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

Everyone loves him in class.

Watch our dear Funny Face

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

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

I am sure Preeti will remember her 18th.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Has our conscience gone AWOL?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is the land we live in.

I for one will never give up on this land!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So elections were earning time for our two challenged students.

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

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.