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!

I have been wanting to write my take on corruption for quite some time now but did not quite know how to. The last weeks/months have been replete with scams and more scams and the corruption figures are mind boggling. I believe that an estimated 63 lakh crores of Indian money sits in Swiss banks. I cannot even begin to work out how many zeroes we are talking off! I get disturbed even by a mere rupee lost in corruption as that rupee is often robbed from a child or a lost soul. Groups against corruption have sprung up on cyberspace and I dutifully joined some hoping to add my voice to the chorus. Recent upheavals in faraway land where millions have taken to the street to battle corruption does make us wonder when we too will muster the courage to do so.

But let us get back to this post and the reason why it is being written today. A mail dropped by yesterday informing that one of my posts had been selected as one of the spicy Saturdays pick of the week by a well known internet portal. As I browsed the site in question my eyes fell on the title of another pick: I dare to dream. This brought a smile to my face as dare to dream was one of the bye lines that I had come up for project why long time back. Where children dare to dream was what we often wrote under the words Project Why till they got changed to because it makes that little difference. Wonder why that happened. Anyway dare to dream were words close to my heart so I clicked on the link and landed on a post on corruption where for once the author went beyond recrimination and stated: I hate what is happening and yet I love my country. I dare to dream of a corruption free India. Do you dare to dream? His words struck a deep chord in me and reminded of my father’s dying words: Do not lose faith in India. It looked like too many of us had. Even I who had meekly changed a bold dare to dream to a meek because it makes that little difference. It was time to redress the tort.

True corruption is all around us but how can we forget that it takes two to tango and if there are people who give, then there are also those who take. Corruption has simply become a way of life and a way that works well. And we are all part of the game in our own little way. To reverse the equation would require us to change ourselves and how! And to get to do that we need to dare to dream big. So let us see what we should dare to dream about: an India free of corruption, where promise are not mere lip service or empty pre-electoral promises, where compassion reigns, where children never got to bed hungry, where all children go to school and where all school have teachers and playgrounds, where health care is available to all, where women are not abused and humiliated and the birth of little girls celebrated, where difference is extolled and feted, where all barriers are broken and where all are free and safe. The picture is enticing is it not? And if we dare to dream I am sure we will also garner the will to make the dream come true.

Altogether your investment of yourself into the project is getting to be a magnificent obsession which is very commendable but deserves caution. So what is it I wonder that so relentlessly drives you. I am trying to understand were the words written by someone I dearly respect. He went on to say: The scope of Project Why is exponential. This is what is concerning me. Is there an indication for rationalising the endeavour. I wonder. If your father was alive what advise would he have proffered.

The words would have irked me had they come form anyone else. But the person who wrote them was someone I cherish dearly, someone I know cares deeply for me. And moreover it is someone who was very close to Ram, my father. So somehow a simple email metamorphosed into a message from the heavens, one that needed to be deciphered gently.

So let us begin by trying to find out what it is it that relentlessly drives me? The answer is not hard to find. For me it is inconceivable to sit doing nothing when faced with disturbing whys, be it a Manu begging on the street or a troubling statistic like the one that states that a child does of malnutrition every 8.7 minutes, be it the sight of a child made to beg on the streets when s/he should be in school or the plight of a woman used and abused, be it the pain of a parent running helter-skelter to garner the money to save its child or the sadness in the eyes of children of a lesser god that no one cares for. Can trying to seek answers to any of these whys be termed as a magnificent obsession or is it simply the only option. I tend to think it is the latter: simply the only road that one can travel. So what drives me is no magnificent obsession: I simply see, hear and care.

But there is more in the mail that needs answers. Yes the growth of pwhy is exponential but that is simply because whys keep coming our way, almost as if they were guided to by an invisible hand. This is what I have felt right from the outset. The feeling that this time, no matter what I may seem to others, I am not in charge. A first for me who has always liked being in the drivers seat. But not this time. From the day I first walked the tiny street where Manu was born and where the first stone of pwhy was subsequently laid, I intuitively felt a presence gently propelling me forward. And there was no looking back, with each why that was thrown my way, came an answer that miraculously worked. Pwhy had wings of its own on which I had scant control!

