A few months ago I got a mail form a young friend.He wrote: I have recently started an ambitious project to create story books for children and more importantly to devise means to make them available to every child of the world. We are working on the first book right now. I will be dedicating this first book to the children of Project Why. I was really touched. It all started with a twitter campaign where the aim was to reach 100 000 followers following which we would receive a huge library courtesy Grolier! A very ambitious project, but we were all excited and a little candid!

Months went by and I must admit I got engrossed in other things so imagine my astonishment when I got a call from my young friend informing me that the campaign had been successful and that we were soon to receive the promised books worth a whopping 200 000 Rs. I was floored! What a wonderful surprise. I was also informed that we had to go to Grolier’s office to receive the gift. Before I carry on the story, I wish to thank Rohit who is an exceptional young man who sees with his heart and makes dreams come true without much ado, just the way it should be. God bless him.

So last Monday an appointment was fixed and we were to meet the country head for Grolier and receive our gift. I had thought it would be a short formal affair but it turned to be one an unforgettable experience. We were welcomed by Mr James Yeoh, the GM himself and offered a cup of tea. We started talking about one thing an another and soon were sharing thoughts and dreams. I told him how much I appreciated the generous donation of educational material as it would help me ensure that my children have access to better possibilities and morrows. That is when James told us how he had over the years given young people of a lesser God the chance to step out of their limited world and reach the sky. His company trained and employed young people from underprivileged backgrounds. He told us how he had given a young fishmonger he has been impressed by, the chance to come and work with him. Today the young man was a marketing executive. I sat mesmerised, hearing for the very first time words that I had dreamt, words that I wanted many to mouth, but never heard. How wonderful it would be if many more thought like James Yeoh! And that was not all, he even promised to give our kids a chance!

Then it was time to receive our gift. I still did not know what it was. I must confess that I had seen the large display of books at the entrance of the office and had been fascinated by them as they were all wonderful titles and just the kind we needed but I still did not know that ALL those books were for us. When I did find out, I was again stumped. It was a dream come true as just a day before I was thinking how to go about getting some learning material for our new focus on quality project. And here we had it all.

Our sincere and heartfelt thanks to James and Rohit who have given the children of project why the most precious and beautiful gift: knowledge!

Imagine a cow standing on one leg. Quite impossible isn’t it. And yet that is what the cow that symbolises Dharma or, for want of a better word, righteousness, is meant to be doing in the Kaliyug, that is in our day and age.

What it means is that Kaliyug is an age where all that can go wrong does! And one does not need to be a rocket scientist to see that. I have often thought of writing about this, but then somehow the moment was never quite right. Till yesterday when I fell off my bed as I heard the aberration to beat all aberrations: A senior police officer had been asked to probe a recent ‘bee’ attack on a political leader during a rally! Yes you read right: a Deputy Inspector General of Police will now spend tax payer’s money to find out why a swarm of bees decided to hover over the head of a politician. Wonder how the poor man will manage to do that! But that is not all: the same politician was felicitated with a garland made of one thousand rupee currency notes amounting to millions and that in a state where children sleep hungry, schools are non existent, drinking water scarce etc. That the same rally cost 2 billion rupees is too much to fathom. Imagine how much development could have been achieved with this amount! The poor cow must be shaking on its now frail and tired led.

The ludicrous bee probe and vulgar note garland are just manifestations of the abysmal state our society has sunk in. I guess it is the inanity of the bee issue that shook me out of my torpor and compelled me to write this post. To see that we had reached the stage where a poor human soul was being commandeered to find out why a swarm of bees had had the audacity to disturb a political rally was the pits! And we also know that the poor man will have to prove the bee conspiracy theory to be true. And yes, for all those who are not initiated to the reality of India, this is no joke. Poor tax payer’s money is going to be spent on this.

Kaliyug is when human civilisation degenerates spiritually and people are as far removed as possible from God, or should I say good. It is obvious that we are in the midst of it. Every day we hear of some aberration or the other be it a woman burnt for money, a girl child smothered to death simply because of her gender, children sold to slavery, people dying of hunger, children beaten to death by their teachers, Godmen caught for sexual perversion, caste courts passing ruling that defy the laws of the land. The list is endless and each time you think you have seen it all, something else springs us to call you to order and remind you that this is indeed the dark Age.

