I stop all to write this blog. We have our own Breaking News! Believe it or not our very own Sanjay is walking the ramp for the Paris Fashion Week. The designer is…. you will have to wait for June 26th to know that! I am so proud of him and moved to tears.

I remember Sanjay as a young boy barely fourteen or so, almost a decade ago. In those days we held classes for the Lohar camp in an open park and Sanjay and his pals you use to hand around, at the periphery, not quite decided to join the class, and yet drawn by the sight of the young volunteers that use to teach. I of course use to try and get the young boys’ attention and urge them to join classes. Many did not but Sanjay did and I must confess today that I was attracted by his incredible looks even at a very young age. I guess I must have been the first to suggest that he become a model in Europe were dark looks are in and as I use to say to him in jest: you can then earn a lot of money for pwhy!

Even I who normally believes in big dreams did not ever think that a decade later Sanjay would walk the ramp in Paris. Yet he is and it is huge day for all of us at pwhy. And even though I am sort of inured to miracles after 10 years of project why, this one is humongous even by my standards. A boy born on the road side, destined to beat the iron, first becomes a teacher and the an international model. Wow! I am speechless.

June 26 2011 will be a very special day for all of us at pwhy, one that proves beyond any doubt that anything is possible if the Gods are on your side.

One always tends to highlight the achievements of the pwhy kids. One talks of their school results, their Board results, the jobs they get, their successes and so on. This has almost become a norm as every year and in all our centres children do us proud in more ways than one. What we tend to forget is the fact that none of this would be possible without our incredible band of teachers! It is they, and they alone who make all the small and big miracles happen.

It is time I paid tribute where it is truly due: the terrific staff that holds the fort and holds it so well.

Let us begin at the top: the two souls who run the two arms of project why with utmost efficiency and like a clock work orange have been with us for almost a decade. One of them was barely sixteen when she joined our wagon as an unpaid volunteer who use to come and run a small medical post that we opened for two half hours a day. She then graduated to distributing nutrition and that is when I discovered her inborn managerial talent. She learned at the speed of light and slowly but surely carved her place in project why. Today she runs her part of the show single handedly. Over the years she carefully selected her team, hired and fired with the needed aplomb. I have never seen her buckle under any circumstance, she always conjures a better solution. When she joined she was what you call a school drop out, not because of lack of aptitude but because she was beaten mercilessly and her mom decided that she should not go back. But she is not one who gives up. While working with us she completed her class X, XII and is now sitting for her BA final exams. What is amazing is that she never took a day off. You may have guessed, I am talking of Rani.

Rani is aptly seconded by a vibrant team of teachers. Some have been with us for many years, others have joined more recently. Each and everyone of them is committed and diligent. Come to think of it most of them were not destined to be teachers. Many were simple housewives whose education had been truncated by an early arranged marriage. Others were young people who had finished their studies in some remote place and come to the city to seek greener pastures. They learned on the job and boy they learned well. I can only say Chapeau bas to all of them.

The other arm of project why, namely the women centre was created from scratch by a young man who joined us a a teacher but soon emerged as social activist at heart, someone who strangely echoed my way of thinking: almost a kindred spirit. He soon graduated from his role as a humanities teacher to being the one I turned to in moment of crises. When we decided to set up the women centre as a case of force majeure, it was he I turned to. The result is there for all to see: a vibrant centre catering to more than 300 souls. And here again there is a superb team that runs the show. Well done Dharmendra.

The true measure of the success of team project why is my redundancy. Quite frankly project why does not need me to run. And though my team will vouch for the contrary, I can recognise the writing on the wall: I am really de trop! My only utility is as a fund raiser. That is the only thing my team has not mastered in spite of my best efforts. In hindsight I should be happy as otherwise I would have been completely superfluous. That is not quite the truth as I am aware of my shortcomings and of the fact that I am not eternal and for project why to run beyond me, my team will have to master the art of fund gathering. Maybe that is what needs to be done.

If planet why does see the light of day, and that would be my fund raising master stroke, my real swansong. I know my team will be able to run the show and carry on the work. If that does not happen then they will have to explore new ways. Deep in my heart, I know that many of them will not let project die wither and die.

My little grandson left last week after spending nine months with us. An eerie silence pervades the house making it uncanny. It is almost as if its soul had suddenly gone missing.

For the last eight months the house had been commandeered by a little bundle of energy and joy. Everything moved around him and was tuned to his needs and demands. Even the old biddy had adjusted her ways to his schedule and my work day for the past months looked a little strange. The house itself had lost its erstwhile pristine look. Toys lay strewn in every nook and corner, the drive and garden were requisitioned by brightly coloured cars and cycles of all sizes. We had to learn to live around all these alien articles. But I am not complaining far from that! We all loved the new arrangements.

For the last eight months a new vocabulary became ours as we followed a little boy’s forays into mastering a new language. The air conditioner was christened as thanda machine or cold machine, and Namaste became Manaste and stayed so. When any task was completed be it a meal or a painting session a loud fini was heard and no force on earth could challenge that. We simply adopted the new lexicon, adding new words as they were mouthed by a little lad. The months flew at an incredible speed and the day of parting dawned. Never were Lamartine the french romantic poet’s words more true: one person missing and all life goes away. Even if the missing one is knee high to a grasshopper.

We are slowly learning to live without little Agastya. It means filling up time that hangs heavy, adjusting our ears to eerie silence, getting used once again to an immaculate house. Somehow when he was around one had learnt to complete all our work in the time slots when he slept or was away at pwhy. I must admit that we all managed pretty well. True some things were never quite done but it did not matter. Today we have to learn once again to fill our time with what once was ample but seems so deficient. Time to revive what was put on hold, easier said than done as one seems to have forgotten what filled the days before Agastya.

I miss my little man!

Holiday homework! A bane for both parents and children. I thought I had graduated to the no holiday homework status but not quite as I am now parent to young Utpal who has reached class IV. Spending summers chiding children to get on with their task and then having to spend hours with paper and glue was never my idea of fun. But that is exactly what I am doing this summer. The two typed sheet that spells out all the work to be completed sits on my desk. Lists of what is needed have been made and several trips to local stationery shops have ensured that we have all that is needed.

The homework is daunting. Daily pages of handwriting from both English and Hindi newspapers, essays and grammar charts, tables and sums, models and art work, the list is endless and I am at a loss as the little chap has another definition of holiday all together: playing, watching TV, going out and eating! An unbelievable time is spent in coaxing and negotiating. Every day a small amount is done after a battle royal. We are getting there at a snail’s pace and immense wear tear on Ma’amji’s nerves. Maybe this is the plight of every parent.

Not quite as was revealed in an article in a leading weekly. Believe it or not you can now get your homework outsourced if you are willing to pay the price. Children do not spend time on creating models and projects: they take a trip to Nai Sadak and buy the home assignment, or go for a package deal: 4500 Rs is a total homework package. Reading the article made me uncomfortable. This approach to me is cheating, or should one say cheating with the blessing of your parents. Taking professional help definitely helped my children get top marks admits a mother quite guilelessly making one shudder. If I was the teacher I would give higher marks to a clumsy project that is undoubtedly the work of a 9 year old then to a perfectly executed one that is undoubtedly again the work of a professional adult! But it seems that in school today that is not the practice.

One could argue about the ethicality of those in the homework business. But it is simply a question of demand and supply. It seems that there are enough clients to make the business lucrative. Yet one is compelled to ask whether one is teaching the children to take the easy way out, a lesson they will continue to follow and one that can have disastrous consequences. A first lesson in corruption, speaks volumes for the kind of society we have become.

I agree that the holiday home work is tedious and irksome. I also agree that if you have planned to travel during the holidays completing the home work is close to impossible. But does it mean you need to cheat. Wouldn’t a simple letter the school be sufficient to explain unfinished homework? To my mind the only people who would need assistance to complete the holiday homework would be the brave underprivileged parents who tighten their belt till it hurts in order to send their progeny to a ‘good’ school. But how can they pay the money required? To complete the homework of our boarding school kids, we have a assigned a teacher whose sole task is to help the children finish their work at no cost of course!

For Utpal it is good old Maa’mji and her rusted knowledge. Thank God for Google! So the next days will be filled with cutting and pasting and making charts and models. Somehow I am beginning to look forward to it and if all is not done then tant pis, one has to remember that holidays are meant to be fun and that is what is important.

As I drove in my proverbial three wheeler to the market next door yesterday morning, I knew something was wrong though at first I did not quite know what. It took me a few seconds to realise that the streets were strangely empty.. something was missing. Then it struck me: all the small business persons were missing. Let me explain. On the short less than 500 meters run to my local market we pass by a street cobbler, a street tailor, a street barber, a street tea stall, a vegetable and fruit vendor. Yesterday they were all gone! As we reached the market I saw a posse of people, some cops and a truck where stuff was being loaded. What hit was the eerie silence that greeted me, as if the sound track of a film had been cut off. As I alighted from the scooter and started to walk towards the market I heard someone say in a whisper: komittee aaiye hai! The committee has come. In a flash I understood the script. This was a descent by the municipal authorities aimed at ridding our city of illegal businesses! I looked again and realised that what was being loaded on the menacing truck was the entire belongings of the little tea-cum-lunch stall that had thrived under a banyan tree for as long as I can remember.