So what was the message. The words caution and rationalising perturbed me. Where we going or growing too fast? Was planet why too big a venture for me to handle? Did I have the required skills? And did rationalising mean slowing down, pruning the project, finding another sustainability plan that was less onerous? And yet as I have said time and again planet why seemed to have a life of its own, each time we have been close to giving it up, something has occurred to save it. 2011 is the last year we are giving to the project so if the God of Lesser Beings want to see it happen, then he needs to conjure a miracle fast. In spite of my best efforts I have been unable to dictate what happens at pwhy. Pwhy grows organically. One just tends to it with care and heed.

And last but not the least, what advise would my father have proffered. Knowing him he would have encouraged me to continue on the path I have chosen without doubt. True he would have, like any caring parent, been concerned about me, but would have always advised me to carry on hearing, seeing and caring.

A recent mail from of our staunchest supporters suggested gently that one should consider 2011 as a watershed year for planet why. Give it our all but accept to let it go by the end of the year of nothing happens. A bit fatalistic I must admit. But then am I not the one who had always felt the presence a guiding hand since the day it all began, it being project why! The hand of the one I christened: the God of Lesser beings.

So when did it all begin, this planet why idea, at least in my mind. I guess here too there were two distinct ideas: the shelter for lost souls and the hope hotel as some call it or the guest house that was meant to churn the much needed resources. The former was seeded almost 11 years ago when I first lay eyes on Manu. The later was much latter, when all other options had failed: the cards and candles, the chocolates and jewels, the tshirts and bags, the one rupee a day venture, the soaps and oils, all meant to help us move from charity to sustainability.

It did not happen overnight. One was at one’s wits end to find the best solution and an innocuous remark introduced me to the ninos hotel in Cusco. The rest is history. With every passing day the idea of dovetailing hospitality with development became stronger. It was richer in possibilities the all previous ventures as it also allowed us to take a step further in our journey and take the kids beyond simple school education.

There were up and downs, times when we were ready to give up but like the proverbial bad penny planet why kept springing back with obsessive regularity. When we were let high and dry by a potential donor, other appeared and we managed to purchase our land. When the world markets plummeted we again thought that the planet why idea had crashed with it but then it bounced back. When a friend suggested that we get the plan vetted by professional consultants I was convinced that the outcome would be negative, but far from that, it was found to be very lucrative. When the final costing was worked out, I recoiled at the figures but others found it normal. When our innumerable mails seeking support and finance were answered with polite nays, out of the blue came people who were willing to ensure that planet why see the light of day. When Manu left us and I was shattered as in my mind Manu and planet why were synonymous, every one else felt that Planet Why was the only way we could honour his memory.

This where we stand today. And yet I tend to agree with the friend who has decreed that we consider 2011 as a watershed year for planet why. I guess it simply means that we once again leave it in the hands of the God of Lesser Beings!

The God of Lesser Beings operates in strange and mysterious ways. I must confess, a little sheepishly, that ever since Manu’s demise many of my beliefs have been shaken and I have been feeling somewhat dejected. The task ahead looks daunting and my steps feel a little wobbly. True, things have to continue to honour Manu but I must admit that the feeling to give it all up has crossed my mind more than once. Blissfully no one seemed aware of this as I have kept a brave face!

Yesterday we made an unscheduled trip to the boarding school as a funder was in town and wanted to see the child she sponsored. The morning was crisp and sunny and it was a pleasure to be out in the open. We reached the school later than planned and thus missed the refreshment break and all the the children were in their classrooms. We waited patiently for the children to be called and soon they trickled in one by one, the bigger ones coming in later. A always it was a pleasure to see their smiling faces and hug them. We were taken on a tour of the school and for some time Utpal seemed to have disappeared. He reappeared shortly clutching his red pencil box, the very one we had bought together the last time he was home. He insisted I take it home with me as according to him others were eying it. I was a little bewildered but did as I was told.