There is an erosion or rather quasi depletion of values like honesty, generosity, compassion, words that seem almost alien to today’s vocabulary which seems to revolve around a single word and its derivatives: money! Money is what makes you good, successful, praiseworthy etc. No wonder then that being garlanded by a ring of currency notes is the best way of showing to all that you have arrived. Believe it or not after the first garland that brought enough flack, the said politician and was again given a garland of notes and will henceforth only be felicitated this way. That she represents the poorest of the poor makes all this even more galling.

Oh darling this is India. A land where elected politicians flaunt their ill gained wealth, where perfectly good roads are broken to be built again so that local politicians can line their pockets again – this is happening in the street where we are located for the third time this year – where schools have no desks and children study on the floor, where the rich become richer and the poor poorer by the second. Sadly there seems to be no end to all this. I wonder how long it will take for the poor cow to finally collapse.

I have a friend who is also my star gazer. When things are not quite as they should be and I need to be reassured, I write to him and seek his advise. He always writes back giving me something to hold on, even if the planetary situation is not quite as it should be. This time his words were ominous, or so they seemed at first: in May comes Shani’s (Saturn) time for a year. You will realise that time is no longer on your side. It was a blow as one so easily sinks into comfort zones and forgets that time never stops for anyone. My friend softened the blow by adding: but a new attitude, wiser friends, a better management of your resources will give you a more balanced life.

It almost seemed as if I had consulted the Delphic oracle and needed to unravel the real meaning of the answer. I knew that the words time is not longer on your side had a deeper meaning than what they seemed. What was the meaning of this message from beyond? I pondered for a long while and slowly realised that this was a gentle nudge reminding me that time had come to tie loose ends, to finish yet unaccomplished tasks and to secure what had been gained. Time had come to take stock of what needed to be done and had till date been set aside for the elusive morrow.

It could be simple things like clearing debts both financial and emotional, or more important ones like fulfilling dreams that had been set aside for the opportune moment. And yes one would start thinking along those lines. But I knew instinctively that there was much more. It was not just a matter of my dreams or my debts, but what was at stake here was the dreams I held in custody. They had to be secured and I had to do it now!

Yesterday, in the course of a conversation, a friend shared his concern about an eminent social activist having changed tracks and moved from education to rights activism. The person he was referring to had started and successfully steered a very dynamic education support network till he decided to move away. My friend seemed a little disturbed at this. At the time I let it pass and we moved on to other matters.

It is only much later that I pondered about the whole matter and wondered why someone would make such a change. I guess the answer is simply because activism has greater impact and is more visible. Or is because working on the field makes you more aware of wrongs that need to be righted? Be it the skewed education system or the non-existent child protection laws. Or one is tempted to go even further: the possibility to change social systems. It is true that when you are engaged in imparting education to a handful of children, as no matter how many you reach it out, it only remains a handful in a land as large as ours, your vision is limited and your scope restricted. And its is also true that when you have done this for years, your desire to redress torts becomes more acute. So for many the time comes to move on to a place where you feel you can make a real difference. And the sphere of activism beckons you.

I wondered whether after 10 years of battling grass root issues I too could one day be so tempted. The answer was a loud and clear NO! I have my reasons and the one that stands foremost in my mind is that children cannot wait and need to be helped now as they sadly do not have time on their side. For them tomorrow is already too late. So no matter how small the handful, for them you are the only chance they have and for me each and every child has a right to that chance.

Over the past years I have come to realise that it is our special kids who have truly amstered the art of having a ball! It is in this class that I have, more than once, experienced pured unadulterated joy and it takes practically nothing to get them going: a few tins and bottled to beat on, or paint to splash with.

Yesterday they were gifted a bounce ball and though they had never seen one before, it did not take them time to figure it out and get going, and everyone had her or his turn. It did not matter if you could walk or hear, you indeed could bounce. And bounce they did! And for a few minutes time again stood still, everything was forgotten as they bounced to their hearts content.

These precious and unique moments were caught on camera by our photographer volunteer Lorraine. So come bounce with them and have a .. ball!

When Peter sat down to draft a leaflet to highlight project why’s work, young Naomi, age 11, asked whether she too could make one. Naomi has never been to project why as she lives in Cranfield in the UK. Her vision of our work comes from what she has heard and interpreted with the wisdom only children have. For them dreams and reality coalesce and the yet impossible becomes very real. Or is it that they have the gift of seeing in the future? I do not know. To me Naomi’s words are blessed; perhaps a message from my friends the God of small beings at a time when I needed to be reassured.

