destiny necessitated a cruel baptism by fire. Today their bodies are healed and they are busy making up for lost time and reclaiming their childhood. And with them six other extremely deprived children are learning at the speed of light in a little boarding school.

It all seemed perfect as we moved from day to day feeling almost invincible. But the future loomed large and one had to start thinking of project why without me at the helm. We came up with the idea of planet why – a guest house with a difference! It seemed perfect: it would bring in funds and free us from the daily panhandling, it would allow our alumni to learn skills and above all it would be a home for Manu.

 A few hiccups later we had our land and a sound validated business plan. I was on cloud nine as we even had a potential donor. But then the house of cards came tumbling down. Manu left this world leaving me stunned and the donor vanished. Our further attempts came to nought. In normal circumstances I would have been devastated but somehow this time I took the blow standing.

A new word had surreptitiously entered my life, one that I could have never appropriated earlier: serenity! I had never found myself using this word earlier but did, while answering a question from a dear friend. When she asked me how things were, I answered: serene. That is when I realised I had matured and mellowed. Gone were the hysterics and histrionics, the obsessive drive that characterised me till then. In its place acceptance of reality and the need to review, ponder and come up with another solution, one that need not be over the top or dazzling. This where I stand now and that is perhaps the only new adjective I am willing to add to my life as I enter a new decade.

I know it will be serene.

Today I went to the CWC aka Child Welfare Committee aka the Children’s Court. These committees were set up post 2000. They have the final authority to dispose of cases for the care, protection, treatment, development and rehabilitation of  children as well as to provide for their basic needs and human rights. That it took independent India over sixty years to enact legislation to protect children speaks for itself. The CWC came into our lives when we sought help to get Utpal freed from the clutches of his greedy and uncaring family. After long deliberations the CWC in its wisdom decided that Utpal would be under the care of the boarding school during school times and under my care during the holidays. I was declared person deemed fit to look after his interest. A wearisome procedure was set in place: a letter had to be produced by us before each school break and then the CWC issued an order allowing Utpal to stay at home, then the child had to be produced in court each and every time and finally a letter had to be given after the child had been dropped to school. This is done 4 to 5 times a year. For us it is just an irksome bit of extra paper work but for Utpal it is quite stressing and unpleasant. Poor boy hates it.

I almost thought of trying to plead with the CWC to waive this appearance but then decided not to because come to think about it they are just protecting the child, and every child in India needs protection. Were I not to have Utpal appear in court once I had the necessary papers what stopped me from withdrawing him for school and having him work at home. The papers are replete of cases of minors working in homes of educated people. The latest case being that of a 13 year old being locked in a flat while her employers, both doctors, went holidaying in Bangkok. But that is not all: the child was made to do gruelling work and was beaten and abused if she faltered. They even had a CCTV to keep check on her! This inhumane treatment had been going on for two years. The child was just 11 when she began working for these monsters. It appears that the child was just fed twice a day. One would have thought that educated persons would behave otherwise but sadly that is not the case. What is worse is that all the sectiosn mentioned in the FIR are bailable and the monster couple is likely to get away with this as is always the case. Another case made it to the newspapers last week: it was about yet another child employed by yet another doctor and abused with impunity.

Children are meant to be precious yet we have mastered the art of ill treating them. Little Pari was abandoned in a train. The impish child is now in an orphanage waiting for a  new life. And how can we forget little Falak who suffered the worst kind of abuse and finally died after battling for over two months. And these are not exceptions. Every day children are kidnapped, traded, used, used and abused. True it does not happen to OUR children so we do not give a hoot. Yet these are not invisible children. A conservative estimate of child labour is 14 million children under the age of 14. How many of us would take the cudgels for a child? Not many is the sad answer. We see children begging at traffic lights, children working in tea shops and even children working in neighbours and friends homes. But we remain mute spectators or worst roll out our window and hand over a coin. It is time we did something. There are laws in place. It is time we saw they were implemented.

The CWC acts on information that comes their way. In spite of our apathetic and cynical attitude to institutions they actually work. Utpal’s case is ample proof. Children are reunited with their families, rescued from nightmarish conditions and above all protected.

So I will stop grumbling about Utpal’s court appearances. I know it if for his own good.

What did you do during your holidays is a question that many will ask their buddies when school reopens nest week. The answers one can safely conjure could be: when to the movies, to the mall, to Mac D’s, to visit friends, family and so on. Well two young souls will have quite a different story to tell. Utpal and Kiran spent their holidays teaching project why children. True that these two have practically grown in the project but they also are regular kids who like their outings, their treats and everything children their age revel in, but they also have a huge heart and oodles of compassion.

Utpal turned 10 last week. When back from school he lives at home as decreed by the court. So he comes to the project every day and spends time teaching the little creche children. He invents games for them, helps them colour, teaches them their alphabet and numbers. And he does all this with a smile and for the whole day. It is only in the evenings and on Sundays that he does boy things like riding his cycle, playing with his toys or going to the park. What an incredible bloke!

Kiran his childhood pal is all grown up and a very serious 11 year old. She spends her holidays with her very special pals in the very special section. Actually even when she was a tiny tot she preferred being in this class rather than the creche. These holidays she took became the computer teacher of her special pals. By the way they range in age from 6 to 46! She takes each child and makes them discover the intricacies of the virtual world. No easy task as some cannot hear or speak, others can barely hold the mouse and yet others can barely comprehend things. But Kiran is an exceptional young lady and she takes on every challenge with patience and compassion.

School opens in two days and we will miss our little teachers. And when there friends asked that what they did in the holidays they can proudly saw: we made a difference!

He is all of 10! Has it really been 9 years since this little bundle of joy entered my life. Time has really flown past. Utpal celebrated his 10th birthday in school last week. We will do so on Friday when many of his old pals will be there. By old pals I mean those who have stood by him in all his trials and tribulations and boy he has had more than his share.

It was on Holi 9 years ago that he fell in a boiling pot and his life was transformed forever. Had he not had this ‘baptism by fire’ his life would have been very different. I often find myself wondering what his life would have been had he not fallen in that bubbling cauldron. At best he would have been going to a government school and coming to project why in the mornings. At worst, knowing what his parents were like, he may have been working in a tea shop or simply roaming the streets. But the God of Lesser Beings had other plans.

Utpal’s life changed the day he came back from hospital swathed in bandages practically moribund. It took one look and not only the little one year old’s life changed the fifty year old biddy’s too! The following years could be qualified as ‘combat’ years.  First it was the fight to get the burnt boy back on his feet, the daily agonising dressing of his wound to the sound of Mozart that seemed to soothe the little one, the quotidian chicken broth lovingly prepared at home that he gulped hungrily; the innumerable toys bought to cheer him up as he lay in a cot in my office. This was a fight we won hands down as he gained strength by the minute. Soon the bandages came off leaving ugly scars. But we knew they would heal. And then he starated walking and was soon a student of our creche. I cannot tell you how eager I was to get to work every morning and see his darling face. He had as you may have guessed, walked into my heart.

As Utpal’s life unfolded new battles began. The first one was the offensive against the bottle. His parents were both die hard alkies and though I did not much care about the surrogate father, I wanted to give back to Utpal a recovered mom. The first step was to give her a job and we did but the adversary was too strong. I remember the days she came drunk and we had to send her back; the days when I decided to pay the family a home visit and saw little Utpal running on his pudgy legs to hide the remains of the night’s revelry. I remember the days when the little fellow told me with a serious face that his mom had been ‘naughty’ again, his word for drinking. I remember the day when he told me that his new motorcycle, a gift for hsi 4th birthday had gone. It had been sold for a few bottles of hooch. And I can never forget the day I was told that men had come to their home and while one stayed back with the mom, the other took Utpal out for a ‘walk’. That day I knew that we had to change battle plans. I spent the night browsing the net for a rehab centre and also for a boarding school for the tiny brave heart. This battle was also won as I found both. The mom was checked into rehab and Utpal would go to school the coming July. I felt on cloud nine and started conjuring grandiose dreams: the mom would be in recovery and we we would give her a home and a job at our newly opened women centre – guess one of the reasons for the centre was Utpal’s mom – Utpal would spend his holidays with his mom and life would follow on an even keel. How naive I was was soon to be revealed.