This stall catered to all the workers and passers by in search of a cup of tea or a warm meal at a reasonable price. It had always been a comforting sight with its smiling owner doling out platefuls to waiting customers. The food was fresh, the place clean. No one seemed to mind its existence. But someone did: the local authorities and their illogical sanitising drives. I thought the Commonwealth games were over and life back to its old ways. But that was not so. The predators were back with a vengeance! I had forgotten our city’s preferred mission: get rid of the poor. Thank God someone had warned some of these people, that explained why barber, cobbler and vegetable vendor had gone AWOL.

I would like to ask the powers that be a simple question: how do they expect over half the population to live if they deny them their right to be small entrepreneurs particularly as now you have to earn less than 20Rs a day to be considered poor and have access to social welfare. Do read this article that gives the new Indian Fortune List @< 20 rs a day. It is an eye opener.

But let us get back to our small entrepreneurs who courtesy the authorities lost a day or more of earnings. The city is replete with such people. They assess the need of the hour and provide the service with efficiency. They cater to one and all and are not the prerogative of the poor. They are your water vendors, juice sellers, vegetable sellers, cobblers, tailors etc. They provide a meal to those who serve you and believe you me they are mean business minds as they gage the need of the hour with clock work precision. In winter they sell you peanuts, in summer cooling drinks, during festivals they bring you exactly what you need. Others cater to your small daily requirements: a broken shoe or a garment that needs to be altered. Wonder where one would go with a broken heel if the road side cobbler was not on call?

Now let us look at the other side of the story. The people we are talking about and who seem to disturb the powers that be are human beings tryings to find a way to survive. They have families who depend on them. They have dreams for their loved ones: education for their children, medicines for their elders and so on and though the Planning Commission thinks that you can live on 2o Rs a day, the reality is quite different. Most of the street vendors leave their homes and come to cities to look for a better life. They soon realise that they will not find jobs and have to create their own. Their common sense guides them and they identify possible avenues. Why not make samosas and sell them at the street corner, or walk the lanes peddling what a household would need. Come to gali no 3 where our centre is located at any time of the day and you will see a host of street peddlers selling an amazing array of things: brooms, plastic ware, clothes, bangles, pickles and more. The task is not easy but it keeps the pot boiling. At the top of the street stands a cluster of food vendors doling out hot meals or cups of tea or the famous bread/omelet and at any time of the day they have clients. They are there in the scorching heat, the freezing cold or the pouring rain. They never miss a day. I too have often stopped for a cup of tea or a plate of hot snacks and never regretted it. There is a also a very old fruit vendor who hobbles on his bandaged feet and sets up his cart every morning. Maybe this small endeavour restores his dignity in his son’s home. I often buy fruit from him.

If the powers that be have their way then I wonder where people will go for that reinvigorating break. Experience tells us that they will all be back. Some money will exchange pockets. One must not forget that each of these vendors pays a monthly tithe to local officials: the cops, the municipal agent and so on and no one is quite ready to lose their bounty. Corruption rules. And everyone knows that these small entrepreneurs are the lifeline of the city. I wish ways were found to give these unique small entrepreneurs their rightful place and accept them as a legitimate members of society.

Living on borrowed time without a thought for tomorrow wrote John Lennon. I wish I could sing the same tune! But tomorrow bears heavy on me. And though I too like all mortals am living on borrowed time all my thoughts are riveted on tomorrow.

Perhaps I too could have happily sung the words had I not one day decided to take the long road home, the one that touches other lives and other dreams. I did and today I am in custody of too many morrows that need to be moored before my time is up.

Why did I decide to save a hopelessly scalded child, or give a new lease of life to a broken heart? Why did I chose to repair a pair of hands maimed by fire or give a handful of children born in abject poverty the chance of a lifetime? These questions can keep begging for plausible answers but the reality will not change. These children have fragile tomorrows too dependent on mine that need to be secured. And the questions do not end as every step I took in the last decade had someones hope fastened to it.

Then I was spirited and brave, having even forgotten that I lived on borrowed time. Today as the clock ticks mercilessly I find myself troubled if not distressed. How will I be able to meet my commitments and move on peacefully. Some time back everything was upbeat. It seemed we had a solution in the form of planet why the panacea for all ills! And it almost seemed that all would fall in place. Had we not succeeded in the impossible task of securing a piece of land beating all odds? Now we only had to find the funds to build. But the fates conspired against us and we hit a low when markets tumbled and everyone felt insecure and shaky. Things looked up again for a bit and we held our breath in anticipation of a miracle. The expected miracle has still not happened though we still wait. Our other efforts to secure the needed numbers did not quite take off though we are still looking for options. But as I said we are on borrowed time and time is running short.

When 2011 dawned, we decided that this would be the do or die year fro planet why. If nothing happened by 31/12/11 then we would quietly lay planet why to rest and seek other ways. Almost half the year has slipped by with nothing forthcoming. The wise would accept the writing on the wall but I still want to hold on to the planet why dream. It is only planet why that would secure all the dreams we hold in custody. Any other option would necessitate our truncating them.

Today I can only pray for a miracle and hope that the time left is sufficient to see it happen.

Most human beings have an almost infinite capacity for taking things for granted wrote Aldous Huxley. Over the past years I have learnt how true this is! And how it sometimes hurts. I guess in spite of my years of being in the doing good business, I have not been able to shed my human failings. But let me put all this into context.

Two days back the boarding school kids were back from school with their endearing smiles and large doses of holiday homework. Daily writing from the newspaper, charts of roman numerals, English grammar charts, crafts and science projects and what not. A handful for even one like me. Wonder why schools give so much work! Holidays are no more holidays. As I said it is bad enough for educated parents but how do illiterate parents handle this. I am of course talking of our seven little kids. So the holiday homework becomes another mission project why. A teacher has been assigned to handle just this and the children would have to come to pwhy at least for half a day. Everything was planned and ready to go.

The next morning Vicky’s mom came to in to inform us that they were off to the village for 2 months. When we told her about the homework she seemed unconcerned and a tad annoyed. She was unwilling to understand that there was a need to get the homework done and refused to listen. Reluctantly we had to get out the big guns and threaten to withdraw Vicky from the school. Ultimately the father got involved and understood the situation and the village trip was postponed post homework. The problem was solved but not quite for me as it once again brought up the nagging issue of gratitude, one that I am loath addressing but which nevertheless bothers me. I guess I am still human and not selfless enough not to expect a modicum of gratitude. I still have a long was to go, I presume.

I must admit that the lack of gratitude I have experienced over the last ten years has been troubling and even incomprehensible. I always thought, erroneously I guess, that people should be thankful for any help proffered. But that is not the case at all. It almost seems that if you give than more is expected and if the more does not happen then you become the villain of the piece. And this happens all the time. People do have an almost infinite capacity for taking things for granted to borrow Huxley’s words. So if you want to carry on, you need to change, they will not.

So you embark on the mission of trying to find excuses that will make situations more palatable even if they seem paltry: poor people have had such a raw deal; they have hardly seen good; they have always been in want and hence are always in need, do not know better and so on. But that is not the way to go. What is needed I guess is the ability to think like Rousseau and say:Gratitude is a duty which ought to be paid, but which none have a right to expect.

The one lot that has perfected the art of being grateful is undoubtedly our band of special children. Just walk into their class and they greet you with such warmth that it warms the cockles of your heart and turns the darkest moment into pure light. They do not expect anything in return. Their eyes are filled with love they are yearning to give and should you peer into them, there is no looking back, you will be touched by their magic. It is a unique experience that needs to be experienced.

On the other hand we mere mortals still expect gratitude and hurt if it is not forthcoming. Maybe the special kids have a lot to teach us and maybe it is time I walked the talk.

The auto rickshaws are supposed to go on strike today. This means pwhy will bear a deserted look as many of our children – the tiny and special ones – are fetched from their slum homes in such vehicles. The strike they say is indefinite whatever that means. The reason: the government’s insistence that all autos install a Global Positioning System by tomorrow or face its ire! The cost of the system to be borne by them: a whopping 7000 Rs installation and 600 Rs a month maintenance.

I too was once among those who ranted and raved about the behaviour of auto drivers till I was forced to enter their world. You see many of our kids are children of auto drivers and we at pwhy use them as a sole means of transportation. So I am well qualified to write this apologia.

Most of Delhi’s auto drivers come from other states having left their habitat of origin for economic reasons. Many after devastating floods or quakes. They come to the big city and manage against many odds to get their driving licenses and are ready to join the fleet. Now in Delhi you either own your vehicle or drive one on rent. In the later case you need to pay a hefty daily sum to the owner who are often hard core businessmen. You pay for the fuel, the minor repairs and take home what remains. This means that if you earn 1000 rs on a good day, you take home a mere 400. In case you own your scooter you have bought it on credit from wily creditors who charge a hefty rate of interest and work out some inane monthly installment that you more often than not are unable to pay – an illness in the family, the child’s school fees etc -. The cunning creditor then reworks your dues and your are landed with a higher installment. Sometimes you even borrow at a whopping 10% a month to pay your installment and have not one but two creditors a month. Owning your vehicle can take years if you are lucky and the creditor does not impound your vehicle.