Below is a transcription of Naomi’s leaflet..

Hello, we are project why the charity that helps children In India.

Did you know that over 11 million children are homeless in India. Did you also know that families of 6-7 live in slums which are not much bigger than the back of a small van.

How we help

When a poor child can walk they are sent to beg on the streets until they reach the age of six when they are sent to school where most pupils would have learnt to write because they had gone to private kindergarten school. For those who are poor and cannot afford kindergarten do not understand school as they have not learnt the basics. So we at project why started running free kindergartens and have also been helping children with their homework.

Once they finish school they come and work at the new hotel we have built and when they are ready we move them to work in other hotels. So children can have a good start in life. The children of India need project why and we need money to help them...

Once again I take my virtual pen to vent my fury over the sad state of education in India, the land that has finally deigned give its children the right to free and equitable education. It took the so called rulers over 60 years to loosen their purse strings and do that. These are the same rulers who take but a day to vote an increase in their own salaries! And let me set the record straight: the right to education bill has been passed, but its implementation is still a long way coming.

But let us talk of the ground reality and here I am not talking about the underprivileged child. Nursery admissions in up market schools have just closed and once again an innumerable number of children are left in the lurch as they have not made it! In a land where education is a right, children are rejected at the tender age of three. You see they do not live on the right street, or have parents who have not been to the right school, or are the wrong gender, or have no siblings. Maybe they need to petition to God to give them the right credentials before they are sent to be born in a land called India!

Oops I forgot to add one thing: their parents do not have the right bank balance as this year again slammed doors could be opened if a fat cheque was handed out. I know of one case where a parent was asked 10 lacs (on million) by a well known school! In many cases a real mission impossible.

The writing is on the wall: there are too many children and not enough schools, an ideal situation for commercial enterprise and a quick buck. But hold on. If you look around the city, in every nook and corner you will find what is know as a sarkari school (government run school). Prime space that far too often houses a ramshackle single storied building. Imagine if each of these could be transformed into a state of the art multi storied building that was run to perfection. Utopia? Not quite. Actually the real answer to education woes. However there is one small hitch. The likes of us would have to accept to have one’s child rub shoulders and share benches with the children of a lesser God.

It may not happen willingly but maybe as force majeure. When there are no more up market schools to take our kids or when the money needed becomes far beyond our shrinking pockets. Is the common neighborhood school slowly becoming an inevitable reality?

They tell me that “Project Why” is different because they are not trying to shock us, they are simply asking for permission to continue their work were the words that dropped in my mailbox this morning. They were from a friend and supporter who conveyed the feelings of someone who had just discovered us.

I sat a long while pondering over them. How true they were. In my now almost ten years of soliciting and panhandling I have never wanted to shock anyone. I remember how upset I always felt when anyone dared suggest that we use sad pictures to showcase our work. I was anathema to me. Pwhy could and would never be a sad place. It is true that people tend to loosen their purse strings more easily when faced with pathos but that was never the way we wanted to go. We were in the business of crafting smiles and creating joy and that is what we always sought to share with one and all and what we asked was help to continue to do so!

I would, I must admit, never have thought of using the words permission to continue our work but come to think about it that is exactly what it amounted to. Every time we requested help in any form it was simply to allow us to carry on what we were doing: ensuring that one more batch of students complete their studies or move into the next class, ensuring that a group of little souls are able to acquire the skills needed to enter the portals of a school, ensuring that a bunch of very special kids spend one more day of their lives in laughter and joy. Simple things that should ordinarily happen without much ado, but that often come at a price for children of a lesser God. Every penny we sought and continue to seek is to do just that. No more, no less.

Heaven grant that the burden you carry may have as easy an exit as it had an entrance wrote Erasmus. A graceful exit and the appropriate time is undoubtedly something we all aspire and hope for. And yet when we charge into an open door we seldom think of how we will exit it when the need arises. New doors beckon us with promises of news and uncharted journeys and far too often follow our heart and sink deeper into unknown land. This is what happened to me exactly 10 years ago. The door in question was the one that had project why written on it.