Whilst Utpal, in spite of his young age, took to his new life like a fish to water, the mom was another story. To sum it up swiftly let me just say that we went through three rehabs, a stay at the psychiatric hospital as she was discovered to be bipolar, harrowing times when all hell broke loose. The end came when she decided to revert to her old life and rejoin her drinking partner. The following months were nothing short of a nightmare: when Utpal came from school his parents would turn predators using the child to extort money for their beloved bottle. Utpal was in pain and I a mess. We both prayed for his return to school and for sanity. The battle was slipping out of our hands.

This is when we decided to seek the help of the law and to my delight the experience I had dreaded was rather easy and comforting. It did require a few visits to the children’s court that were not pleasant particularly for Utpal who had to make the tough decision to choose between his mom and us. He did. He chose us. The paper work was completed and I was declared ‘person deemed fit’ to care for him. It was a battle won but only time would tell the price at which the victory came.

We again believed that all was in the bag and we could resume our lives but that was not to be. Utpal’s mom who realised that she had no more to gain simply vanished leaving a little boy bewildered, hurt and confused.  Unable to express his feelings he regressed and withdrew. His grades fell and his behaviour became impossible. He turned aggressive, non compliant, demanding. It was pure hell. He refused to engage in any conversation or share his feelings. It was time to act. We first sought the help of a psychologist but the initial sessions were nothing short of a nightmare. We had to move a step further and seek the help of a child psychiatrist. We did. It was a miracle. He was put on mild medication and more sessions with the psychologist. Slowly things fell in place and once again the little boy I had fallen in love with re-emerged from the dark clouds he had hidden behind. Today Utpal is once again whole. Some questions still need to be addressed but I know the answers will be found.

Utpal’s first ten years on this planet have been tumultuous and traumatic. I truly admire him for having withstood them with courage and fortitude. He now enters the second decade of his life as I enter my seventh. At the end of this decade he will be a man. I wonder whether I will be around to see him become one. I would so like to but that is not in my hands. Today as he sleeps in my home I can only pray to the Gods of all Pantheons to walk with him and guide him. He is a blessed child: the child of none and all. 

My grandson has moved thousands of miles away but he is with me in my bedroom twice a day: early morning and again in the evening. Who cares if everything is a little topsy turvy as it is morning here and evening there and we get mixed up on the good mornings and good evenings so sticks to Namaste or Manaste using Agastya’s language! Sitting on my bed I can see him getting ready, eating breakfast or dinner, prancing about his home. Last week he was on his potty and on hearing my voice shouted: bring Nani here! His mom obliged and took the laptop to the loo. Come to think about it barring the fact that I cannot hug and cuddle him, I have my darling boy with me. This is the magic of the wireless Internet.

Rewind to time when we were in Prague and the children were 10 and 4. My parents lived in the very house where I carry my daily virtual love affair with Agastya but things were different. In those days the only way grandparents connected with grandchildren were letters and the special day phone call which were more of a screaming session where nothing much was said. On festivals, birthdays and anniversaries after carefully calculating time differences one ‘booked’ a call. Then one could do nothing but wait and it could take any amount of time. When the phone rang the operator went through the motions of stating your number, asking if you had booked a call and then eventually connecting you. By the time every one had said their hellos, and it could take some time, the conversation would be interrupted by the operator with an annoying: 3 minutes over, do you want to extend.  Needless to say you promptly said yes, but somehow the flow was broken and one ended up having a dissatisfying conversation that often ended with a: I will write to you. In between phone days your time was spent writing letters and waiting for the postman.

Rewind to times when I was a child and lived with my parents away from India. Then the connection with grandparents was letters brought by the diplomatic pouch once a week. Letters my mother read to me. The only think I remember vividly was that my Nani wrote in red ink. When I was big enough to write, I too wrote my weekly letter to my Nani under my mother’s supervision. My Nani passed away when I was six years old. My memories of her are from the one visit to her home when I was 4. Earlier than that I was too young to have any memories. But somehow in those short two months she smothered me with enough love to last a lifetime.

Many may have issues with the net, but for this Nani it is God sent!

Industries in which very heavy types of raw material are used are known as heavy industry. This is not a joke! This is the definition of heavy industry as it appears in the class VIII book of the Punjab School Education Board. God help the children of India as this is not the only aberration one finds in text books across the land. A recent article in a weekly tells how schools are becoming laboratories of disaster in which children are being fed not just inaccurate information but also politically coloured rendition of reality.

The examples given in the said article are numerous, each more preposterous than the other: from to historical bloopers, grammatical slip ups and glaring omissions making a history professor call the text books disabling ones and state that they (the students) would be better off not reading such books. These text books are published by state education boards and used by the poorest students.

In the same magazine is another article by an eminent educationist entitled: the primary crime. It is not, as one may construe from the title, a write up on murder or theft. The article recounts the sorry state of primary teachers in our country. The author states quite justifiably that primary teaching is the last resort in the quest for employment. And all primary teachers have only one objective in mind: to move up. A nation’s economic and social well being depends on the quality of its pre-primary and primary education. Alas that is not the case in India. Primary teachers are often the least paid and the least respected. In certain states primary classes were taught by para teachers with fancy names – shiksha mitra, guruji, vidya volunteers – who were often paid a fraction of what the regular salary. This drama has been going on for a decade resulting in a whole generation of children with poor literacy and numeric skills.  And now to meet the new student teacher  ratio of 1.30 that is supposedly to be implemented by 2013 states have resorted to distance mode teaching. One can only imagine the results of such an enterprise. It is time we restored the dignity of the primary school teacher.

I wonder how each one of us who belong to a ‘certain’ strata of society would react if our daughter decided to marry a primary school teacher! We all know the answer. On the other hand we have had over the last decade volunteers from many parts of the planet studying in top institutions who want to be primary school teachers. One such volunteer is a Rhodes Scholar! But I cannot in my wildest dream conjure any of the young off springs of family and ‘friends’ deciding to become primary school teachers! It is sad as good primary teachers are the need of the hour. Imagine the difference it would make to the life of a slum child if her teacher was one of us. Dream on Anou!

The Right to Education took an incredibly long time to legislate. But how can the children of India aspire to quality education if there are no quality teachers. If nothing is done to set up enabling infrastructure, correct and accurate text books and train caring and motivated teachers willing to take on the challenge of educating the poorest of the poor, then the Right to Education will simply be another meaningless peace of legislation.

Note: the articles referred to in this blog appeared in India Today (March 19th). I was unable to find them on the Internet.

Baby Falak is no more. She died late last night of a cardiac arrest. Her story is heart wrenching. She fought for two long months in the hope that we could and would hear the silent cries of the countless abused children of India. She fought relentlessly to give a voice to those who are never heard. But her valiant battle went unheard. Just a few days back another little girl, just 5 tiny years old, was brutally abused and then murdered.

I am relieved that the God of Lesser beings took mercy on this little Angel and took her away. This place was not for her. This place is not for vulnerable little girls. This place is not worthy of little girls. It is a land where Goddesses are worshiped but little girls unwanted from the day they are born. It is a land that has become inured to the plight of girls who continue to be used and abused, their silent and helping cries falling on deaf ears. It is a land where victims are made treated as culprits in subtle and insidious ways.

Today’s front page headline describes how the young mother raped by seven spends her days at the police station without being questioned. “I have to go there daily, sit around. People stare at me, but that’s all right. They give me tea. In the evening, I have to sign a register and then I can go. Why don’t they ask me anything?” she quietly states. Why is she treated with such insensitivity? Why are all women who have been hurt treated in such uncaring and cruel ways. How long will it take for things to change. I have no answers and cannot believe in miracles.