Auto drivers have families to support and these families have urban dreams. School for the children, a TV for the house and so on, so life is never easy. But you carry on. There are no social benefits, no insurances you are on your own. Life is a struggle and the urban dream slowly turns sour. So when you are slapped with an additional 7000 Rs and 600 Rs a month you see red. It is not that you do not want the GPS installed, you do not know how you will meet your month ends. Like all people in the city you are not living but surviving.

One can of course also argue for or against the installation of a GPS system. The first thing that comes to mind is the safety of such a system in an open vehicle often parked on streets at night. Tongues are also wagging and it is being said that the company that provides these systems is owned by the relative of a high placed politician. Could be true as this is often an insidious form of corruption we are all too familiar with.

I do not know what the outcome of the strike will be. Probably not good for the auto drivers who will ultimately be forced into submission as is always the case. I also do not know what the day hold for us at pwhy as we too depend on autos to survive. I am bracing myself for a hard day.

It was mother’s day on Sunday in the anglo saxon world, it will be mother’s day in France on May 28th. I wonder why we need a special day to honour mothers, I remember mine everyday though she left this world 20 years ago. She made me who I am today. Not only did she gift me life but nurtured it carefully and lovingly at every step. She taught me every little thing needed to bloom and grow. She healed each little scratch and hurt and ensured that the scars would vanish too. She assuaged every blow that came my way and soothed the pain till it disappeared.

Though she smothered me with love, she also made sure I learn all the lessons needed. She could be firm and even merciless when need be. I remember one such incident. I must have been about 6 or 7. I had developed the bad habit of piling my plate with food and then leaving half of it. Mama had grown up in want and could not bear food being wasted. She first tried to reason with me but when it did not work she knew she had to pull out the big guns. One day after I had once again left lots of food in my plate she instructed the staff to put the plate in the refrigerator. It was to be given to me at the next meal cold and congealed. Stubborn as I was I refused to eat it. She did not relent. I got nothing and the plate went back into the fridge awaiting the next meal. This game continued for 2 days, by the end of it I was so hungry that I devoured the plate as if it was manna from the Gods. It is a lesson I have never forgotten, and even know after five decades I never leave food in my plate. It is only much later that I came to know that my parents had not eaten during those two days. Made the
lesson even more precious and poignant.

Life carried on and so did the lessons, each as powerful and as valuable. And as I grew older from child to adolescent and then adult she was always there, allowing me to write and play my own script, but ever present like a prompter in the wings of the stage of my life, ready to intervene whenever I faltered. I carried on safe in the knowledge that she was there and nothing could befall me. But the Fates intervened and she left this world two decades ago. I was shattered.

I picked up the pieces of my life as best I could, memories of her helping me to carry on. I did not know that she would still stun me with her incredible and selfless love. Many years after her death I was trying to cope with many things and was deeply hurt and angry. As always at such times I resorted to some serious spring cleaning as this always calms me down. As I was clearing old boxes I discovered a yellowed diary. It was a diary my mother had written a few months before her death and was an account of her day to day life, of her thoughts, of her dilemmas and reminiscences. In hindsight it was also an example of the power of a mother’s intuition as every entry seemed to echo some of my own angst and somehow heal it. Years before the idea of pwhy had even entered my head she had known what life held for me.

I reproduce the entry verbatim

I write this story for Anu to read.

There was a young beautiful girl; she got married and had children and spent all her time looking after her babies and her husband. Children were happy. The house was well run. Everything was almost picture perfect.

Then the children grew up. They did not need their mother. They resented her interference. Husband was busy in his work. The house ran beautifully. Time weighed heavy on her hands. She was miserable and tried joined a ladies’ club and playing cards. But it seemed too artificial. She was unhappy and her health started failing her. Something was amiss. She felt useless and unwanted.

One day an old school friend came to see her and she broke down and shared her despair. Her friend listened and promised to help.

A few days later she came and told her: I have a job for you, poorly paid but you will like it.
It was a job to teach poor kids. She began in earnest. The children were lovely, the called her maam and to her immediately.

Soon all her problems vanished: she was wanted, loved, respected and healed.

How had she known… I wonder but she did, almost to a T!

Shorty after writing these words she had a cerebral accident and was never the same again. This was her last coherent message to me. Every day as I walk into pwhy I am reminded of this. I do not need a mother’s day to honour Kamala. I do it every day.

578 is the maximum you can spend in a month to be considered poor by the Government and benefit from social benefits and subsidies. That is 20 rs a day! and that is if you live in a city. In a village the amount is 15 a day. Thus spoke the Planning Commission. The commission told the Supreme Court on Tuesday that a city dweller cannot be termed poor if his average monthly spends exceed Rs 31 on rent and conveyance, Rs 18 on education, Rs 25 on medicines or Rs 36.5 on vegetables. So if you spend more than 20 Rs day you are not poor! So according to the Government a mere 25.7% of the urban Indians need food, shelter and social benefits. Anyone spending more than this will be denied subsidized food, accommodation, pensions and medical treatment targeted at the Below Poverty Line population.This is shocking and ludicrous.

We work with the urban poor and have been doing so for the past decade. A hovel in a slum cost nothing less then 1000 rs a month. That is a hole with a tin roof and rickety walls. Now according to above stated statistics a family of five to be considered poor can only spend 31×5 or 155 Rs a month on rent. At that price you will not even find a hole in the ground! As for 36.5 rupees a month on vegetable or just over a rupee a day, I wonder what one would eat! Then why such strange and unrealistic figures. For one it helps claim that poverty in India is getting lower it also helps reduce the spending on social programmes.

But how long can we all play the I see no evil game? True we can boast of having some of the richest people in the world, people who can spend zillions on building a house or who flaunt their riches till it becomes galling and vulgar, but can we honestly deny that a child still dies of malnutrition every 8.7 minutes! How can a self respecting Government turn a blind eye to the stark reality that surrounds us all. And how can we, as supposedly self respecting citizens play along.

What is happening? We have an education system where a mere 33% gives you a certificate. This is apparently done to enhance the literacy figures. Now we have a laughable figure to define the poverty line. This is again apparently done to show that we are not so poor. It is all a game of manipulating figures. No one wants to address the problems and solve them. The rich will get richer and the poor poorer and no one seems to care.

When will my country awake!

According to a recent article in a leading newspaper 66% of Delhi’s slum children are malnourished! Startling statistic particularly in a city known for its lavish lifestyle, sparkling malls, opulent parties and luxurious ways! The article goes on to say that the conditions of these kids have worsened due to the poor functioning of Government run schemes like ICDS (Integrated Child Development Scheme). Yes corruption that is rampant in our day and age also trickles down to schemes designed to benefit the poorest of the poor.

Malnourished children if they get nutritious meals later, have shorter average life, low immunity and are not properly developed. The first five years are essential to the growth of a child. These children belong to poor families with low income and no resources. They barely survive in the urban jungle where everything comes at a hefty price. Many of our creche children come from such families. Often their lunch box for the day has just a roti or a few biscuits. We of course give them a warm and nutritious lunch but how can that make up for the early years!

The ICDS was a great programme. It was launched in 1975 and had it met is goals no child would have been malnourished. However statistics reveal that in 2010, 44% of children in India were still malnourished. It seemed the programme was short of funds and running in abysmal conditions. Children have never been a priority, or should I say poor children have never been a priority. You just have to look at the state of schools! On the one hand hefty promises are made in election manifestos, programmes are launched amidst great fanfare, education becomes a constitutional right and yet on the ground nothing changes. A child still dies every 8,7 minutes of malnutrition and only 50 % children have access to school and of those that do make it 50% drop out! And that is not all 3 million children live on the streets, 150 million children work as bonded labourers and one out of every six girl child does not live to see her 15th birthday.

Something is terribly wrong and we should be hanging our heads in shame. And yet we do nothing. We still drive by read lights inured to the plight of children begging in the scorching sun shooing them as you would a pesky flight or at best dropping a coin in their proffered hand. We still read articles on malnutrition of children without batting an eyelid or feeling outraged and will waste food at the next wedding we attend!

Things will not change unless we as civil society wake up and do something. Poor children have no voice, we need to led them ours.

Last week a beaming parent came into my office. She was pregnant. M is the mother of 3 boys the eldest one being 12. She is expecting her fourth child. She proudly announced that it was a girl. I was shocked to say the least, shocked at the need of this impoverished family to have another child, shocked at the fact that she had been able to determine the sex of the child, something that is supposedly illegal. This meant that such tests were administered with impunity by wily and greedy doctors. We all know what this means. Wonder how many little girls are killed before they are born. At least this one would survive. I mumbled feigned congratulations and moved on.

Yesterday I stopped by the creche. Many new faces greeted me. These were all the new admissions in the class as many had graduated to class I. I spent some time talking to the teacher but my eyes kept going back on the children. Something was askew. It took some time to realise what it was: there were more boys than girls. I asked he teacher if I was right and she told me I was. The sex ratio of our new class was 70/30!