I must admit that it was a lot like Alice in her Wonderland. One road led to another. And as I stepped into each one of them wonders greeted me and engulfed me. Soon I found myself surrounded by little souls egging me to act and fulfill their hopes. I did to the best of my ability. And as time passed, I found myself in the middle of a complex labyrinth from where the entrance door was no more visible. In the initial years that was not important as optimism and passion clouded all rational vision. But then slowly I found myself looking for that elusive exit door. It could of course not be the one I entered through as that would mean going back and I knew that that was no more an option. I had to find one that allowed a graceful exit, one that would ensure that all that I had been lovingly and patiently crafter remained intact and even thrived after I had quietly tiptoed away.

For the past few months I have been looking for that exit door. There have been many I knocked on but then had to abandon as they lead to nowhere. But then one day a tiny door beckoned me: it had the words planet why written on it. I opened it hesitantly and was awestruck. What met my eye seemed far too colossal for me to fathom. How could I make what I was seeing ever happen? And yet as I looked deeper I saw a tiny door marked Exit at the other side. To reach it I knew I had to make planet why happen.

Note: Planet Why is our sustainability vision. It is a guest house the proceeds of which would enable us to continue the work we have been engaged in for the past ten years

Komal may not be able to join her sister in school and that for no fault of hers. Her family filled up the forms in time and completed all the required formalities. As per the stipulated nursery admission procedure Komal should have got the needed points: she is a girl child, she has a sibling in school and she lives close to the school, albeit in a slum! And yet she did not make it to the final list.

One wonders why?

Is it that her address was not swanky enough, or that her father’s job – he is our senior secondary teacher and has been solely responsible for ensuring that no pwhy student has ever failed a Board exam – is not upmarket and thus not exploitable, or is it that her mom is a simple housewife! Never mind if the government recently mandated that schools were not to consider parents qualifications and profession were not to come in the way of accepting or denying admission to a child. The fact is that for no fault of hers, this little girl did not make the list!

Once again we are faced with admission woes and one again innocent kids are caught in the incomprehensible nursery admission drama. Two friends just called to tell me that their children had not made it to the 19 schools they had applied in. In the case of one of them, a boy and an only child, he did not make it because he had no siblings in school, was not a girl, and his parents were both brought up and educated in another city. The entire admission list of the said schools was made up of siblings and/or alumni children. Where does a only boy child go! Something is definitely terrible wrong. The only ones who make a killing are schools who accept innumerable admission forms sold at a whopping profit. A recent survey revealed that in Delhi alone good public schools earned revenues by selling prospectus to an extent of Rs.5,000 crore.

So where do harrowed parents go! And here again the tale is sordid. We had a taste of it last year when Kiran needed admission. Things can always happen if you are willing to pay. We did exposed the matter last year and little Kiran got admission in another school and truly . We were relieved and believed that things would be simpler when her sister’s turn came. How wrong we were or I guess should I say how gullible we were. Shylock always seeks his pound of flesh.

Little Komal only applies in one school, the one that had her sibling. When she did not make it, despair made us want to know why she had been rejected. I guess most parents just walk away dejected but hers did not. Upon seeing the keen interest they displayed, they were told to come back next week and meet the Chairperson. They did. They pleaded and pleaded and were thrilled when the said person finally acceded to their request. They were given a slip and sent to the accountant. The man perused the slip and asked them if they had brought the needful. They were perplexed. The man said money as he handed them a slip with a figure scribbled on it. The figure was for a whopping 35 K: admission fees and I guess a donation. He was quick to add that this was to be paid in cash, after that payments could be made by cheque.

How would the little family come up with this amount, and yet this amount held the key to the little girl’s future. And this was no time for sting operations and whistle blowing, two little innocent girls morrows were at stake. The parents will find the money. They will beg, borrow, steal but will get their child admitted. At least she has secured admission!

This is what is happening in in a country where children now have a constitutional right to free
and compulsory education. Should one just again say: Oh darling yeh hai India!

Note: many government schools give admission on a lottery basis. Wonder if that is fairer! But the question remains: what happens to those who do not make it. When will we have a common neighborhood school for all our children.