Farewell baby Falak. You deserve a better place. Please forgive us for all the pain and hurt our callous world sent your way,

Rest in peace.

A young mother got gang raped by seven men on her way back from work late at night. She was traveling back in a cab with her younger brother when her cab was stopped and she was pulled out, forced into another car, taken to a flat, raped repeatedly and then ‘dropped’ at a metro station. This is not a movie script it is a sad reality that we have almost become inured to, as we have to a host of aberrations that plague our society.

I cannot begin to imagine the pain and hurt of that poor woman. The ‘investigation’ is in process and it seems that some have even be arrested. I only hope they are not let out and pay for their crime but this seems like wishful thinking. Anyway, that is not the point of this blog. What made me see red was a comment made by a senior cop. The woman had stated that she worked in a pub. However the cop in question was quick to retort that she was not employed by the pub but worked as a “help” for single men enter the “couples only” pub. My question is: did that make her ‘rape material’ in the eyes of the law. God only knows what circumstances made this young mother step out from her home and work late hours. Whatever it is did not give her the right to be raped!

It is now common practice to blame the victim for any crime against women. It is always what she wears, where she goes, the hours she keeps that are brandished as causes for her being molested, abused, assaulted, groped, raped and even murdered. Her clothes are too revealing, her hair is too short, she is drinking, she has too much make up, she is out too late and so on. What is revolting is that it is always the supposed guardians of law that come up with these aberrations. No wonder they are not really interested in bringing the culprits to book.

I did not take long for my thoughts to be super vindicated  as today’s headlines screamed : Don’t work after 8pm, Gurgaon tells women! So here it is, the solution our administrators and law keepers have come up with. Malls, shop keepers, pub owners have been told not to employ women after 8pm and have absolved themselves of all responsibility just like Pontius Pilate. In cases of rape, molestation et al women are the problem. This is unacceptable and offensive. How long are men going to treat us as objects, slaves, commodities to be treated with utter contempt and disrespect. We need to be told what to do, what to wear, where to go, the list is endless.

The constitution gives us equal rights and we are in our entitled to exercise them all. The state has to provide us the enabling and safe environment to enjoy all the freedoms enshrined in our constitution in the same manner men do. As I have always said I am not a rabid women libber but at this moment I am outraged and rightly so!

It has been a long time since I have written about project why! I guess it is a case of the proverbial ‘no news is good news’. However I think it is time I shared the comings and goings of pwhy with everyone who has made this incredible journey a reality. So where does one begin is the question. I will just follow my heart  to give you a glimpse of the comings and goings of pwhy.

It is exam time and almost all our primary and secondary children in all our centres are busy writing the dreaded end of year examinations. The last month was dedicated to revisions and extra study. All centres had mock tests and put in extra hours to brush up what was still a tad hazy. We now have our fingers crossed and hope all our children will do well. Exams are normally scheduled post lunch and children even come on exam morning to get tips from their teachers and a last minute dose of encouragement and morale boosting. I must admit that we too are as nervous as them. As I said it is exam time for one and all!

The tiny ones too are busy studying. Fifteen of them will now move to a regular school so they are brushing up their letters and numbers and learning their colours and shapes to prepare for their entry in class I. But it is not all work and no play. Lots of time is still spent on singing and dancing and learning new gamed. Watching these kids is always pure joy.

The special section is buzzing with activity. Weaving had been introduced in the class and the older students are busy mastering this art. If all goes well we may even consider marketing their product in the future. We have also begun baking classes an all time favourite. The children have learnt how to make scrumptious cookies and cakes.  Maybe some we will be able to run a small bakery manned by these very special children We have also begun computer classes for the special children. It is an activity they all love! Last month the special class went for an outing to Lodhi Gardens. For many it was the very first time they stepped out of their limited world. They lolled in the sun, played in the grass and for a few moments forgot their dreary existence.

Our computer centres are running well. We have introduced 3D animation courses that are very popular. Some students have finished their courses and got their certificates and new students have been enrolled. Thanks to some generous friends we have purchases 2 new computers and will thus be able to take more students.

Our vocational classes for women are in full swing. The stitching and tailoring class is doing well. Some ladies completed their course and one of them found employment in an export house. Beauty classes are also doing well and helping extremely deprived women to find work and become financially independent. One of our old students has even opened her very own beauty parlour. Way to go!

Last but not the least our boarding school kids are also busy with their final examinations. They will be coming home for their annual break in two weeks and then will go back to their new class. Their last report cards were excellent as always and we hope their final result is the same.

Today over 700 children and 80 women benefit from our presence. All this could not have been possible without the help and support of our friends and well wishers. A big thank you to all!

A friend sent me a link to an article. It is entitled: barefoot – the other side of life! Do read it. It brings to light many of the issues I have ranted about time and again. Two friends both Indians, both from swanky US universities decided to come home and do something meaningful. Nothing new you would say as many do that. But wait a little and read on. To understand the plight of an average Indian – sorry the cliche – they decided to live like an average Indian. After some computing they decided to live @ 100 Rs a day! Their journey is documented here. Hardly a day went by during the past month, in which we didn’t think of food sums up their experience. But that is not where they stopped. They decided to place the bar higher and live on 32 Rs a day which is the official poverty line.The experience was harrowing but an eye opener for these two young men.

Their experience with poverty raised many disturbing  questions. I would like to share their words that echo much of what I have always felt: “It disturbs us to spend money on most of the things that we now consider excesses. Do we really need that hair product or that branded cologne? Is dining out at expensive restaurants necessary for a happy weekend? At a larger level, do we deserve all the riches we have around us? Is it just plain luck that we were born into circumstances that allowed us to build a life of comfort? What makes the other half any less deserving of many of these material possessions, (which many of us consider essential) or, more importantly, tools for self-development (education) or self-preservation (healthcare)? We don’t know the answers to these questions. But we do know the feeling of guilt that is with us now. Guilt that is compounded by the love and generosity we got from people who live on the other side, despite their tough lives. We may have treated them as strangers all our lives, but they surely didn’t treat us as that way…”

 What they learnt was that hunger can make you angry. That a food law which guarantees adequate nutrition to all is essential. That poverty does not allow you to realise even modest dreams. And above all  that empathy is essential for democracy.

I am speechless for more reasons than one. First I must salute these young men as they have walked the talk in every way possible. Theirs is not the political drama of spending a night or sharing a meal in a poor home or a reality show that makes a mockery of poverty and makes one see red. It is not page 3 chatter post the success of slumdog millionaire. I cannot help myself recalling that Q&A, as the book was entitled by its author did not sell as well as the reprint bearing the Hollywood title! No these young men were not playing to the gallery. They lived as they had set out to eating some rice and a banana a day and walking miles to reach their destination. I really wish our politicians, law makers, potential donors did the same even for a few days. I guess it would change them forever and in the bargain make the world a better place.

I too have felt guilt and somehow it is that guilt that made me move from the comfort of my home to yet unknown pastures and discover things I never would have. And just like these young men I too felt the warmth and generosity of what we dismissively refer to as the poor.  No matter where you went, which home you entered, who you met you never felt an outsider. Something very alien for us who live in a world where we often do not even know your neighbour.

Crossing the divide has been the best thing that happened to me. I feel humbled and blessed.

Today is Shivratri. Millions of devotees will pour millions of gallons of milk on Shiv Lingas across the country. I have always found the ritual of pouring milk over stone deities deplorable particularly in a land where millions go to bed hungry every night and thousands of children die of malnutrition every day. 5013 to be exact. This is no exaggeration, it is the sad reality substantiated by cold and harsh statistics. Nothing to be proud of. And the milk devotees will pour today will find its way to a gutter.