Now children in this class come from very deprived homes of slums in Okhla. Every year we go to these slums to seek new admissions. The families are all of migrant labour from other states and most of the parents have poorly paid jobs. The teacher told me that this time she could not find more girls. We are talking of children between the ages of 3 and 4. It seemed that there far fewer girls in this age group than boys. The news was startling and raised many questions. Did arriving in the city open the possibility of getting a sex determination test? Were girls foetuses being aborted regularly? Was there something we could do?

This simple observation made me realise that the problem was not limited to rural areas and other states but was at our very doorstep. The facts were for all to see. Normally the creche class had a 50/50 sex ratio. Delhi boasted of a 1004/1000 sex ratio in 2008. But an article revealed that this had dipped to 915/1000 in 2009. This means that illegal sex determination is very much alive and prevalent in poorer sections of the city. Families prefer to spend money on abortions than give birth to a girl which is considered to be a financial burden.

Gender equality is an issue that needs to be addressed. This is no easy task keeping in mind social biases and prejudices.

A heart wrenching mail landed in my box this morning. It said: yesterday our darling M died in a car crash. Please pray for him. M was the son of dear dear friends and must have been in his late twenties. I had last seen him when he was six or seven and that is the image I still carry of him. I cannot begin to imagine the excruciating pain his parents must be going through. In moments like these words offer scant succor. Perhaps silence says more. I did offer what little solace I could sitting thousands of miles away. I wish I had been there with them in this moment of grief.

To a parent the death of a child is the worst that could happen. No matter how old the child is, how difficult or exasperating, he is first and foremost your child, someone you gifted life to and to have that life cut short in front of your eyes is unbearable. I know how much parents suffer when they lose a child: my mother never forgot her firstborn son who died shortly after birth, a brother I never knew.

Today as I mourn the death of a young man, my thoughts go back to all the pwhy children who left us over the years and whom I have never forgotten: Rohan and Puja the two lovely toddlers murdered by vile predators, Sonu and his broken body that shielded an indomitable spirit, Nanhe and his dazzling smile that lit your darkest day, Saheeda and her zest for a life cut too short, little Anil whose heart did not withstand surgery and young Arun whose heart gave up for want of proper care, Heera the young girl with a broken heart so loved by her family who were unable to save her. And most of all Manu whose death I am still dealing with as he was the spirit of project why and its raison d’être. I rarely remember them all one a given day but today the death of a young man I knew as a child made me realise how deeply the death of these children affected me and how in spite of time gone by I still mourn then as my very own. May they rest in peace.

I was recently asked by someone why I had decided to call my project project why. It is a question I have often been asked and that I usually answer with a light: because I liked the name! But this time was different. It was almost an existential question.

If I go back in time to the genesis of the project it all began with me wanting to honour my father and create something in his memory. The obvious thing to do was to create an organisation in his name and though I would have wanted a simple name, I was landed with a long winded one courtesy the authorities! It was a mouthful and in no way reflective of what we were setting out to do. Everyone felt we needed a working name. There were many brainstorming sessions till one day almost intuitively I came up with the name: Project Why. It just sounded right and though we did try to find a meaning for the acronym it never worked, why had to remain the interrogative adverb it was.

Today after more than a decade of existence I have come to understand the real meaning of my intuitive choice. Project why had come into existence because of all the disturbing questions that needed to be answered. What was essential however was not the ability to find answers but the moral courage to ask them. Sadly many of us have lost that faculty. The world is the same for all to see yet how many of us stop and bother to ask the needed why? We all see children begging at roadsides but how many of us are capable of asking why this happens? At best we roll down our window and hand a few coins or a small treat and drive away, till the next red light. Probably we know intuitively that where we to ask that dreaded question our lives would change forever. And we are not prepared to see that happen. Once you ask a question then you have to seek answers.

And that is what project why stands for. The ability to question every situation no matter how disturbing or unsettling.

About a year back I had written about Sanjay our Lohar teacher who walked the ramp in Bombay! It was a dream come true and a super success story for us at project why. But the story did not end there as Sanjay became the subject of a film shot by our friend Camille and aptly entitled Bollywood Boulevard.

Last month Sanjay went to Paris for the promotion of his film and to meet modeling agents. He is back with stars in his eyes, possible contracts and the proof that miracles do happen, you just have to hold on to your dreams tight! Another miracle of the God of Lesser beings and a great moment for us at project why!

An SMS from the boarding school informed us that Vicky, one of our kids, had won a merit scholarship. Needless to say we all leaped with joy. Vicky is from an extremely deprived home and has two handicapped siblings, one being our very own Munna! Had fate decided otherwise he would have probably never finished school and joined the ranks of child labour. But the God of Lesser beings decided otherwise and have him a break. He has played his part and proved to one and all that he was worthy of it. Bless you Vicky you did us proud!

It was a little over a month ago that I launched my appeal to save the women centre. What we needed to save this centre was 200 people who saw with their hearts and were willing to give us 500 Rs ( ~ 11 US$ or 8 Euros) a month on a regular basis. The response was heart warming and fifteen days later we reached the half way mark. However you will agree that we cannot save half a centre and that if we do not reach the magic figure of 200, the women centre is living on borrowed time and still faces closure.

I must admit that the thought scares me. The women centre is very close to my heart for more reasons than one: first of all it is our last born and thus a cherished one, but that is not all, the women centre was set up in the memory of an incredible woman who defied all odds to get an education. Closing the centre would be letting her down. I cannot see myself doing that.

For the last decade or so, it is my pen that has helped me get funds to keep pwhy going. My virtual begging bowl is made of words I guess. Today I need these to be poignant enough to reach the heart of the missing 100 so that we can save the centre.

Cynics may ask: what is so great about this centre. The question came to my mind too and so I decided to drop by the centre and view it in a dispassionate way. As I entered the yellow iron gate I was greeted by a warm and loud Good morning ma’am. It was the class V children. Then I heard a more subdued Namaste Madam. This came from the handful of ladies of the sewing class. Just looking at all them warmed my heart. I then dropped on the spoken English class where a bunch of kids were busy practicing for a play. I watched them for a bit and was truly impressed by the progress these children had made. Next a quick stop at the tiny computer class bursting at its seams where about a dozen young children were unraveling the mysteries of the computer. On the way I saw Roshni busy cooking the lunch of the day! It was time to go to the roof where classes were being held.

I somehow always get amazed at how well the women centre uses space. The big roof is carefully divided into many classes and everyone is busy studying. It is heartwarming and moving to see these children studying hard notwithstanding the weather. Believe you me it can get very cold in winter and extremely hot in the summer under the tin roof. But the children brave all odds and are always present. And as always all the children have passed their examinations and got promoted to the next class. The determination of these children is something unique and motivation enough for me to carry on fighting them.

So though the centre is at present on borrowed time it has become imperative to save it. The question is how? I only have my pen and my words to try and convey this need. So help me God!

When things look bleak and disheartening something always happens to lift your blues. I must admit that I have been again worrying about the future and needed a shot of optimism. I got two!

The first one was an email that I reproduce below as it speaks for itself:

I read these words on your blog today: ‘Sindutai’s story proves that you do not need to be rich and affluent to help others. What you need is the will to do so’.

Regardless of the world economic crisis, we can all help in small or large ways. If people are feeling the effects of cost-of-living rises in the west, we can only imagine how much worse it is in the world’s poor countries, so surely we all need to give more, not less.

Andy and I feel blessed every single day to have a comfortable life – we’re not rich, but like most people in the west, we have more than enough, so it´s really no hardship to give a little more. And what’s even better is that we’ve been able to substantially increase our donation to PWhy, without feeling the pinch at all.

Here’s how we made our savings:

Andy cycled to Spanish class six times instead of taking the car – 15 euros saved

I bought a new handbag, already reasonable at 12 euros, with a 50 per cent discount – 6 euros saved

On a 4 day holiday, instead of sharing a bottle of wine each evening, we had a glass each – 22 euros saved

We changed to a cheaper brand of laundry detergent and our clothes are just as clean – 3 euros saved

And our piece of luck – the petrol station undercharged a tank of fuel – 20 euros saved

Total: 66 euros, or 94 dollars.

If only all PWhy supporters started their own economy drive, think what a difference it would make to the Women Centre.

Amazing is it not. But that was not all. Some time later another email dropped by. This one from another friend and supporter and was entitled: “I am going to do a Marathon before I die”! Yes this incredible lady is going to run the Edinburgh Marathon and goes on to say : As an extra incentive and an acknowledgment of just being able to have a go at something physically and mentally challenging I want to raise money to be divided between two organisations. One of the organisation is project why!

These are two amazing women who are neither rich or affluent but who have a will to help others and are determined to do so. This is truly overwhelming and makes me ashamed of allowing myself to sink into despondency, even momentarily. As long as we have supporters like Irene and Bev we are blessed and safe.

This year I got my birthday gift a day in advance. It was a very unexpected one and a wonderful surprise. Let me share it with you.

It was result time for our little boarding school stars. Like all parents I must admit I was a tad nervous. We reached the school early laden with bags for the new term: summer wear, new school bags and lots of tuck. After a brief stop at both hostels – the boys and the girls – it was time to go to each class and collect the reports.