Soon it was time to leave and we did quite reluctantly as always. I held on to the little red pencil box a little tighter than required. I sat in the back seat of the SUV fiddling with the box and opened it inadvertently. Inside was a little piece of paper folded in four. I opened it. Scrawled in pencil were the words : I love you… Maam’ji! I was stunned. It was a message from Utpal. But I realised it was much more, it was a message from the God of Lesser Beings, the one had been unconsciously seeking, the one that meant that I had to go on no matter what. It was his way of reminding me that many depended on me, that I did not have the luxury of banging the door and losing the key, that I could not throw my hand up simply because things had not quite gone the way I would have wanted them to. And once again in had been this special child of God who had intervened in my life to call me to order.

The moment was precious and blessed and I was glad the others in the car were silent. I sat quietly taking in the meaning of the four little words scribbled in a child’s hand. It was awesome and wondrous and reminded me once again that I was but an instrument in the hands of one that had plans for me, plans I was not fully privy to but that I had to follow no matter what. I love you too Utpal and will never let you down.

Yesterday was the thirteenth day after Manu’s demise. This is the day of the final send off, according to Hindu rites. I presume his family must have done the needful, but his project why family did it their way. A little table was set in a corner of the special section with his photograph, flowers, incense, bananas, his favourite food and of course a packet of biscuits Manu’s peche mignon! An oil lamp was then lit and would remain lit for the entire day. His classmates and three roomies sat in silence in front of his smiling picture. When all was ready, we observed a minute of silence. The room was filled with wondrous energies and we all felt Manu was with us.

After the minute of silence it was time for his friends to say a few words in his honour. The first one to do so was Umesh, our spastic child who speaks with difficulty, but he rose to the occasion and floored us all. He remembered Manu’s love for food and sense of humour: my dear brother I will miss you was how he ended his little speech. Anjali his roomie was next: I forgive you for all the times you made fun of me dear Manu, be happy wherever you are were her words. Raju who had looked after Manu for years, helping him in more ways than one simply said: I will be lost without you. You were very special, you liked your puzzles and loved to draw. I will miss you. Champa remembered his love for food as she said in her simple way: I use to be the one to give you your dinner every night and little Radha prayed for his soul wherever it rested. Preeti was the last one to render homage. She said: Manu may your soul rest in peace and may you always find biscuits wherever you are. Needless to say we all cracked up and wept. This simple and heartfelt homage to this special child of God was moving and touched us all. Every word spoken was from the heart and true. There was no artifice or pretense.

It made us also realise how much Manu was loved by his friends and classmates. Some like Umesh had known him for years. Some had come into his life more recently like little Radha or young Sohil. But he had touched them deeply. True he had his moods and his bouts of temper but no one ever minded them. He was above all the big brother everyone cared for and loved and today every one was lost. The classroom seemed strangely empty reminding me of Lamartine words: You miss one person and the whole world is deserted.

I sat on a little stool in a corner watching all these children of a lesser God bidding farewell to their dear friend and was filled with a range of emotions I am unable to decipher fully: sadness, love, tenderness, compassion, wonder, awe. It was as if God himself had descended in this tiny room to bless this farewell to Manu. I did not want it to end as I held on to my tears and watched these very special children do what we supposedly rational adults have forgotten: see and speak with our hearts unabashedly.

Manu had once again woven his magic and I realised how bless we were to have stumbled upon him and made him ours.

May he rest in peace.

Utpal spent his winter break in a novel way. True he had his fill of screeching battery operated cars and spins on his new gleaming scooter, but his morning were spent at project why where he patiently taught the tiny ones. As son as we reached the project he headed straight for the first floor where ‘his’ class was located. He then patiently waited for the children to arrive, helping with their bags and shoes and ensuring that they settle down.

He then spent the whole morning helping the teacher and taking his role very seriously. When it was alphabet learning time, he climbed on a little stool next to the alphabet charts and was busy making the children repeat their letters. It was lovely watching him do so! He was our new teacher on the block.

I remembered the days when he had been a pupil of this very class and use to waddle in joyfully and participate in all activities with great seriousness. He was a bonny fellow and at that time nine of could begin to imagine what lay ahead. Those were the days when we still hoped that his mom would redress her ways and that he would have a home like all his pals did. But that was not to be. The God of Lesser beings had other plans for him, plans that we were not privy to and were yet to discover. He soon lost his home and in a manner to speak whatever little family he had. A few months later he would enter the portals of his new home: his boarding school.