A Facebook messages urges us to offer only a tablespoon of milk on the Shiv ling. In India 1000’s of children die of malnutrition, donate the milk to children and gain blessing from their families. I could not agree more. I am a Hindu and proud of being one, but I also feel that my religion gives me the flexibility of interpreting rituals with sagacity and keeping in mind the reality I live in. So if I am asked to offer milk on this blessed day then it could be a teaspoon or even a drop or why not just touch the packet to the deity and then give it to one of the innumerable children that crowd the lanes of temples. I am sure God will approve and send the sought blessing.

My mind goes back to the teachings of Ramaksrishna so lovingly taught to me by my father. Ramakrishna coined the term  daridra-narayana, God in the form of the poor, and asked us to serve Him: ‘Where should you go to seek God—are not all the poor, the miserable, the weak, Gods? Why not worship them first?’ And what better way then by giving the milk we earmarked for a stone deity to the first hungry child we come across.

It is time our rituals got revisited. The situation in our country is alarming: 42% of all the underweight children in the world live in India. 5000 children die every day due to preventable diseases and about 47% of adolescent girls in India are undernourished. Keeping this in mind waste of food of any kind is unacceptable be it the honey and milk of our religious rituals, the waste at weddings and other celebrations or the grains rotting in the open. True we can blame the government for not having sufficient silos or for not implementing pertinent legislation but the buck does not stop there. We as a nation are also responsible and must do our bit. Perhaps we could start today by donating the milk pledged to lord Shiva to hungry children who are the true image of God.

This picture was sent to me this morning. Look at it well. The picture was taken in a Government run school in, hold your breath: Delhi! You may recall the fact many schools are bereft of desks. This school is not. But the desks provided to the little ones are too big so the poor dears have to study standing!

This is yet another aberration doled out by our  rulers. One wonders why they always get it so wrong. It is a known fact that many state run schools are in an abysmal condition. The only asset they have is a piece of prime property. I guess someone did get it right once upon a time. But then it all fell apart. Instead of enabling buildings many schools are still run in ramshackle tents that barely protect the children from the vagaries of the weather. Then if building there is then these are often poorly maintained. The loos have no doors. The classrooms have no bulbs and so on. Then comes the furniture. Many schools have children sitting and learning on the floor.

One hoped that if furniture was provided it would be at the least fit to be used. Alas the picture above shows you the sad reality: desks that are far too high for small children and with such desks who needs chairs. The kids can learn standing. While I can still see the logic of children sitting in the floor and learning- we do that at project why- I can not begin to comprehend how anybody can think of children learning while standing at their desk. One would have thought that had the desk been wrongly made, the school authorities would reject them rather than put them to use as we see in the snapshot. I presume a carpenter could have solved the issue for a few rupees.

Such an absurd situation makes one see red I agree but also raises many questions. Do those in authority not care about the education of poor children as seems evident? Poor children have no voice and neither do their parents. Try doing this in an upmarket school and see what happens. Is the Right to Education only for a chosen few? Seems so as no one cares about the condition of state run schools, particularly those in the poorer areas of the city. Schools should be centres of excellence where a child can learn and grow and carve her/his future. With such desks it almost seems as if someone is playing a cruel joke on innocent souls.

Strange but gender bias has hit me hard. Perhaps it was because of a recent invitation urging women to ‘look pretty‘. I must confess it did bring the point home. I was in combat mode. The anger had barely subsided when another aberration was heard on the news. Women demand mobile phones, they are not demanding toilets stated our esteemed Environment Minister. Now what does that mean, I guess only a man can enlighten me. Needless to say the women activists are up in arms. The polemic will be fun to watch! I will just say that I cannot see what phones and toilets have in common. Beats me.

However gender bias raised its ugly head in another way altogether. I was asked by a funder to provide details about the number of children we had at project why. I asked my staff to give me the latest figures and was astonished to see that at the women centre the number of boys in the primary sections had fallen. This was very surprising and led me to ask the coordinator why this happened. The answer was most astonishing. It seemed that parents were enrolling their sons in private schools. These ran in the morning and hence the boys had stopped coming to the project. The schools in question were what I call teaching shops that have mushroomed all over the city, particularly in less privileged areas. They run in small buildings but boast grandiose names like ‘Rose Valley’, ‘English Academy’, ‘Sundar Public school’, ‘SK Convent’ etc, each stating that they are ‘English medium public school’. My forays into some of the them revealed that English was barely spoken by principal and staff. The fees in these schools range from 300 to 500 a month. The parents who are eager to send their sons to such schools are reluctant to send their daughters to the English stream of government schools for reasons better known to them.

Public school is the name private schools go by in India. The lure of these public schools was first brought to light by Kiran in the most candid way possible when she asked me whether my daughter had been to one! Kiran now studies in a swank public school. Her admission was nothing short of a nightmare.  Kiran is also the one who told me last week that there were only 10 girls in her class though the number of boys was 35. In her matter of fact way she added: parents send their boys to better schools. Yes you are right darling child this is a sad reality that cuts across society. Boys get a better deal. Girls have to fight every step of the way. Time we did something!

My mind went on overdrive. How could anyone write such a thing? In spite of women having conquered every field imaginable with success, what mattered was whether they were pretty or not. And what does pretty mean: well dressed, well groomed, well proportioned? I do not know and do not care because my canons of beauty are quite different. But I am digressing. Let us come back to the main issue: gender insensitivity.

Gender bias is rampant in our society; why else would we mourn the birth of a daughter and celebrate that of a son. I can never forget how the film Matrubhoomi was shunned by one and all and what disturbing questions it raised. When I did manage to see it I felt physically sick just as I had after viewing Leaving Las Vegas. You and I may not realise it but being a girl is a curse in large parts of our society. A girl is unwanted in the very land she is worshiped in. We even fall so low as to kill her in the womb if we can. Statistics are proof of this. And if she is allowed to live, she is never made to forget that she is only a girl. We see this every day in our work. Girls are not fed the same as their male siblings, their schools fees are not paid, they are never send for tuition and as soon as they are old enough, their childhood is hijacked and they become mother’s little helpers. When they grow they are married to someone and their role widened: cook, clean but also produce children and preferably a boy. I still cannot understand why family planning programmes do not include awareness on gender determination which is the sole prerogative of the man. How many women are abused for not giving birth to a son! It is time the equations were set right but how is the question. We are trying to do this every day but it is not easy task as we need to deal with deeply seated mindsets.

One would have thought that things were different across the fence. But the words on the invite proved me wrong. In high society too women have their role defined: in the present occurrence to be pretty. True money has freed us from the cooking and cleaning roles. In lieu we have been given a new avatar that of looking good. How many girls suffer for not meeting the standards. The growth of the slimming industry is proof of that. The new credo is cosmetic surgery and Botox mornings that have surreptitiously replaced the Tupperware ones. The look pretty industry is on the rise.

I am not one of the burn the bra brigade. I like my femininity and am proud of it. To be a woman is a wonderful journey I would never trade. Yet I am a person first with hear and brains and would like to be respected for that. I guess I speak for many.

Valentine Day has never meant much to me. I have not been one to be swayed by hearts and red roses. I have fond memories of making cards for my father as a little girl but that is where it ended.  The rank commercialisation of the event has led me to shun it and to me 14 February is simply another day. Quite frankly I had even forgotten today was St Vs! On the other hand though I do not quite understand the hype attached to the day, I feel indulgent towards the young ones who celebrate it and let us not forget the flower vendors who make a killing. Celebrating love can do no harm.

As usual I came to my office in the wee hours of the morning and switched my computer. A quick check of my inbox and then a browse on FB. There was a comment addressed to me that read:  reading your book. was an absolute delight. Thank you so much for penning it and teaching me so much as I read through the letters. I was pleasantly surprised as it had been some time any one had mentioned Dear Popples let alone write about it. I clicked on the link provided and stumbled upon a write up entitled: coffee, a book and some love. I read on and was overwhelmed to see a review of Dear Popples the book I had written a couple of years back. It was a perfect Valentine treat as Dear P is a love story written with abundant love. Revisiting it made my day special.