First stop the prep class and the results of three kids: Meher, Yash and Manisha. The teacher was all smiles as she handed over the report cards. They were replete with Excellent, Outstanding and Very Good and of course the promoted to Class I! Meher had stood first. She was jumping with joy. Then it was class I and Aditya. Again more Excellent and Very Goods and promoted to Class II. Vicky did well too and was now in class III and Utpal, Babli and Nikhil in class IV. I must admit I was a very gratified parent. All my kids had done my proud. As I held the 8 report cards in my hand and looked at them over and over again I was overwhelmed. The children had really done well exceeding all expectations.

This I realised was the most perfect birthday gift and I wanted to savour it fully so I decided to postpone perusing the reports till I got home. Later in the evening I sat with a cup of tea, my precious reports in hand. It was time to enjoy my present. I read all the reports. There was the scholastic assessment and the attitude and values part with headings like: shoulders responsibility, respects other’s feelings, confidence and so on and ALL our kids had straight A+ses. And everywhere the results were stunning. I was amused by the appreciation that said that Meher recites with expression. I wonder if our lovely imp would turn out to be an actress, she is such a star already!

Babli’s report only had Excellent and Outstanding. How could I ever forget the little girl with a broken heart who told me many years ago that she wanted to be a Police! Did I see a budding administrator! My little Utpal brought many Very Good and Excellent and earned the remark of being a well behaved and obedient child. This meant a lot as the past year had been difficult for this child learning to cope with his moms disappearance. I kept on reading, my smile getting larger by the second. Vicky had done well even though he was a tad mischievous but boys will be boys and slow Nikhi was improving and getting better by the day.

I held the 8 bright blue report cards in my hand for a long time. What a journey it had been for this very special children. Utpal and Meher had to pass the fire test, Manisha grew up following her mom rummaging garbage dumps, Yash grew up in the most dysfunctional family, Babli had to undergo complex and life threatening surgery before they could enter the portal of their boarding school and reclaim their hijacked childhoods. And today they proved once again that they were worth the gamble and silenced all those who felt that this programme was too ambitious.

For me these report cards were the best present I could have hoped for.

Where is my mummy is the question a hurting child is too scared to ask. Yet it is written all over his face, in each of his seemingly incomprehensible actions, in his unexpected bouts of violence, in his baffling and sullen ways. Where is my mommy is the question this child wants to ask but is too scared to. You see Mommy has disappeared since last year without leaving an address or contact.

True this Mommy never played by the rule, was often violent and sometimes even uncaring but she was Mommy and she was there. Today she is gone and the young child is in pain. True he has a life on his own, goes to boarding school, has friends, has his Maam’ji who spoils him silly, has toys and cookies but something is missing. Till last year Mummy was around and even if she was not there all the time, the child knew where she was. Today he knows that there are no answers and hence does not dare ask the question he so wants to.

You see Moms are important. All his pals in school have one and they come to all PTMs and other events. They bring goodies and give hugs. True he has his motley family and his Maam’ji who never fails to turn up. But Mommy is different. When she was around he was the little man who admonished her when she hit the bottle too often, or was unkind. He bore her anger stoically even when he was tiny because he knew there would be hugs later. He was so proud of her when she checked into rehab and he prayed for her return. But that was not to be and things got so bad that he was the one who opted not to live with her. But he always thought she would be around, somewhere where he could see her from time to time to reassure himself that all was well. Today he is distressed because she is nowhere around.

When we rewrite a script gone awry we sometimes forget the essential. In this case the little boy’s new script had everything: a great school with huge playgrounds and fresh air, a home he could comeback to filled with everything a little boy would want and all the adults that scripted this new life felt that they had done a great job. But they forgot one thing: Mommy! All the child wants is to know where she is, and maybe to see her once in a while but we have no answers for him. Perhaps she will reappear one day. We are all hoping she does.

Mommies are important to a child and nothing and no one can truly replace them. Till the little boy’s mommy does appear all we can do is ease the hurt and love him as much as we possibly can. You guessed right the child is our very own Utpal aka Popples!

I read about Sindutai Sapakal many years ago when I had just begun the pwhy journey. Her story was God sent and somehow helped me getting over my initial reluctance of asking for money for my cause. She became the unacknowledged mentor I silently prayed to each time I needed to beg for funds. Her words and her story were an inspiration. When I was thrown out of my house I used to beg for a living. Even today I move around with a begging bowl. The only difference is that in those days I begged for myself but today I beg so that my children can be fed and clothed she says candidly. The children she refers to are the 1000 orphans she cares for. Many of them are today qualified professionals. Sindutai is truly an exceptional woman who changed the course of her destiny and came out a winner.

Why write about her today. I guess it is all a matter of synchronicity. Her story appeared in a leading magazine last week, as she has been the subject of a recent well received biopic, and reminded me of the importance of remaining humble at all times. But that is not all, somehow shortly after reading the article I found myself sharing with a dear friend the fears and worries I have about pwhy and its future. And as I voiced my apprehensions I realised that I too had a handful of souls that needed me long time. I was referring to the eight kids in boarding schools and to my band of special kids. No matter what happened, these souls had to be secured even if it meant having to move around with a begging bowl. And what Sindutai reminded one was that no matter what came your way in terms of accolades and kudos, you had to remain humble if you wanted to succeed in your mission.

Sindutai’s story also proves that you do not need to be rich and affluent to help others. What you need is the will to do so and hers is an indomitable one. Nothing deters this formidable soul as she carries on her mission. What an example she sets! I am glad that her story came back to mind particularly as I have felt my steps faltering in recent times.

I do not know if planet why will happen or not. As I have written earlier 2011 is the year I have reserved for seeing planet why happen. If nothing happens by 31/12/11 then we lay the idea to rest and look for alternatives. But whatever the alternative it has to ensure that the 8 kids and the 20 odd special souls are tended and cared for till they need us. It means that the begging bowl has to be kept polished and ready, it means that one has to remain on one’s toes till the very end. So help me God!

I have been so entangled and bogged down in trying to save the women centre that I have had little or no time to spend at pwhy. Some time back a volunteer gifted me a CD with pictures of Okhla. The CD lay unwatched for a few days, you see I was busy trying to save…

Yesterday I decided to have a look, mainly to see if there were any pictures I could use. I inserted the CD and clicked the open icon and clicked on the first image. It was a picture of a bunch of girls laughing and smiling and I must confess I too started smiling. It was infectious. How happy they looked. I started clicking on other pictures and all I found were smiles and more smiles.

Whatever the age, be it girls or boys they were all beaming. Needless to say, for that instant at least, my blues lifted and I felt elated. Soo many smiles as my grandson would say. I spent a long time looking at the pictures, allowing myself to enjoy the moment to the hilt. Then slowly as my thoughts wandered a little I felt an immense sense of pride: was this not something I had created. It was indeed time to allow myself one of those rare pats on the back. Were this not all kids who had been saved in the nick of time from a terrible fate. How could I forget how boys like these had been used by lurking predators to push drugs or steal from the waiting trains on the nearby tracks? The danger still existed as children who were not at school or at pwhy, were still found hanging around the tracks waiting to grab whatever they could. As for the girls, they simply turned into surrogate parent to the young siblings missing school at the drop of a hat.

True we do not teach every single child of the area. We do not have the resources to do so. But the 200 or so who come to pwhy are safe at least for the time being, and have reclaimed their right to be children: the proof being all the incredible smiles the wear all the time.

The Okhla kids are an incredible lot. They not only study well but also partake in a host of activities be it art work that is auctioned in far away lands, pen pals they write to regularly or theatre they are getting almost professional at! They are a pure delight to watch and they remind us that project why rocks.

Seeing these smiles made me realise how much I miss the days when I could spend more time with the children but also makes saving pwhy more vital than ever!

By the stroke of a pen the Railway Minister made me and other women my age senior citizens two years before time. Wow! So I am a senior citizen or should I say I have grown old overnight. But lets get serious. Over the past few weeks many incidents have happened and each points to the fact that my time is now short. Be it the visit to the dentist who decreed I may loose some teeth or reconnecting with people from the past making life come full circle.

I am not one to fear death. I know it is inevitable. Many ancient civilisations urge us to prepare for it, some even define the right time and it is always when all your duties on this earth are over. These often relate to your progeny and their well being. The twist in my case is that I have a rather unwieldy and large set of offspring’s: the pwhy kids!

I wrote a post in a lighter vein about a year ago. It was entitled what is on my bucket list and somehow addressed the same issue: what is left to be done before I am ready for my curtain call. I guess what I wrote then is still relevant. The only difference is that today it seems more urgent as I sit battling to save my women centre. The reality is that I should be battling to secure pwhy as a whole. I know I have been trying for years to get planet why off the ground as it seems to hold the answers to all my problems, but maybe the fact that it has not got off the ground is a pointer to the fact that I am barking up the wrong tree.

Maybe it is time to reset course and head in the right direction. Maybe it is time to ask oneself whether planet why will be the happy home I want it to be or would metamorphose into a lifeless but safe bank deposit that would pay its monthly dividends with regularity to allow the show to go on. The show having of course would have to be rewritten to fit the size of the monthly return. Maybe time has come to rewrite the script. Some of the script has alas be rewritten by the God of Lesser beings when Manu left us. Perhaps that too was a pointer one did not comprehend. You see since its inception as a mere thought, Planet why was always to be Manu’s home.