In the midst of winter, I finally learned that there was in me an invincible summer
Albert Camus

The recent rape of a 9 year old in Goa has once gain brought to fore the extreme vulnerability of children who are easy victims to lurking predators of all kind. The perpetrators of the heinous act have been arrested. Will they be convicted or with they one gain easily slip though the gaping holes of inadequate laws? One does not know. The sad truth is that in crimes against children, adults often go scot free. Rape is undoubtedly the extreme aberration. What we often do not see is the innumerable insidious crimes that are committed each day against innocent and hapless children. And what is even more dangerous is that children far too often accept the offense in total silence, each wound simply scarring their little souls forever. The perpetrators on the other hand, carry on the abuse with impunity, protected by written or unwritten laws that cover them with a cloak of false respectability.

Sadly again, the worst crimes on children are committed by people who the child trusts, looks up to and sometimes even loves. Is not the adult child equation one of trust and credence?

Last week a little girl came to one of our centres with a bruise on her cheek and a cut on her lips. When questioned she simply answered that the one on the cheek was a blow by her father and the other by her mother. There was no anger, no wrath, nothing.. the child simply accepted it.

My mind went back many years, to the day when I had seen a little girl in her school uniform crying copiously as she walked back from school. When i asked her what had happened she answered she had been beaten by her teacher. When asked why she simply added I must have done something wrong. The need to challenge a wrongful act was absent. The child seemed once gain conditioned to accept abuse when it came from an adult you trusted. And with each act of abuse that misplaced belief is alas strengthened. When things get too bad children take the unthinkable step and end their lives. Helplines are of no real help. An abused child has scant self esteem. She or he are incapable of seeking help. Abusive adults ensure that, and if that is not enough the family and social environment extol the code of silence.

How then does one get the child to break out of this vicious stranglehold? How does one get the child to break the unjust code of silence she or he are compelled to accept? It is not easy and that is where civil society, or at least those who have not abdicated their power to defend what is right, should stand up and shatter the oppressive silence. One of the most effective campaigns against domestic violence has been the Bell Bajao or Ring the Bell campaign. It urges each one of us to ring the doorbell when we come to face to face with an incident of domestic violence. The bottom line is do not keep quiet and walk away.

The same needs to be done when one sees child abuse in any form: bet it in homes, schools or on the street. Only then will innocent abused children begin seeing a glimmer of hope at the end of a dark tunnel and will slowly regain their lost innocence and take their first step on the long road to healing. Only then will they be able to pick up the pieces of their broken self worth and start believing that each one of them carries withing her or himself an invincible summer no one can rob them off.

So what are we waiting for…..

I have often been faced with dilemmas, some more challenging than others. And each time a message from what one may, for want of another word, call the heavens has come my way and dispelled all clouds. For the past few weeks now I have been pondering about how to bring about the qualitative change we seek and need at project why. The first option that came to mind was to try and bring about the change slowly, a class or two at a time, and add a class each year. The reason for doing it this way was dictated by our limited resources, both space and funds. It would have been unrealistic and unreasonable to do otherwise, or so it seemed.

I set out to write a small proposal for what I called a pilot project. Should have been easy but somehow it just did not get off the ground. I must admit that I was extremely frustrated and annoyed. I just did not realise that this was a gentle message from the heavens urging me to stop and review things. I left the unfinished proposal but found myself sharing my thoughts with friends and well wishers individually. Many warmed up to the idea. But my writer’s block refused to go away. Then a mail dropped from someone unknown till then. It was a person who had stumbled on our site and wanted to help us. I of course was prompt in sharing my new quality mantra! That is when another message from the so called heavens dropped my way, this one louder and clearer: why not quality for all. The writer reacting to my mutation idea simply asked: is it just an idealist’s expression of dissatisfaction at the natural gap between ideals and reality, is it a strategic internal brainstorming on improvements, perhaps both? Can quantity be maintained while striving for improved quality, even if it costs significantly more? Would it be possible to experiment with increasing to 2 hours instead of 3 on a trial basis, and grow gradually and in a more manageable fashion?