The author of the article has summed up better than I could ever do the essence of  this book: Dear Popples is a favorite evening ritual, reading, re-reading and understanding. It helps me imagine a future for love, selflessness and happiness. It shows me the importance of being human, and understanding that every child is a miracle born with dreams. It awakens me to the beauty of growing up, and guides you with a motherly compassion: an ageless whisper urging you to make a difference, to bring a smile, to join hands. Thank you Lakshmi.

I browsed the thousands of images of Popples I have and selected this one. I must admit this heart sways me.

If you wish to read dear Popples you can order it here. And should you read it and enjoy it do let me know.

We heard some terrible news. Meher’s father is on his death bed. Too many years of drinking hooch have had their toll on him. He is in his village and everyone has given up hope. He wants to see Meher one last time and in a few hours Meher will make the journey to bid farewell to her dad. I cannot begin to imagine what she will go through. Children have their won way of dealing with tragedy and pain. She has had more than her share.

My mind leaps back to the moment she came into my life almost four years ago. On that fateful day she walked into my heart. There was no looking back. A road map was made for her: plastic surgery to give her back her hands and then a sound education to ensure that in spite of her scars she can craft her destiny. I knew that once again it was the God of Lesser beings at work as everything fell in place. A set of protagonists appeared on cue and Meher took her first steps in a new life, far removed from the dark hole in which she lived and the garbage dumps she searched for food. Post surgery it was time for school and that day too dawned. Meher has now been studying in a boarding school for the past two years and will be promoted to class II in April.

Meher kept her side of the deal to a T. She bore all the pain of her complex surgeries that lasted over a year like a champ. Then she took to her school like a fish to water walking in every heart that came her way and bringing back exceptional report cards. We were on cloud nine. Till yesterday when the news of her father’s condition was broken to us.

As I write these words someone has left to fetch her from school and in a few hours she will board a train that will take her to her father’s death bed. My heart goes out to her. I know she will need all our love and compassion when she gets back. Till then all I can beseech you all to do is say a little prayer for her.

Little Falak is still battling for her life, her battered body stubbornly fighting infections and fevers. She is holding on as the sinister series of events that brought her to this scary hospital bed enfolds. She is holding on as best she can so that we hear the silent and desperate cries of little girls like her. She was born in the deadliest place in the world for a girl child. I do not say that; the mighty and credible UN does. When the Fates wrote her destiny they must have conspired to alter it a little. It was time said the Parcae to give a voice to the suffering little girls of India. Falak’s life was to be a mission. Is she an Angel of God.

In all likelihood she was battered by her present minder. In her case a 14 year old whose life seems to nothing short of a horror tale. When we first heard baby Falak’s story everyone wanted the person who had committed such atrocities punished in the worst way imaginable. I would like you to hold your verdict and hear her story. She was first abused physically by the one who should have loved her, cared for her, helped her take her first step, hugged her when she scraped her knee, made her feel safe and secure: her dad. But he did not. He was in jail for murder and when he did come out on bail all he did was beat her mercilessly with belts and sticks. Her mom who could have tended to her incomprehensible pain was also abused and one day just gave up and died. The young girl was now left to the mercy of her first tormentor who  threw her into the den of sexual predators. She was sexually abused cruelly time and again. The so called boy friend was nothing but her pimp. One day he brought a toddler home and asked this physically, mentally, emotionally abused girl to look after her and vanished without giving her any money.

The young girl must have tried to do her best till the day the child became a handful like all 2 years old. She apparently fell and howled the whole night. It was too much for the young teenager.  For a brief moment she snapped. Memories of belts and sticks on her raw skin, memories of unspeakable pain as her still nubile body was ravaged by wolfish predators flooded her mind as she found herself in a yet unknown position of power. For the first time she held the stick. A rage that must have laid dormant for too many years gushed out. Sanity vanished as she hurt the child without mercy doing for the first time what others had done to her for too long. Before she could take hold of herself the harm was done: Falak was broken beyond repair. I wonder how the girl must have felt when she regained her senses. Let us not forget that she was the one who brought her to the hospital. The question I ask is: do you still feel she should hang?

I don’t. The ones that should hang are her father, the so called boy friend, the women who led her to her to the flesh trade, the men who used and abused her, and above all the society that lets this happen over and over again and remains mute, unconcerned.

I had thought of ending this post but before I could do so more news came in. The horror continues relentless, never ending. The search for Falak’s biological mother far from bringing some healing has unearthed another tale of abuse. Falak’s mom is herself a victim. Forced into prostitution by the one she married, sold to another, her children taken away. The whole sordid tale seems to be a terrifying mix of flesh trade and child trafficking.The mother wants to see her child but this will be only after a DNA test. Maybe little Falak is holding on just for that moment. Last heard: her sister has been traced but no one knows where her brother is. One can only hope he is safe.

Falak made headlines a few  days ago. But today she is only a news item. This is so reflective of the society we have become. True the human bites and battered body were sensational enough to ‘hog’ headlines for a short span of time. Now if there are more sensational inputs we will hear them too. But what about the real issues? Will they ever be addressed? I was horrified when a police officer in a press briefing refused to qualify Falak’s story as proof of child and women trafficking. She was quite content to term it an isolated incident where ‘everyone knew everyone’ whatever that means! My mind goes back to the Ghaziabad girls and their abuser. Though the sting operation that unearthed their tale went on to receive recognition and accolades, the plight of the girls remains unknown. I wonder what happened to their saintly abuser who is apparently on bail. Everyone lost interest. It just became yesterday’s news. Will Falak also become yesterday’s news.

All this makes me terribly sad. I had hoped, naively I guess, that Falak’s ordeal would be a wake up call. But I guess I forgot that she was born on the wrong side of the fence. The so called civil society would not take up her fight, as they would for one of their won. The outrage, if any, will be short lived. I wonder what makes us move. Every day we hear of some form of child abuse. We just carry on unmoved and dry eyed. Falak’s story will remain an individual one. Many will and have offered help. If she lives, Falak will be cared for. But about the other Falaks. Will we fight for better laws to protect our children. Maybe not as our children are not targets. It is time we change our attitude. It is time we start seeing with our heart. Falak’s pain can not be in vain.

Thanks to the wonder of Skype I get to see and talk to my grandson every day. Never mind that the 12 hour time difference muddles our good mornings and good nights! Anyway we get to live a few moments together and that is nothing short of wonderful. Agastya treats me to his version of daily trivia. The latest was his visit to the zoo where he saw a popotamus! He then went on all fours to show me what the popotamus was all about. Then it was showtime for the new toys he had be bribed with: the transformer, the car, the truck. Yes the kid has to be bribed because he does not like the new school he goes to. Understandable as till now he was attending the project why creche where he was king of the castle and the centre of all attention. This despite my repeated pleas to treat him as any other kid. But all pleas well on deaf ears: he was Anou Ma’am grandson.

I keep or at least try to keep a straight face when his little face crumples, his radiant smile vanishes at the mention of school. I try to convince him that his school is nice, his new ma’ams kind but my heart is not there. I guess both of us will have to get used to the new reality. I need to accept that he is growing up. But I know that from now on in our home a hippopotamus will always be called a popotamus just as an AC is a thanda machine (cold machine) and cars are vroom vrooms.

My thoughts go back to another little boy, now all grown up, who added the word Boman to my vocabulary. It was ‘bhagavan‘ or God and was to this little fellow anything that was big, made of inert material and had to be shown respect. Never mind the creed! The little boy has grown up and now does not use the word anymore. His God has now assumed an identity and a creed. I only wish all Gods remained Bomans. The world would be a much kinder place. I still find myself praying to Boman when things get tough. Maybe he is the real God of Lesser Beings I so often quote. Children make the world a better place and give us the best lessons in life. Why then do we not listen.