On my bucket list is the future of Manu’s friends, the morrows of Utpal and his pals and of the hundreds of children who count on us to help them change their destinies. Somehow I cannot exit the stage without having secured at least the first two. And being human there also remains some personal wishes: seeing my daughter settled and happy, watching my grandson grow a little more, taking a long due holiday with my life partner and writing at least one more book the one that tells the pwhy story. Is the God of Lesser beings listening!

Subsequent to our appeal to save the women centre we have reached the half way mark. This is wonderful indeed but not quite enough as we cannot save half a centre. How could we possibly do that! You cannot ask half the children to go, or pay half the rent. Come to think about it you cannot ever save half of any living thing and the women centre is just that: a living and throbbing place. So we need to go all the way failing which we would need to shut it forever.

I should be elated as normally any fund raising appeal yield 10% and we have got 50! It would be so easy and fulfilling to say mission accomplished and bask in the feeling that the centre is saved. A peek at our account would tempt us to do so. But we have to beware! You see some of you have paid for a month, but others have done for six or even a whole year thus creating the illusion of abundance. We have to keep on remembering that we are only half way there. And that if we do not pursue our efforts diligently we are just delaying the inevitable.

What we still need is 200 people to give the needed amount every month. So the search is on for the missing 100. The question is how will we get there? I was at a loss when a mail dropped in my inbox asking me to share a story, the story of two wonderful people who help us every month: here it is in their own words:

Three years ago we visited Delhi and spent four days working for Project Why. Like many before and since we were struck by the magic that is Project Why. When we arrived home we decided that we had to do something to help. The visit albeit short changed the way we thought and lived our lives. We realised that material possessions were not that important. We realised the difference between need and want so now we ask ourselves do we need something or want it. Very often if the answer is want then we don´t need it or buy it.

We started by making a donation each month but quickly decided this was too easy and we should do more. We had a large collection of books, DVD´s and CD´s many of which we didn´t read, watch or listen to. We took these to our local Rastro (car boot). Inside we inserted a label explaining that the proceeds would be sent to Project Why and requesting that when they finished reading the book that they return it so we could sell it again.

It started slowly but people did bring back books and they were sold for a second time. Gradually more people brought us books some of the people who arrived with books were once total strangers to us. We have also provided each month a small leaflet explaining the work of Project Why and including the web address. We have made and handed out small bookmarks. Many people have shown an interest and stop to talk. We have also received small donations. Only a couple of people have shown any animosity to the cause. Each month there is a raffle with the proceeds going to charities nominated by those who attend naturally we manage to arrange that Project Why benefits about three times a year and one woman refused to buy a ticket because of where the money was going. If you think she was stupid then she was even more stupid than you think because the charity that month was not Project Why which was the previous month. Another person refused because charity begins at home. We live in Spain as does the potential customer so when he was asked where home is he responded England. During the last two years we have managed to raise 1900 dollars through the Rastro.

We have benefitted too we now have a larger circle of friends than before and the last Sunday in the month is a very enjoyable social event for us. We always feel very humble when somebody arrives with a bag of books.

We mention this because it is a fairly easy way to raise money and is something that others could do . If you want to try something similar try looking at the feasability of a pitch at your local car boot sale it does not have to be just books anything that sells will do. We are currently investigating that subject to scrounging sufficient items would it be worth having a stall at a local carboot sale the next time we return to England. If you come across somebody selling items for Project Why in the Hull area then it could be us.

We write this only to encourage other supporters to try something to help Project Why and also to see if we can exchange ideas. We feel that we can do more and would like to do so therefore if anybody has any good ideas out there let us share them. We need to save the Womens Centre having seen the recent pictures on Facebook how can we let them down.
Andy and Irene

These words warmed my heart and made me believe that though the road seemed long, we would make it.

Being good is fraught with dangers in our day and age. I recently blogged about the danger of being good not realising that I was about to have to walk the talk and try and defend the right of being good.

Yesterday a young friend dropped by. He is a young man after my heart, one who decided to take the road less travelled and make a difference. A series of recent setbacks and mishaps were however making him question his decision. The general contempt that someone like me who walks a different path faces in our society, really made me question what all I have been up to and if it was worth anything at all. My heart went out to him and I knew that I had to muster all I could to renew his faith in being good. Not an easy task as much of what he wrote was true: people are not kind to those who take the road less travelled. And as we all know by now being good can land you up shit creek without a paddle. And yet some of us refuse to give up being good!

As I said this was no easy task because the young man in question has responsibilities and needs to build his morrows. He gave up a lucrative position in another land to come back home and make a difference. And he did try as hard as he could investing all he had and more. The end result was failure and even having your work appropriated by deceitful means. This young man was not born with a silver spoon in his mouth. He had to struggle hard to get where he did and somehow it is this very struggle that made him want to be different. So here I am having to defend the right of being good one again. And though I know deep inside that it is the only honourable way to go, I find myself at a loss as there are not many examples to proffer or successful role models to hold out.

Words fail me. I know the young man is contemplating packing his bags and leaving for greener and better pastures where hard work and honesty are still virtues to be extolled. I truly do not know what to tell him to defer his decision and give this land one more chance. I wonder what will make him stay.

I got a phone call last week. It was from a local ladies’ club who wanted to honour me as part of their women’s day celebrations. I asked them quite candidly how they had heard of me and the answer was as candid: one of their friends had met me at the boarding school and got quite impressed by the fact that we sponsored children in the school. At first I was a little hesitant as I have always been weary of people who want to lionize you without even seeing your work, but then remembering the dire straits we were in, I decided to accept. I must admit I had no idea what I was getting into as this was a world I had always shunned. Maybe time had come to get over my disquiet and take a peek over the fence.

So yesterday afternoon I donned by best attire and set off to be honoured! The meeting was happening in the home of one of the ladies and when I reached the appointed place, I was greeted by a dozen of upmarket ladies in their best attire that made mine look somewhat paltry. The ladies were all smiles and very warm and we were given a cold drink as we still had to wait for some arrivals. Then it was time for the meeting to begin and it did with a bang: a lamp was lit, a bell rung and everyone stood up to hold hands and sing a bollywood song of the yesteryears that extolled the virtues of walking together. I was to say the least a little bemused but there was a feeling of bonhomie that prevailed and made it all acceptable.

Then it was speech time, a little pompous as everyone was greeted by their club titles. Then it was my time to speak and I did from the heart, telling them simply how pwhy had begun and what it meant to me. Everyone listened and some ladies wanted to know more. Then I was given a shawl and a gift. The President said they would come and visit us and help in whatever ways they could. A few more speeches and then the meeting closed with the singing of the National Anthem and the ringing of the bell. We were then invited to a cup of tea, which turned out to be nothing less than a feast! I took my leave, leaving the bunch of ladies to their festivities and returning to my side the fence.

My peek into this world had been a welcome experience and I was glad I had accepted the invitation. Though I did remain a little skeptic as my past exposure to the likes of these ladies had not been happy. How could I forget the umpteen times when subsequent to a phone call we were have been landed time and again with heaps of rubbish in the guise of donations, how can I forget the outrage of two such ladies when they heard about our boarding school programme, how can I forget the broken toys delivered with great fanfare. All said and done my forays across the fence had not been pretty. And yet these ladies seemed honest and genuine when they said they would help us and somehow I believed them. True we would have to wait for the right time, for their social calendars to have an appropriate window and so on. But wait we will.

The appeal to save our women centre has not gone unheard. Of the 200 commitments needed we have 75. This is great but still not quite enough. It may give us some breathing time but not save the centre! We do need to reach the 200 mark. My decade and more long experience of panhandling has shown me that all appeals get a spontaneous response and people do come forward, often with more than solicited. This is indeed heartwarming but often not quite sufficient.

Let me explain why.

The money we seek from you this time is what is needed to run our women centre. This money is needed every month to pay our staff – all of which depend on this salary to live – to pay our rent, to pay our utilities bills – none of which will wait – to pay the material and educational aids that are needed to teach and so on. So to save the women centre long term we need to reach the magic figure of 200. Anything short of that would simply delay the inevitable closure. What has seen us through 11 years is the regular commitments, however tiny, that reach us every month and allow us to meet our needs. And this is what we are asking from you.

The amount we seek is one that can easily be spared. One movie outing, one coffee at a coffee house. It is not much and I know that we will be able to raise it. We just have to keep trying.
I got some very touching mails from people willing to walk instead of taking cars! Bless them.

I would simply like to reiterate what this small sacrifice would ensure. It would allow 300 children to remain in school and what is most important is that some of these have painstakingly reached class X after having been failures for long. It will allow batches of 60 women to learn a vocational skill in our six month courses. Many today are able to supplement their home budgets, it will allow 20 people to retain their jobs, jobs that have allowed them to feed their families. So is it not worth your sacrifice!

Please help us save our women centre.

And to all of you who have already done so, a big thank you!