The words hit me like a bolt out of the blue. The whole idea that had seemed so right, was actually preposterous if you viewed it within the spirit of project why. Was I not the one who had always clamoured high and low about the unacceptable reality of having different schools and systems of education for different sets of children? Was I not the one who extolled the virtues of a common school? Then how could I have thought even for a moment that I could have within project why two parallel approaches? This was against the very grain of all we stood for. I can only say in my humble defense that I put forth this idea keeping in mind our limited resources. But were we not the ones who always managed some way or the other, who always rose up to any challenge and met it with a smile. And while I debated all these issues, another mail dropped by, this one from a dear friend and young mentor. My hope is that your “quality vs. quantity” debate need not be one or the other he gently chided. The writing was on the wall. Quality it had to be, and for all our primary kids! True we would have to sacrifice some small things like individual copy books for all or monthly outings for every kid, true we would have to crowd children in the limited space we have, but the small impediments would be amply assuaged by large dollops of enthusiasm and commitment.

The writing was on the wall, only I had been too blind to see it. It had to be quality for all right from the word go! Was that not what project why was all about.

I don many hats, some by choice, others by conviction and still others by compulsion but there is one that was bestowed upon me as a blessing and that is the one of a granny! Exactly a year ago, on this very day my life changed forever. A bundle of pure joy landed in my existence: it was Agastya Noor my grandson.

Today Agastya celebrates his first birthday and I once again beg your indulgence an allow me to share some personal thoughts. I wonder if becoming a grandmother has changed me in any ways. Outwardly life is very much the same and I continue donning all hats and giving each my very best. Yet I realise that I do it all with a song in my heart and a spring in my gait. You see Agastya brought hope into my life. He has given me the strength to laugh in adversity and to truly believe that tomorrow is another day. He has made me understand that every child is precious as each comes with dreams and unlimited possibilities and shown me how blessed I am to be able to fulfill a tiny part of those dreams. He has shown me that life is a wonderful gift that has to be lived to its fullest. God bless him always!

Martha lives in Mexico City. She came to see us for a day and got touched by what I have oft called the magic of project why. Back in her country she thought of us and wrote these words I want to share with all. Maybe she more than anyone else, intuitively understood the true spirit of project why.

WHY?
Why feel pity when you can feel hope?
Why stand by as a spectator when you can jump in and be a participant?
Why feel indignation when you can feel commitment?
Why conform when you can transform?

Project why was born to answer these questions. It was born out of a powerful desire to say no. No, I will not accept this as the way it is, as the way it has always been. No. I will not accept dispair as an unescapable reality. No. I will not be handed my destiny. I will have a say in writing my story, and the story of those around me.

But why try to change the world if it seems such an impossible task?

Maybe you should ask little Utpal, who survived devastating burns against all odds thanks to the help summoned by Project Why.

Or Heera, a young lady who has the hope to heal her heart and maybe live beyond her 16Th birthday.

Or Himanchu, who is learning to read, and write, and speak a new language, and dream of posibilities rather than obstacles.

We CAN change the world. But we have to do it one child at a time. And we are already behind schedule.

Get your heart involved. Today.

Visit projectwhy and join this celebration of opportunity, life and future.

Why? The answer is simple. LOVE. Pure. Raw. Undying love.

Martha Soler

An article that appeared in today’s paper revealed the tragic state of primary education. The article begins with these ominous words: the scare raised by the Supreme Court on Thursday about China being poised to overtake India in English proficiency is about to come true. The article further states that just about 44% of class I children know there English alphabet. Which really translates into the fact that these children will seldom master the language, irrespective of whether they are taught English or not. Unless we do something about teaching English, we may lose an advantage we do not realise.

The reason for this deterioration is manifold: misplaced political agendas, poor teaching methods, lack of interest and so on. But whatever the reason it is ultimately the child who bears the brunt. Knowledge of English is undoubtedly a huge advantage to anyone seeking to better his or her employment opportunities. The fact that English was part of our colonial heritage should be viewed in a positive manner and not rejected. And teaching English to underprivileged kids could be the elusive leveler we all seek.

At present the teaching of English is government schools is truly abysmal. Children learn by rote and thus are never able to use the language as a communication tool or ever read a book. Alter the question slightly and the child is lost. Children may no there colours, animal names, vegetable names, and more such lists but would never be able to combine them into a sentence. In higher classes they learn there comprehension answers by heart and can change an affirmative sentence into a negative one without understanding the words! So even if on paper all looks great, the bottom line is that even with years of study of the subject children are not able to comprehend or speak English.