Far from that. We commit the terrible sin to letting them down and even abusing them. Every day stories of such abuse hit us in the face but we chose to look away and shut our ears. I urge you to try and listen, just once if you can. And if you do miracles will enfold and light your life. And if each of one did then the world would be a safer place for children at least. I wonder what would have happened to Utpal, Babli, Meher, Manisha and so many others if I had not listened.

Today little Falak is fighting a lonely battle. Every breath she takes is a loud scream that she wants us to listen to, if not for her, at least for all of India’s suffering children. Will we hear her?

She is battling alone for her life. She is just 2! She was named Falak. It means star. Wonder who gave her that name. But it was the right one as this little girl refuses to stop shining. Her story is nothing short of barbaric. She has been abused in the most inhuman way imaginable. Broken bones, smashed head, burnt and bitten, not by a animal but by the worst predator possible: a human being. If she lives the doctors fear brain damage. A beautiful little life has been maimed forever. And the whys scream to be heard but only silence resounds. A disturbing silence… the silence that always surrounds abused children. It is time we heard her cries and with her the cries of all the abused children of India! The children who have no voice, the children who are no one’s vote banks, the children we refuse see, hear let alone help. The children who beg on the streets, the children who are abused in orphanages, the children who are abused in their homes by those they trust most. The children who remain invisible.

Falak’s poignant story has to be heard. Maybe this little star’s life has its own meaning: to be the voice of all the suffering children of our land. How much more will it take to make us get up and scream. Are we so inured, so insensitive, so cynical, so heartless, so cold blooded, so blind.

What dark secrets does little Falak’s story hide: abuse, trafficking. Why did she land in the home of a minor who also seems to have been abused. What was the sinister game plan for this little toddler. What made it all go so terribly wrong. Questions that may never be truly answered. And even if they were what punishment will be meted out to the perpetrators. A few years in jail?

How long will we remember Falak. I guess as long as another story takes her place. One that will engage us for some time till another comes along. Switch on your TV and you will see that it has already happened: the cricket debacle is now the order of the day, then will come elections and so on. Falak will soon be forgotten by the media.

Falak deserves more than that. She cannot be made into another political issue and used to settle scores. The CEO of our city promised help. Let the report come out. Delhi Government will extend all possible support. We will do whatever is required said she!

What report! And what does whatever required means. Let me tell you what it means: it does not just mean some money for her treatment but it means life long love and care for this child who may be scarred for life in more ways than one. It means giving her a home and not throwing her in an orphanage where she will soon be abused like the little girl like her who died a few days ago. It means walking the talk all the way. If she lives, Falak may suffer permanent brain damage and that means she will join the sad rank of the mentally challenged girl child. In one of the numerous debates that aired the day Falak’s story broke, a lady did ask the question of who would adopt this child of God and take her into their home and above all heart. I would like to have said: I will but stop short of it. At my advanced age can I really give her what she deserves? Do I have the strength to be there for her 100% for times to come. No. Even if I do have the heart, I do not have enough time. Nurturing a child like her needs much more than I can give. I know it as God has already sent me a little Angel named Utpal whose life and dreams he has entrusted me with.

Falak is battling like a star all alone in a big and scary hospital. She is battling so that we can hear the voice of children who are abused and hurt every day. Her life has a meaning, a mission just like Manu’s had. No life is useless. Every one is part of a plan we have to unravel. Maybe she simply wants us to see with our hearts and take up the cudgels for all the suffering children who have no voice. Children are not vote banks hence they do not matter. I was appalled and amused when the Leno remarks got the support of UK politicos. But come to think of it they were just protecting their vote bank!

But who cares about vote banks. We are talking of a child who has been abused in the worst way possible and whose every breath urges us to hear, see and jump out of our comfort zones. Will we before it is too late for Falak and all the hurting children of India.

I normally do not check my Facebook account in the day. I did this morning. As I scrolled through the home page I was appalled to see a post that said:ONE TENTED CLASSROOM & 390 STUDENTS OF DEL GOVT CO-ED SEC SCHOOL! There were pictures to substantiate this unbelievable fact. The school is in Sundar Nagri, New Delhi 10093. A part of the city the likes of you and I may not exists but is still very much a part of our Capital. The very capital where two days from now India will celebrate its 63 Republic Day and showcase its misplaced might.

In all likelihood the children of this school will, perhaps tomorrow hoist a flag and proudly sing the National Anthem with fervour and enthusiasm. Now I ask you a simple question. Are these children not citizens of India? Don’t they have the rights enshrined in the very Constitution we are celebrating? Do they not have the Right to Education that states that schools should meet certain basic infrastructure requirements like a building, a library, toilets etc. Then why this aberration!

Imagine your child having to spend hours in the cold without a proper roof on his head, let alone a desk and chair. Having to learn in the biting cold when hands freeze and minds numb. What about summer? Imagine 320 children crammed under a flimsy tent that must be hot as hell? I guess you would bring the roof down! And yet these children bear the ordeal day after day with a simple hope: that of getting the much lauded education that is meant to open new doors. These children dare to dream and dream they must. But should we not all lend our voice to their inaudible one and set matters right. Is this not a cause that we should espouse or are we only going to champion causes that affect us.

How can the powers that be accept such a situation and allow it to happen. It take minutes for our Parliamentarians to adopt a bill to raise their own salaries. Why is it that such a glaring aberration does not make them budge and speak. When will we stop letting our children down. I am livid and want to hang my head in shame.

For a day we are pushed to forget what goes on behind the show. But can we. It is time we asked ourselves what we are truly the Republic of? The choices are many. Let us start with hunger. In spite of the glitzy, high tech and affluent image we want to project – we have the maximum billionaires in the world; guess it goes with the size of our population – we  have the worst record when it comes to malnutrition. 5000 children still die every day of malnourishment. Our statistics are worst than those of sub Saharan Africa. 42% of our children are malnourished! Recently our CEO declared that this was a national shame. Wonder why it took so long and what will be the outcome of his statement. So are we the Republic of Hunger?

Let us continue to find the right definition for our Republic. Corruption is what comes next. I guess everyone agrees on that one. 2011 witnessed a lot of hue and cry on the issue. But again to no avail as voices of dissent were overpowered and futile and pointless solutions set into motion. We all know nothing will happen and corruption will remain intact. And this across the board from the small street vendor who wants to eek a living to the big corporates who want their pitch accepted, everyone will have to grease a palm confidently proffered. It almost seems that we cannot live in our dear Republic without mastering this art. Are we the Republic of Corruption?

Are we then the Republic of failed promises. Perhaps. Look at all the lofty promises made by the powers that be, promises meant to be a panacea to all ills but that get hijacked on the way and become new avenues to enrich the executors. The examples are endless. Look at all the grand schemes that are heralded ad infinitum and bear complex acronyms: ICDP, MNREGA, XZYZ and so on. One of our erstwhile leaders did admit that not even 10% trickles down to the beneficiary.

Are we the Republic of the absurd where politicians of all hues promise free laptops in a land where millions still sleep hungry. Where a politician asks a school child to tie his shoe lace at a public function and when admonished simply answers that his doctor has advised him not to bend. Has he not heard of slip on shoes, maybe one should send him a pair!

Are we a Republic of extremes where the rich get richer and the poor poorer by the minute. The gap is widening in every walk of life.  Let us talk about our children. Instead of progressing our children are  are regressing. The education infrastructure is abysmal. According to a recent article India has a shortage of 1.5 million teachers. Now don’t tell me cannot find teachers if we truly wanted to. Sanctioned amounts are never released. On the flip side schools for those who can pay are proliferating. Education is a lucrative business. The state of health is no better. Health care for the poor is lamentable: overcrowded hospitals where you need to wait for months and even years for a simple surgery, quacks who fill in the gap with their half baked knowledge. The rich however are wooed by luxurious hospitals that burgeon by the day and cater to your every whim provided you have the moolah.

Our Republic does not have the will to house its poor. They are left to fend for themselves and come up with solutions often illegal but that soon get the blessings of those in power always on the hunt for new vote banks. You cannot imagine what some of these dwellings look like and what living in them means in the heat of the summer or the winter freeze. Can we called ourselves the Republic of  shame.