My appeal for help did not yield the expected results. At this moment I do not want to begin wondering why. The situation is too critical to allow me that luxury. I simply need to conjure a miracle or take the dreaded decision about which part of pwhy will face the axe. In case of the former I can only pray. For the later I guess I will have to apply some logic that works. It is not easy to decide which part of you to amputate. After much thought and deliberation I have come to the conclusion that if we have to close some part of pwhy, then it should be the part that was the last to see the day of light and by that logic it would be the women centre.

This centre came into being way back in August 2007 and was dedicated to the memory of Kamala, my mother. I feel terrible of even thinking to close it. It is almost as if I was letting this incredible woman down. And yet I do not see any other way.

The women centre today is a vibrant and spirited centre where over 300 children, most of them girls study; where over 60 women are taking their first steps on the road of economic independence by learning new skills; where 20 persons from deprived homes are earning their livelihood. Closing the centre would mean shutting the door on the morrows of all of them. Sounds terrible but unless that miracle comes through, it seems to be the only option we have.

This post is my last ditch effort to save our women centre.

What would it take to save the centre. Well barring a miracle that would conjure a sponsor or benefactor that would take the centre over, we would need about 200 persons willing to part with five hundred rupees or ten dollars a month! This is not even the price of an outing or a movie. Now that should not be difficult to find for one who has hundreds of friends on social networks and mailing lists of over a thousand. But past experience has proved otherwise. You see, past appeals have never worked. And yet one does not give up. All I need to do is to see the pictures below. How can I let all these wonderful and innocent souls down.

So today more than ever, I need a miracle, or need to find 200 persons who can look with their hearts.

A leading TV channel and a mega multinational have launched a campaign called ‘support my school’. Do click on this link and you are greeted by titles such as girls dropping out of school because of lack of toilets or too many students all else to little. Click on the later. You will be told of a school in North Delhi, yes in our own capital city, where there are 1800 students, where roll calls are taken in the open and last for a whole hour, where teachers admit only being able to check the home work of 15 out of the 80 students in their class, where all students do not get a bench to sit own. It is nothing short of a nightmare and far from the enabling environment needed for children to bloom.

Yet all the children in this school and in hundreds like them have gained the right to education, albeit as late as 2010 when the said Act finally came into force. Children in free India had to wait sixty two years to gain this right. Speaks volumes, does it not! The state of schools is nothing short of abysmal. This is the enabling environment we give our children and hope they will bloom into great adults. But how can they, many will never finish school for no fault of theirs, and others will muddle through into mediocrity.

When will we realise that primary education is the cornerstone of any self respecting society?
Believe me, it does not take much to turn things around. We have done this at pwhy for the past 11 years. With unskilled staff and scant resources we have ensured that every child that walks into our premises remains in school and graduates with success. The magic potion if any was tons of love that would make every child believe in himself and oodles of patience to ensure that every child ultimately comes out a winner. No rocket science required. This translates into a sad reality: it seems he powers that be are not really interested in educating the poor.

Are the rich better off? Not quite if we are to go by the nightmare of recent nursery admissions. Toddlers are being rejected school after school for again not fault of theirs: no sibling in school, the wrong gender or address, no alumni parents and so on. So where is the right to education we so blatantly talk about. Every government school building carries a sign saying; no child can be denied admission. yet what is the point of stuffing schools till they strangulate and die. Classes of 80 plus is not an acceptable option. Is education is to be a constitutional right then it is time the State took matters in hand and loosened its purse strings. It is also time we all started accepting the idea of a neighborhood school for all. Government schools still have prime property often unused. Why not built spanking schools on them instead of the pitiful barracks in existence.

Private school fees are running berserk. A friend of mine recently told me that the school fees of her 5 year old amounted to 30 K a term! Primary education has become a lucrative business and the insidious privatisation of education will ring the death knell of education for the poor. True efforts like the one mentioned above are laudable, but that is not the answer. The real answer is a change in policy but we all know how high education ranks in the minds of those who rule us… our present education minister had been handed an added portfolio which seems to be taking all his time!

Millions of little children are waiting for a chance to excel, and many of them can do too! Look at our little boarding school stars who shine in their enabling school. When will all the children of India get a similar opportunity.

It was PTM day last Thursday! This was a an open house working PTM, a little different from the customary ones. This time we were all shepherded to a classroom where the Principal, we were told, would address us. We were given a paper to read, one that listed the school’s achievements in the past year and plans for the one to come. I must admit many of us felt that this was a preamble to a fee increase and were a tad apprehensive.

After a long wait as parents were few and slowly trickling in, the Principal arrived and the meeting began. I must admit that we all wished be very short as we wanted to be with the kids. They of course kept passing in front of the opened door trying to catch our eye. But we kept sitting stoically our faces serious. The young Principal began by highlighting the past year’s achievements that were many and laudable: the school had been awarded the Best Boarding School in Delhi award and many of its children had won cups and prizes. Then it was time to know about the coming year. We were told that there would be a new gymnasium, a reading and resource centre, space technology classes, vedic maths, tennis football and more. We were also informed about the fact that soft skills would be taught from class III: table manners, telephone etiquette, anger management and more. That is when the Principal gently told us that there would be no added costs and believe you me every one in the room heaved a sigh of silent relief.

The meeting ended and we were offered some refreshment. But we wre all in a hurry to go and hig our kids. It was then time to get the term results – as always the children had done exceedingly well – meet the teachers and staff members, click the customary snapshots and then finally steal some time with the kids. Most of our children’s parents had also arrived and everyone sat in the winter sun with their little ones. I too rewarded myself to a few moments with Utpal who was busy playing with my grandson Agastya. We played a little, ate the goodies we had brought and soon it was time to go.

As always the ride back was in silence. I was lost in my thoughts. Just a few years or months ago the eight project why wards that were today thriving and blooming in this school, lived in abysmal conditions. In hovels where you barely had space to move, where manners and tables belonged to another world and you were lucky if you had a plate and here they were all set to learn table manners and etiquette. Wow! What a miracle! My thoughts wandered back to the day when two socialite ladies had expressed their outrage at our nerve to be sending slum kids to a proper school. I wished I could tell them that not only were they in school, but were all set to learn dining manners and table etiquette! Would love to see their faces!

Yes we had made the right decision and selected the best school. These slum kids were on the way to conquering a new world and I knew they would succeed. I must admit I felt smug and could not help smiling.

The danger of being good is the cover story of a leading weekly. Do read it. It is scary. Yet it paints a dark and accurate picture of present day India where to be good is not to be foolish but foolhardy. And yet some chose to do so no matter what. The article relates the stories of some of the bravehearts. It ends with these words This cover story is an alarming reminder that what should have been the norm has become the exception. Doing one’s duty is no longer an imperative in India. Nothing governs us as a society now except the miracle of individual choice. We are secured by the fact that some people choose to be good, no matter what. But there are myriad dangers in that. There is not just the might of the State to confront. There is also the temptation at every turn to just give up, part the skin and slip over into the silken side where one half of India is living a charmed life. If you don’t fight the ugliness of the State, it will behave in benign ways with you. That is one of the hardest lessons being good in India teaches you.

To all those mentioned in this article and to those like them who continue to make the right choice I say Chapeau Bas!

I too made a choice ten years back. To me it was not simply the right choice but the only one. And though my work is puny and insignificant compared to the stories related in the article, I too have faced the wrath of state and society. True it may not be as blatant or glaring, rather it has been insidious and surreptitious. The author of the article makes no bones about the state of our society when she says …just this small handful of stories will make you balk at the depraved society they reveal. Corruption in every pore: … Nothing is safe. Greed is the only propeller. We are not a society really: we are a termite nest, eating at ourselves. This is a far cry from the dying words of my father: have faith in India! I would still like to hold on to those words even if everything screams to the contrary. I would like to believe that things will change though how is a million dollar question! A recent ad on TV urges the Finance Minister to find some black magic to deal with black money. That is how desperate we are.

Coming back to my choices and the ire they leashed out, I would like to share some incidents that till date had remained hidden in some deep recesses of my memory. The article did make them come to the fore. I remember how outraged a local politico had felt when he realised that many pwhy students could read and comprehend English. That day I had become the enemy. You see the poor had to remain poor and illiterate and committing the cardinal sin of empowering the poor had to be arrested. What ensued was veiled threats, the bulldozing of our school in the park, public slander where I was branded a thief as I supposedly pocketed huge amounts and just doled out a few pennies to espoused cause. Even till date the said politico does not mince his words when it comes to me. I guess what vented his fury was the fact that many of my staff exercised their right not to vote in elections. I had crossed the line. Since I have reined myself a little, not because I am scared or intimated, but in the larger interest of pwhy as I felt it was more important to carry on helping the children and the community rather than proving points.

Running an honest ship is not easy in our day and times. Corruption lurks at every corner. You get hounded by the electricity department, the water department, the municipal authorities, just about every one. Each time you need to renew your tax exemption certificates or file your returns, greasy palms appear from everywhere and if you decide to ignore them then every nook and corner of your soul is scrutinised and probed and you are viewed with suspicion and mistrust. The state does not like people who make individual choices.