I think Popples never forgot his past and coming to pwhy is like homecoming. His little stint as a teacher proved that. Children are extraordinary and never fail to astound you. God bless him.

I remember the days when Popples use to cry his heart out when it was time to leave for school after any break. His wails use to wrench my heart and bring tears in my eyes too. Popples left yesterday afternoon. No wails, no sobs, not even a whimper. He waived us a cheerful good bye and jumped in the car where his school pals waited full of stories and things to share. He was all grown up now.

Not quite I must admit. The day before he vanished in his room stating that he wanted to play alone. This was quite understandable as little Agastya my grandson, often appropriated to himself Utpal’s toys and Utpal the kind big brother was always ready to share his toys. But Popples is only 8 and a kid himself and I guess playing big brother was not always fun. So his desire to be ‘alone’ was not questioned.

When he did not come down for quite some time, I sent Gita to his room to find out what was happening. Gita found him crying. No wails or sobs but silent tears that ran down his cheeks while he played with one of his favourite cars. When she asked him what happened his answer was a simple: I do not want to go to school but I know I have to. You see he was all grown up.

When I came to know about this I cracked up and ran to see him. By the time I reached his room the tears had gone. What remained was streaks on his cheeks. I took him in my arms and rocked him gently, like one would a child. He hugged me tight and we remained like this for a long time. No words were needed.

It was also time to ease matters so the next morning we set out to the cake shop not only to select my grandson’s birthday cake for the 21st, but also one for Popples whose birthday fell on the day he would be back for his next break. It was fun and laughter all the way. The choice fell on a gleaming bike cake that would be ordered in time. The dark clouds had dispelled and all was well!

But not quite as Popples tears had touched a deep chord in me. These holidays he had time and again mentioned his mom in overt and covert ways. Be it the lost box or the many instances she appeared in the course of conversation or the most poignant time when the little boy stated that his home was where mom was. How did one explain to a hurting child that his mom was awol! That she had just left town and never bothered to keep in touch; that a court had given his custody to his maam’ji. True maam’ji was precious and someone he loved but she was not mom! And custody or person deemed fit, as the court order stated was too abstract a term to be comprehended by a still tiny little boy.

This time I was also treated to many kisses and cuddles. Normally Popples is quite reserved when it comes to expressing his feelings. He has been so since he left for boarding school and became a little man. Yet the past few days I have been hugged unabashedly. Maybe Popples needed reassurance, needed to know I was there, needed to know he was loved. It was time to put my deemed fit status to test but how. Did I need to ferret the mom out from whatever hole she had dug herself in? Did I need to start explaining to him that mom’s sometimes chose to change the course of their lives? I must admit I am a little lost.

Children should be brought into this world for the right reasons. They never ask to be born. We inflict the gift of life on them and then sometimes wash our hands away leaving the child bewildered and hurting. Today I need to redress the tort, to heal the pain and above all to fill that little boy’s life with abundant love and joy. So help me God.

Yesterday Auntyji, the housemother of our foster care called out to Champa and said: Give Manu his dinner! You see it was Champa’s duty each evening to serve Manu’s plate and hand it to him. Auntyji realised her slip as everyone looked at her dumbfounded. It took some time before things came back to normal and everyone settle down to dinner without Manu, his empty chair a sad reminder of the terrible loss.

When we decided to give Manu a home exactly three years, we also had to give him a family. We crafted one for him. A very special one. It all began with Champa a very special young girl , 4 little kids, a house mother and a special educator. Life was really bindass as this motley crew learnt to live together and create bonds that defied all logic and withstood the test of time. And their joy was palpable if you cared to look with your heart. You just had to watch Manu dance.

For me it was a long home coming, one that began on a scorching day in May 2000 and ended in 2008. Eight long years were needed to build a home and craft a family for Manu. But it was worth every moment, every challenge, every hurt, every kick. When Manu felt terribly sick his little family was shattered and lost. When he came back home from the hospital they all sprung into action to tend to him in what ever little way they could. When the kids left for boarding school, Manu missed them and often asked when the next holidays would be. When they came home for summer Manu would spoil them in his own way and you could see the joy and care in his eyes. When young Anjali joined the family after she lost her mom, she was accepted with open arms. She became family. And recently when young Radha joined the gang, she too was taken in in a jiffy!