We could also be called a republic of feudalism, forgive the paradox but what else would you call a country that is divided along every line possible: caste, religion, gender and economic status. Invisible and impregnable walls separate them and some arrogate to themselves the right to trample others.

You may think that all these are just generalities. Not quite. In the last few days we have had the above stated shoe lace aberration, a woman mercilessly beaten up by a cop, 12 babies dying in 2 days in a state run hospital and more.

A sad picture is it not? But I would like to look at matters in another way. In spite of all the chaos and failures millions of Indian live one day after the other with infinite dignity and courage. Millions of children defy all odds and dare to dream and build a better future. Thousands of Indians have the grit to take the road less travelled and bring usurped smiles back. Faceless millions continue to protect the values and principles many have waylaid. Millions of Indians refuse to give up on their cherished country. We are the Republic of smiles, hope, courage and dignity.

God bless India!

I have always held that the education system in our country is abysmal. Many like throwing facts and figures at me to prove the contrary but I hold my ground. And I have reason to as I have for the last 12 years seen things first hand. In spite of highfalutin and grandiose programmes launched time and again and in spite of the fact that education has become a constitutional right of every child born on this land, the reality is quite different.

I would have liked to be proved wrong but two recent studies sadly validate my take. In the Programme for International Student Assessment (PISA), conducted annually to evaluate education systems worldwide by the OECD India ranked second last among 73 countries. Even in maths considered India’s forte they only beat Kyrgyzstan. In English reading too they were second last. When scores were compared an Indian eighth grader is at the level of a South Korean third grader in math abilities or a second-year student from Shanghai when it comes to reading skills. And that is not all Pratham’s seventh Annual Survey of Education Report released last week tells a sorry tale: rising enrolment but declining attendance, over-reliance on private tuition, decline in reading and mathematical ability of children in the age group between 6 and 14.

And yet when Indian children are given a enabling environment they top the chart. So when one reads with profound sadness that an eight grader from India compares to a second grader in China one knows that the fault does not lie with the children but with the system and with each one of us. Just bear with me a little before wondering why I say that we are responsible too.

For the past 12 years we have been working with what one could call Children of a Lesser God: the ones born on the wrong side of the fence, the ones whose parents can barely afford school let alone tuition, the ones who often go astray, the ones whose childhood is hijacked for more reasons than one can count, the ones who start life with a huge handicap and run an unfair race in an insensitive world. They too have rights, education being one of them but here again things are not as should be. The schools they go to are fraught with aberrations: little or no teaching, abusive teachers etc. They move from class to class courtesy the no fail policy. We have students who have ‘passed’ class IV or V and can barely read. The immediate reaction would be to think that something is wrong with the child. Not all all. The same child with a little help and support not only makes up but goes on to top the her or his class. Over the years we have had many such examples, the most stunning one being a young girl who failed class VII thrice an went on to secure the 11th position in Delhi in her XII Boards.

So the fact that the Indian eight grader compares to a second grader from another country is not due to the child’s ability but to the sorry state of affairs in our system. And this state has been aggravated over the years with the widening of the gap between rich and poor, a gap that has percolated to every field even education. Over the years we have seen the commercialisation of education. Education is now a lucrative business that answers  market demands. Hence we have schools for the uber rich, the rich, the not so rich and so on. On the other side of the spectrum, state run schools that now seem to be catering to the poor have seen their standards drop by the minute. Some of the stories the children tell us are beyond belief. Municipal schools in our capital city have no toilets, no drinking water, sometimes no desks. Teachers are indifferent and often brutal and uncaring. How children survive this ordeal and keep their smile and humour is ample proof of their desire to study.

It is time we looked at our state run schools and did something. These schools cater to the millions of underprivileged kids and need to be run efficiently. I have often mooted the idea of a common school for ALL children, schools that should be centers of excellence, schools that should really celebrate the much extolled  unity in diversity, schools were your children and their children would grow and learn together. But as I said earlier we too are responsible for the sorry state of affairs as we will never accept to have our children study with theirs! So a common school however good will remain a chimera.

And then let us not forget that schools now top the charts of lucrative business where the demand is much higher then the supply, and everyone wants a share of the pie. Even our politicians! And then of course let us not forget that poorly educated masses are needed to keep our version of our democracy alive. Till then Indian children will remain 200 points and more below the best.

We however have set in motion our own version of a ‘common school’ by sending 8 of the most deprived children in a good boarding school to prove that the most disadvantaged child can hold is on and outshine others. Till now they have validated our theory in every which way imaginable. They will one day prove indubitably that they are the best.

My boys have gone. Agastya my grandson is now in the US ready to begin a new chapter in his life. Soon it will be school and new pals and Grandma will have to take a back seat. Utpal also left for his boarding school after spending his winter holidays with me. The house feels empty and Ma’amji a tad lost.

2011 was a very special year as both my boys spent a lot of time with me. Agastya was with us for a good part of the year and even began his schooling in the Project Why creche! The boys spent a lot of time together as even if Uptal was in school, Agastya never missed a single PTM. They got on like a house on fire. When Utpal was at home, Agastya followed him everywhere. They played together, ate together, went to the park together and even bathed together. It was a joy to watch them.

Today is Agastya’s third birthday and I miss him so much. We will connect on skype thanks to the magic of the Internet but it will not be quite the same as having him romp around the house. The tone has been set for 2012: the year of the virtual Nani! Not to mention the disquieting time difference where you do not know when to say ‘good morning’ or ‘good night’. I guess the old biddy will have to get used to it. I must admit that these time zone issues are still alien to me, I belong to the generation when we travelled my ships and body and soul journeyed together.

With Utpal it will be back to the weekly phone call that one never misses and the quick exchange of love filled words punctuated by small demands. I must again admit I look forward to those. So time to organise life around the tow little souls I so dearly miss.

Utpal loves malls. He loves the thrills of the games, enjoys the rides and even had a go at bungee jumping, the kind they have at malls. I must confess that I am the one responsible for introducing him to such activities as when he first went to boarding school the only place close enough to school where we could take him for a treat was the nearby mall! I must also add that he has never been demanding specially as he grew up and was quite happy to go the ersatz option namely his beloved Kal Mandir. But a special treat will always be a visit to the mall. So last week as a reward for having been exceptionally endearing and compliant during his entire winter break, I decided to give him that special treat and find out a mall near our home which had some options for kids.


Before I go on I must be quick to add that I abhor malls and what they represent. I have often penned my views on the subject. To me they are the absolute antithesis of what I think India should be. I shun them and it needs nothing short of miracle to push me in one. But Utpal is an adept at conjuring miracles and this was yet another of them. So on a chilly Sunday morning we set out, my daughter, Utpal, Deepak the young lad who works at home and is Utpal’s best pal and me to conquer the mall. The deal was that Utpal and Deepak would go to the kidzone and Shamika and me would wander around looking at the famed sales. After a few hiccups – the kidzone opened only at one so we had to find an alternative so hurray for the video game parlour – Shamika and I took on the mall. We walked by empty glitzy shops looking at price tags that seemed outrageous even after 40 or 50% mark down and walked around aimlessly. Shamika did manage to find a deal though. 


I spent my time looking around the alleys of the malls that were slowly filling up. The people one saw were not at all potential shoppers but seemed to have come for a Sunday outing. There were middle class families children in tow and of course numerous young couples in need of a place to spend private time. This was quite an eye opener for me and a totally different take on malls. It brought a smile on my face. Unable to afford the exorbitant prices on offer, middle class India has adopted their own own brand of mall culture: the new place to hang out. Not a bad idea, warm in winter, cool in summer and dry in the monsoon. There are free places to sit and some not too costly coffee shops. And no moral policing as is the case in parks! My thoughts went back to times gone by and I remembered with a smile our  hang outs of days of yore: the zoo, a park  or a roadside dhaba in winter and probably a morning movie show in summer!