One would hope that society at least would be kinder and more generous. You soon realise that this is not the case. For one who had been voted Citizen One in 2005, the city has given little. Every attempt to secure funding has failed be it the one rupee a day pitch or the individual attempts at getting funds. What has hurt me more than anything is the total disinterest that people show when one shares stories from the other side of the fence and how can I ever forget the total outrage expressed by two socialites when they heard about our boarding school programme: what was left unsaid and yet so audible could be translated as: how dare you send these children to what has to remain our hallowed turf! So be it state or society you were branded enemy if you dared disturb existing social patterns.

And yet you do not succumb to the temptation of giving everything of, of slamming the door and losing the key, of slipping into the silken side where one half of India is living a charmed life. You carry on doggedly facing every scorn and obstacle and finding ways out. Sometimes you wonder why and the answer comes to you loud and clear: because there is no other option, because you have made a choice and because you still have to look at your face in the mirror and like what you see. Ans above all because of all the little smiles that greet you every day and the dreams you hold in custody.

So help me God!

Yesterday I had an extra dose of my never fail feelgood shot. You guessed right: a trip to meet Utpal and his pals at the boarding school. Sunday was the scheduled PTM day but a phone call on Friday informed us that the PTM had been postponed to the 24th. It would not have mattered but for the fact that we had one of the sponsors in town and she was leaving on the 23rd. So a special request was made and we were allowed a short visit.

We reached the school bright and early. Unlike the hustle and bustle of a normal PTM day, we were greeted by an empty ground and an almost eerie silence. Not wanting to disturb anyone we stood in silence in a corner whilst D went to inform of our arrival. We were informed that the children were in class and that admission tests were going on. We were asked to proceed to the boys’ hostel and wait in the Bursar’s room. We crossed the grounds almost on tip toes to reach the appointed place.

As usual we were greeted with warmth and offered a cup of tea. Someone was sent to get the children. A few moments later the smaller children arrived: Yash and Aditya and then the girls Manisha and Meher. They were all smiles and happy to see us. Then the bigger ones arrived: Utpal, Vicky, Nikhil and Babli. They were thrilled to see us and eager to share all that had happened since we last met. Vicky had fallen and hurt his head and got three stitches said one while the other informed us that they were all busy studying for their examinations, a little voice added that they had had Maggi for breakfat. We listened to all of them and then it was time for a few snapshots before the bigger ones were sent back to class. The smaller ones lingered on a little but soon it was time to go with promises to meet on the 24th, when the real PTM would take place.

We said our goodbyes and tiptoed out of the school.

As we were leaving I realised that my steps felt lighter. You see I had got my feelgood shot. Seeing these children always made me feel on top of the world and for a brief time all problems seemed to vanish. Somehow everything seemed right. A bunch of happy and content children running in the open, learning in the right conditions, eating to their heart’s content, dancing and singing: what more did one want. These children had reclaimed their right to be children. I only wished that I could give the same chance to many more. Was the God of Lesser Beings listening? I truly hoped so.

Dear Friends of Project Why

It has been a long time since I have written. I guess I fell into the lure of comfort zones and believed that all was well and that we had finally reached a stage where pwhy was safe and on course.

Mea Culpa!

I can just add in my defence that one was preoccupied by the distant future and busy trying to secure pwhy long tern and thus overlooked the near future and the morrow. I also did not see the the writing on the wall and did not realise that the loss of our on line donation option – paypal – would ultimately be felt.

Today we are once again short of funds and the future looks scary.

But before I go on, allow me to share with you the brighter moments. Project why today is a thriving organisation that has entered the 11th year of its existence. At present over 700 children and young adults benefit from our presence and we have come full circle in more ways than one: many of our alumni are gainfully employed in good jobs having thus broken the circle of poverty in which they were born; some of our special students are also gainfully employed; our little boarding school kids are all topping their respective classes and many of the women we trained are now economically independent. We have had our darker moments too, the worst one being the loss of Manu, who was the spirit of pwhy and the reason why it all began. His loss was a huge blow that we are still recovering from. But we are certain of one thing: we have to carry on our work to honour Manu’s memory.

However no long term future can be safe if our present is shaky. And today we are once again in a precarious situation that brings to the fore the fragility of our funding model. We are aware of this fact and trying to take remedial measures but these will take time. Over and above our long term sustainability plans – planet why – we are exploring new avenues: a fund raising event that if successful would become a yearly happening but this too will not only take time but require start up funding and sponsors.

Today we have firm commitments for about 70% of our needs. The remaining 30% needs to be raised each month. Our on line payment option did take care of this as many of you always answered my regular pleas for help. Sadly that on line option is no more as new government regulations required us to stop that facility. Today helping us would require a little more effort, but I am sure you will once again reach out to us as you always have.

Some of you may say that we should trim pwhy to fit our regular commitments. This is indeed the most logical thing to do but as you know pwhy is all about the heart and I cannot begin to think about which part to chop: the babies, the special souls, the secondary kids who are on the threshold of success or the primary children who are just beginning their journey. As you see this is not a conceivable alternative. We just have to find ways of continuing and I assure you that this time we will not allow ourselves to sink into comfort zones.

I know you will help us. You always have!

with love and blessings

anou

Our donations options are available here.

When I first conceived of planet why in my mind, it was to give our special children a credible future and a dignified life. True I wanted them to have a home but I also wanted them to be gainfully employed and thus live a life to its fullest. Hence the idea of a guest house that would not only give us the much needed funds to sustain ourselves, but also be a place where ALL my special souls would find employment. In my mind, even the simplest of souls, could at least water plants!

Many talk of equal opportunities for challenged beings. We want to walk the talk.

came of her own and surpassed every expectation we had. She was quick to learn and was soon handling things For the past few months we have been running a small home stay for our volunteers. It is located down our street and can accommodate up to 6 volunteers at at time. It is somewhat an embryonic form of planet why! This month our very own Anjali joined the housemother as an understudy. We wanted to see how our dream would unfold and boy were we surprised, Anjali handled most tasks independently. She was a pro at all housekeeping chores but more than that she soon became the darling of all guests. They spoilt her, bought her small gifts and believe it or not, took her on a day trip to see the Taj Mahal.

Needless to say, Anjali was elated. She cannot stop smiling and is on cloud nine determined to prove to one and all, that special people can better anyone if given a chance. We too are on cloud nine as all our dreams have been validated.

Special souls must be given a chance. Let them enter your world and you will be surprised beyond expectations.

It has happened again though after a long time. We are short of funds and do not quite know how we will make payments next month. You may wonder why this has occurred. I guess we just allowed ourselves to sink into one of those dreaded comfort zones and did not see the writing on the wall. We did not realise that the loss of our on line payment facility would make such a difference. We were a tad complacent and let things run. Our little cushion against rainy days got slowly eaten away and one fine morning we woke up to the harsh reality of not having sufficient funds.

Actually the we I have so candidly used in the para above should be changed to ‘I’ as for the past 10 years it is I and only I who has fund raised for pwhy. True I was always painfully conscious of the fragility of this funding model but the bottom line is that I did not do much bar make lofty plans for a distant feature (read planet why) forgetting the tomorrow. Today I stand exposed and sheepish. Can I afford to say that I forgot, or that it slipped my mind. certainly not: when you hold smiles and morrows in custody you do not have that luxury. Mea culpa! I am guilty of not having kept on my toes, of not having written my erstwhile appeals, of not having sought a alternative to the on line payment option. Time to soul search and necessary amends. This time though I will not got for it alone but keep my team in the loop.

So for the past days/weeks we have donned our thinking caps to find new funding options.

Last month I got two emails from leading NGOs. One invited me to join what they called the 100 rs club, and the other solicited me to become of the 6000 people they were looking for, people who would be willing to donate 10K a year. Both bought a smile on my tired face as they reminded me of our herculean efforts to infuse life into our one-rupee-a-day programme that was launched many years back but never truly jelled. I wonder how the programmes of these NGOs who ask for 100 and 800 Rs a month will fare. I wish them luck. Maybe they will succeed as both these organisations are high profile, something we never managed to be.

Another NGO we know well had their yearly fund raising fair. They do it every year with success as do many other organisations: fairs, carnivals, melas, concerts etc. So perhaps that was the way to go. Quite by chance we were contacted by an event management company who offered to organise a show for us but there was a catch: for it to be successful we needed to find a celebrity. As we were close to despair, we even tried to do that, posting on Facebook and making phone calls. The outcome was bewildering: Delhi did not have many celebrities, and even if a Mumbai celebrity would accept to lend her/his name there was another catch: we would have to pay airfare and 5* accommodation. Where would we find that kind of money. So bye bye fairs, concerts, melas…

Maybe we should just try and revive our good old rupee-a-day deal. But how was the question. And that would take time and we needed the funds now. There was only one tried and tested way: writing appeals to friends and well wishers, the very ones who had always been there for us. I must admit I felt sheepish to do so as it has been a long time since I picked my virtual pen to write to them. There was a time not so long ago when I did write regularly, even when we needed nothing just to keep in touch. Then I stopped smugly thinking that people would read blogs and FB notes and keep abreast. Mea Culpa again. It was now time to once again retrieve the dusty begging bowl and solicit help. That was still the only way to go!