The day Manu died, his family was shattered. The girls sat alone in a room in stunned silence, tears rolling down their faces. Soon Manu’s real family appeared out of the woodwork to reclaim their own, the one they had forsaken and left on the road. True predators looking for an ounce of flesh. It was galling to say they least, but we withstood it stoically not wanting to mar Manu’s last journey.

Today three little girls and an old lady are trying to learn to live without Manu. Not an easy task so help us God!

Manu left yesterday. He left quietly, without any fuss. I remember how worried we all had been in 2009 when he had fallen terribly sick and we all thought he would not survive. But he did, beating all odds to treat us for a few more months to his smile and his incredible ways.

Since then millions of memories have flooded my mind, each more precious than the other each bringing a feeling of incredible warmth and comfort making me realise that he was more than just a project why child. In many ways he was a source of strength and even a mentor! I also realise that he was the most precious gift that the God of lesser beings had sent me, to show me the way and nudge me to take the road less travelled.

Many pass by the likes of Manu. Some at best would throw a coin his way others would simply recoil in horror. When I first met him he was not a pretty sight: his hair was matted coils, his body caked in his own dirt, his gait unsteady and his cries heart wrenching. I still do not know what made me stop and look into his eyes. But I did and that moment changed my life.

Manu’s story is no fairy tale, of maybe it is with him being the one who transformed lives and conjured miracles. God did have a mission for this broken and fractured soul, and the mission was project why! As it is for him that project why happened and flourished. My mission was to find him a home with a warm bed and a real family. I guess we both somehow succeeded in our missions as Many breathed his last in his warm bed, with his little family: Anjali, Champa, Aunty and Prabin, the ones who had loved and cared for him for the past years. I fell short of mine as I wanted him to be the first inmate of planet why, as its seed was sown the day I lay eyes on this blessed child of God.

When we first met Manu we had to take things one day at a time. Tame him at first, just as the little prince had tamed the fox. Learn his ways and decipher his moods. We did just that and to do it had to settle roots in the very street he roamed. Thus began pwhy.

The first days were difficult as he used to hobble away each time we tried to get close, or let out a heart rendering yell that stopped us in our tracks. But then we realised that he too was beginning to learn our ways and would find him waiting for us or hobbling towards us as he saw our car approaching. As I look back on those days I am filled with an incredible and yet indescribable feeling of warmth and love. My mind is flooded with feel good memories that I had forgotten. There are so many of them that come rushing, each filled with hope and tenderness.

I remember the first meal that I shared with Manu. We had got him some warm rotis and dal and sat him on a stool in front of our little classroom, his meal placed on another stool. He picked up his plate and balanced it on his knees and then patted the now empty stool and gestured me to sit on it. He then broke a piece of roti and dipped it in the dal and held it out for me. I took it and ate it oblivious of the glares of those around me who saw the dirt of Manu’s hands. I only saw love. That was perhaps the very instant when I was taught the true meaning of the fox’s secret: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye. Yes I realise today, as Manu is fighting for his life, that he was the one who taught me to look with my heart.

There are many special moments in the nine years that we have known Manu. Many huge moments like the first time Manu ate with a spoon or the first time he picked up a pencil and drew a picture (it still sits on my wall). I remember his fist ride in a car when we went to the jam session for special children and the first dance I had with Manu. I was amazed at how well he danced. I remember his first pedicure with Shalini rubbing his feet with a pumice stone and he making funny faces and sounds. I recall with pride and satisfaction the first meal Manu had in his own home after spending a night in his warm bed. And that is not all, this child of the streets who had spent the best part of his life as a beggar, turned into a perfect host as if he was to the manor born!

But above all Manu was the mirror to my soul, the one who have me the courage to look at myself with candour and honesty and showed me what I was capable of. Today I am lost yet I also know that I will have to continue my work with renewed effort to honour this very special soul’s memory.