After our stroll meant to kill time till Utpal had his fill of games and rides we went to join him at the kidzone situated next to the food court. Here again we saw middle class people enjoying a meal has the eateries are still affordable. Many of the ones located in normal markets have outlets in malls. Andif shops were quasi empty the food court was filled to capacity with long queues at the coupon sales counter. Needless to say I did stand patiently and Utpal and his pal got their fill of chips and other fast food fare. 


Thankfully it was soon time to go as Utpal decreed he had had his fill. I had had more than enough. One the drive back I wondered whether the likes of Radhey our three wheeler driver and his family would one day also join the throngs of people enjoying a lazy day off at a swanky mall. Maybe not though am not certain if malls have a ‘rights reserved’ tag. I do feel that they too should adopt their own brand of mall culture and increase the much sought footfalls. Cheers to incredible India.

Utpal got a new bicycle for Xmas. He was thrilled and rode it all day with a huge smile on his face and proud to show off that he could ride a cycle without trainer wheels. The same evening he took it to the nearby park to show it to all his friends. The next day when it was park time again he came into my office and asked me softly whether he could give is old cycle to Amit. Amit it transpired was his special park friend and the son of a daily wage labourer. Of course you can were my words! I gave him a big hug and off he went both cycles in tow.

After he left I sat in my office for a long time, my thoughts going back in time to the day when I first held this very special child in my arms. What a long way he had come. He had been born on the wrong side of the fence and suffered unbelievable pain at an age where children should know only love. From the excruciating pain of third degree burns to the agonizing pain of seeing his mom simply vanish, he had seen it all. At the tender age of four he was sent to a boarding school where he cried himself to sleep night after night his head filled with questions that he could barely articulate let at all convey. He slowly adapted to his new life and healed somewhat when he was again faced with court appearances and tough decisions he had to take. The questions multiplied, the answers were still not forthcoming. That is when he almost broke down and we had to seek medical help. The smile that once was his trademark had simply disappeared to be replaced by anger and rage.

In the last months Utpal has slowly accepted to come out of his shell and voice his fears and we have tried to assuage them gently. The smile has come back and with it a new found confidence. Today his simple request was a true gift not just to his little park pal but to his Ma’amji. His gesture was proof that he was finally feeling secure and protected. It was also proof that over the years he had imbibed values dear to me and understood the true meaning of the art of giving. May God always bless him.

It is nursery admission time again. Time for schools to raking in the moolah! The sale of roms is expected to bring in 1200 crores rupees. Now we all know the situation on the ground: not enough schools and too many applicants. This has been the same story year after year. Parents have to apply to umpteen schools each charging a whopping amount for a mere form. How can I forget the little boy rejected by 18 schools for no fault of his. That was three years ago!

I was appalled and bemused by the answer given by our eminent CEO when quizzed on the issue:  These days one is seeing news items highlighting how parents are worried over children not getting admissions in schools. This is happening because our government has been building awareness that children from all sections of society must go to school. Hence, now all parents want their children to go to school said she! Now Dear Lady this has been going on for the last three years at least if not more.

This year the problem was closer home. The coordinator of our women centre is seeking admission for his 3+ year old. He has already collected and filled many forms, some at the cost of 700 Rs and more and is running from pillar to post. You see he lives in an area where there are no good schools in a 3km radius, his child is male, he is a first child and hence has no siblings, his parents are not alumni of any school so he runs the race with a huge handicap. That is not all. Some schools have introduced new criteria. It has been named RAA or Representative Affirmative Action. Wonder what that is? Well private schools have decided to reserve 15% seats to children of Doctors, Engineers and Lawyers. India really seems to be fine tuning the quota syndrome. And the logic mooted is strange and perplexing and stated as follows: The purpose of introducing this criterion is to provide a common platform of education to children belonging to families working in different fields. This is an effort towards building a glorious nation. I am at a loss of words.Some schools are also offering extra points for twins, and of course there are extra points for the children of single parents. Our little candidate has none of these advantages. The situation is Dantesque.

Whether he will make it to a good school is a million dollar question.

Is Government school an option? Not quite as one knows of the reputation of these schools. Sadly they have not become the centre of excellence they should have been and remain in a poor if not abysmal state. We have first hand knowledge of this as all project why children attend them and share their day-to-day experiences. You have to hear them to believe them. Dickensian schools seem like heaven compared to what goes on in some of our state run institutions.

Every child now has the right to a good education. That is what our law makers wants us to believe. By this yardstick all schools in our country should be enabled to provide quality education. Education should in no way be a commercial enterprise an a way of enriching one’s self at the expense of helpless parents. Why should forms cost from 500 to 1000 Rs? The solutions proffered like the lottery system also do not make any sense. Come on! Should a child’s future be left to lady luck.

It is time the Government seriously walked the talked and not trivialise the issue as it seems to be doing. It is time they put their act together. The children of India deserve the best.

So finally the powers that be concede that malnutrition is a national shame! It took them a hell of a long time to do so. I have been harping about this for as long as I can remember. In an incisive article title Many mouths to feed, Annie Zaidi asks the disturbing and yet pertinent question: Do all Indians deserve to eat? Or do we believe that some of us deserve bottled water and broadband and truffles while some of us starve? The answer has to be a screaming YES! All 1,180,285,856 of us deserve to eat.

The recent HUGaMA report revealed some disturbing statistics: 60 % of the children suffer from some degree of malnutrition and 92% of the mothers surveyed had never heard of malnutrition. And how can we forget the most shocking statistic of all: 5000 children dying every day of malnutrition!

Now if we do believe that all Indians deserve to eat at least two square hot meals a day then why don’t we get riled at such statistics! Why do we not stop and think while serving ourselves large plates of food at the lavish parties we attend. Why don’t we see all the food that goes in our dustbins and that is still perfectly edible and ponder? Why are we so inured to glaring disparities that stare us at the face each and every day: children begging, people rummaging for food in garbage dumps, people sleeping in the freezing cold. I do not know the answers. I only know that such matters make my blood run cold and boil at the same time. I am also at a loss to understand why the so called well to do, intelligent and educated citizens of our country do not raise their voice as they did on the matter of corruption and the much talked about Lok Pal bill.

Millions do not get even a square meal a day. Millions of our children are stunted and malnourished. At the same time unimaginable amounts of food grain rot every year. Something is so very wrong and yet we remain mute and aloof.

The powers that be however are on the prowl and have sensed a good way to appease a public reeling under food rise and inflation. Why not push the Food Security Bill. It will have the much needed feelgood factor. But beware the said bill has a huge flow: though it legislates for specific amounts of food grains to be distributed to needy families, it lacks detail on how it plans to ensure this allocation.

According to a well written article without paying attention to effective distribution, the bill will simply exacerbate the problem of food wastage while millions continue to starve. Would it be impertinent to add: whilst many will find new ways of lining their bottomless pockets. Moreover according to the same article the bill will not uplift the rural population and actually hurt the farmer.

Wonder why? Another article gives a very precise example of how the true beneficiaries will fall out of the net courtesy the famed Socio Economic and Caste Census which is a mockery of the poor. If you have a mud house but it has a tarpaulin you fall off the net. Or what about this exmaple: Nani Devi, a 60-year-old  lives with her husband in a kuccha room house in Purohitaan village in Jaipur district. She has three sons, but all of them live separately and do not support them. The illiterate couple who belong to Scheduled Caste category has got a job card and is beneficiary under MGNREGA, but old age does not allow them to work much. They too will not get the famed BPL card and thus access to cheaper food.

Yet in all likelihood the bill will be passed as it is the pet project of the real powers that be and no political party would dare oppose it as it may anger the poor who see it as a panacea to all ills and are not able to understand the flaws and drawbacks. It seems to answer the very question stated at the beginning of this piece: do all Indians deserve to eat? And if the answer is yes, then it is time we found our selfish voices and did something. But will we? That remains the question.