It is Xmas, a time for gifts and wishes. Once again I am reminded of the words of Oren Arnold who proffers a list of Christmas gift suggestions: “To your enemy, forgiveness. To an opponent, tolerance. To a friend, your heart. To all, charity. To every child, a good example. To yourself, respect.” And once again this is exactly what I would like to offer to all on this hallowed day.

Gifts come in all shades and hues. They can be bought at stores or crafted painstakingly, yet the most precious ones are undoubtedly those that require you to part with a little of yourself, even if it is a tad uncomfortable. Arnold urges us to do just that. Forgiveness is not easy coming and yet it is so liberating. So is tolerance. They rid us of all the negative thoughts we carry as unnecessary baggage. Whilst giving your heart to a friend is easy, charity is a little more tricky as it loses all its meaning if you do not give a little of yourself too. As the proverb goes: is is the bone shared with the dog when you are as hungry as the dog! Over the past 10 years I have been privy to charity in all its avatars: from the most uplifting manifestation to the vilest. Fortunately the former prevailed and that is how we have been able to carry on our work without impediments. Bless are all those who understood the true meaning of the word. It is heartwarming to see that all around the world there are people who see with their hearts and make it possible for us to carry on.

To every child a good example is the next gift suggestion. Wish we could all understand this and act accordingly. The tragedy of all those growing up in our day and age is the total lack of role models to emulate. So it becomes even more crucial for each one of us to set good examples, but do we? The question begs to be answered. We at pwhy are trying to do just that and will continue to do so.

And last of all, Arnold suggests a gift given to one’s self: respect. This is by far the most precious gift we can proffer and yet we all fall short of it. I guess that if we did learn to respect ourselves the world would be a different place where tolerance, forgiveness, charity, and good example would come by naturally.

Merry Xmas to all

Yesterday I was interviewed for a web journal. After the set of regular questions about work and self, the journo asked me what I felt the State should do to address the habitat for the poor issue. Build decent homes in every part of the city as slum dwellers were the backbone of the city was my impassioned plea. Habitat for the poor I has always been an issue close to my heart as over the past decade I have been privy to the plight of slum dwellers in our heartless city. Are we not the city that needs a Supreme Court order to instruct it not to demolish any homeless shelter in the dead of winter! Are we not also the city that allows people to live for THIRTY years in ramshackle tenements along a road side, issuing them all kinds of civic recognition to fatten vote banks, and then razed their dwellings one fine morning to pander to some harebrained whim? Yes we are and we should hang our heads in shame, but do we? We all know the answer to that uncomfortable question.

Winter has set in it is terribly cold. Heaters and warm clothes have come out of the closets of the rich but do we ever spare a thought of what happens to the poor?

Last week Radha’s mom came to see us. Radha is the little girl with brittle bone disease, the one who has borne the pain of over 50 fractures in her tiny life, the one whose home has been destroyed more than once and who has spent many nights on a footpath, Radha who should be handled with extreme care but who lives in cramped and damp holes that would not be considered fit for an animal in any self respecting society. Radha’s mom had a simple request: could we keep Radha in our foster care for the duration of winter as the cold was unbearable in their tiny hovel where she slept on the damp floor. I can well imagine that. Radha’s present home is a sunken hole and the child who is a just a bag of bones must have suffered excruciating pain lying on the damp and cold floor. Needless to say we agreed. She had already spent some time with us when she last broke a leg and it was a joy to have her. We would have kept her longer but she wanted to return to her home and family and we did not stop her. You see Radha is much the elder sister to her younger siblings and somehow she felt she had to be with them.

Radha moved in yesterday and she will spend the rest of winter warm and cared for. But what about the innumerable children in this soulless city who will have to bear the brunt of the cold because we have forgotten to care for our very own.

This is a morning shift class of the primary boys at our Govindpuri Centre. Yet if you look carefully at the picture you will see a little girl sitting at the back. She is Neha, Amit’s little sister and Amit is her morning caretaker. You see both parents work and there is no one to look after the little girl. So the siblings take over. Amit in the morning and Mira in the afternoon.

It works like a clockwork orange. Amit brings the little girl to pwhy in the morning and then hands her over to Mira at the school gate at lunch time. Mira then takes over and little Neha is back at pwhy in the afternoon for the afternoon shift. She then returns home with her sister. I guess for once the two shift school system prevalent in our city is of some use! Not the best option for the little child but then at least she is safe.

This is the plight of many young children in a city where early education is still not free. Many families are too poor to pay for a creche or a preschool and thus older siblings have to become parents and caretakers. The sight of a small child carrying a younger one is common in slums and shanty towns. It is time the authorities looked at the plight of children and did something. Let us hope they do.

Yesterday was my feelgood shot day. Yes you guessed right, it was PTM day at the boarding school! And yesterday more than ever I need my shot of hope, optimism and faith. So imagine my stress when the car was delayed and we has a late start. But the traffic was merciful and we did make almost in time.

We reached the school and sprung out of the car. We hastily gathered all the goodies and packets we had brought: chocolate cake and patties were the day’s treat. We also had bought extra sweaters and shoes for some of the kids as instructed on the previous day by the hostel warden. So bags and baby in tow – yes my grandson was with us – we scurried to the respective classrooms to gather our brood. As usual huge smiles and cheery hello Mams greeted us. Of course every one wanted to know what we had in the bags. After a fe minutes spent with the respective class teachers that were needless to say all praise, it was time to settle down in the sunny lawns and spend some quality time with our band of eight, after of course having opened the goodies bag. Between mouthfuls of chocolate cake we were made privy to the ongoings of this hallowed ground. There were tiny complaints, and gentle chiding. There were requests for the next visit, Utpal often being the chosen spokesperson: bring us more biscuits and dry fruits, we are hungry in the evening; Vicky’s shoes are broken; and so on. Time just flew as we sat in the winter sun listening to the chatter of these lovely kids and imbibing the happy feeling that was all around.

And as I sat there lost to the world I knew, I realised that all doubts and apprehensions that had been plaguing me for the past days just vanished. Watching these children laugh and smile made me realise more than ever that my work was far from over, that they needed me for years to come, that I had to secure their morrows no matter what it took. These children more than anyone else epitomised the spirit of why, a spirit that screamed loud and clear that no life was hopeless, that every child deserved nothing but the best and above all that the best could be theirs if you just kept on looking with your heart.

I had had my feelgood shot. It was time to get back on the spinning wheel. There was work to be done.

Rarely is love instant and yet once in a blessed while it is. For the last month we have been touched by a very special kind of magic conjured by two lovely souls called Alan and Em! Alan & Em have been volunteering at pwhy for the past one month and for the past one month we have all rediscovered the true meaning of words we adults often forget like fun, joy, exultation, delight, cheerfulness, gaiety and more. But that is not all they also renewed our faith in values like trust, honesty and goodness. Alan and Em are like rays of sunshine and breaths of the freshest air.

They came with their bag of goodies and enthralled the children with magic tricks, bubble shows and mysterious machines and somehow what had always seemed so boring and tedious became luminously simple. Science, physics, maths were just games to be enjoyed. And yet the children learnt more in this one month than they had ever before.

Alan and Em are like two happy children ready to discover all that the world has to offer to them and enjoy it to its fullest. In the past month I have never seen them frown or scowl. Even when they were hit by the Delhi bug, they never lost their smile. And not only the children, but we adults, and me in particular, got some precious lessons in the art of living. Their joie de vivre is infectious to say the very least and shows that it takes very little to live life to its fullest. It is amazing how nothing ever gets these two down. You never hear a complaint or even see a fleeting sign of discontent in their eyes. They are always happy. Ask them how their day went and you hear fabulous, awesome, amazing. Ask them how the food was and you hear delicious, yummy even if you have served them a simple innocuous meal.

A & M have also given a whole new meaning to the word charity. Their generosity brings to mind the old proverb that says; A bone to the dog is not charity. Charity is the bone shared with the dog, when you are just as hungry as the dog! They simply have an implicit trust in human nature.

Knowing Alan and Emily has been a privilege and honour and we all feel blessed. Love is rarely instant yet once in a while it is: this was just one such instant.