In today’s world knowledge of English is a real advantage, it opens doors previously closed and can give you the head start you so need. And yet far from recognising this advantage, we are slowly letting it perish. Even we at project why have been overtaken by circumstances and have let our own advantage fade. Did we not begin our work almost a decade ago with spoken English classes? And was it not in answer to a need expressed by the community: Teach our children English?

It is time to wake up and salvage the advantage we have. To make course corrections and give our children the one advantage they truly need. It is really time to mutate.

Compassion brings us to a stop, and for a moment we rise above ourselves wrote Mason Cooley. The recent appalling incident of total and shocking indifference that seemingly shook the nation brought to light the distressing lack of compassion that permeates our social fabric. The sight of the bleeding policeman begging for help may have disturbed us but would it lead us to act were we ever placed in a similar position is the question that begs to be asked.

This incident brought back to memory another incident that occurred 5 years back. One morning I was informed by one of our staff of the presence of a young man who had been lying in the area and seemed hurt. When I went to the spot I found Babloo Mandal, a man in his twenties writhing in pain. He had a huge maggot infested wound on his leg and he cried for help in agony. It seemed he had been hurt in an accident some time back and had been left there, perhaps by the driver of the car that hit him. This was a Monday morning and I discovered with horror that the man had been lying there since late Saturday night. This was a crowded area with flats and shops and people passing regularly but NO ONE had extended the boy any help. His words seemed incoherent but if you bothered to stop and listen he was simply begging for someone to save his life. The stench of his wound was vile and people simply walked by hurriedly.

I also discovered with renewed horror that the police had been called the previous night but had refused to take him to a hospital. We decided to spring int action and while we set about calling the cops one of my staff went to him and held his hand and told him that help was one the way. We realised that Babloo was simple minded and mentally challenged. The cops did eventually turn up but no one was willing to pick him up, so I sent two of our teachers with them. I thought that we had the matters in hand but I was soon to discover how wrong I was.

An hour or so later I got a call from the hospital saying that the doctors refused to attend to him and had handed some disinfectant and cotton to my teachers. Babloo was left on a stretcher outside the emergency hall. Enough was enough. I called a friend from the press and set out for the hospital. My journo friend reached the hospital a camera man in tow at the same time as I did and  pictures were clicked before the authorities realised what had happened. Soon we were swarmed by security personnel and hospital staff. Babloo Mandal was finally taken into the emergency room but there too, no one was willing to cut off his shorts. It was again a pwhy staff who went and got a blade and did the needful. His wound was cleaned and dressed and we waited hoping the hospital would admit him. But that was not to be. The hospital staff told us tersely to take him away.

A few phone calls were made and we found an NGO that had a shelter with medical staff and were willing to take him. Babloo was finally taken to the shelter and then moved to a private hospital that took care of him. And though gangrene has set in, the doctors managed to save his leg. In the meantime, based on the few details he could give us, we managed to trace his family and after a few weeks Babloo was reunited with those he loved.

I had forgotten about this incident but the sight of the policeman begging for help brought back memories of Babloo Mandal. At that time what we did what was to us the obvious option and nothing out of the ordinary. True everyone else’s behaviour had upset us, but somehow we never found it necessary to delve upon the matter. I was just another day at project why. But today somehow many questions that should have been asked years back come to mind. Is compassion such rare quality? How can people watch and let someone die? Why did no one go near the bleeding man and at least reassure him? How does one teach another to be compassionate? Why don’t we stop and rise above ourselves when needed?

I do not have the answers. All I know is that I will stop each and every time it is needed.

Here is a test to find whether your mission on earth is finished : If you’re alive, it isn’t.” wrote Richard Bach. I stumbled upon this quote last week. Somehow the words seemed to be an answer to many unformulated questions that often crowd my mind.

I have often been asked, the last time not later than yesterday, whether there were not times when I felt like giving up. The truth is that I have, and the truth also is that I am still here. Over the past 10 years many obstacles have come my way, some harsher than the others and yet one survived them all, be it the cynicism and lack of compassion that one saw all around, or the unveiled threats and dark moments when day never seemed to break. But each and every time, when all seemed lost, a little flicker of light appeared from nowhere: a little hand that held yours a tad longer than usual, a smile that warmed your heart or a look of unadulterated trust that made you spring back with renewed confidence. And above all the myriad of hands that reached out from the across the globe to make sure your steps did not falter.

I must admit that many a times I have thought of project why as a mission, one I have not chosen but been destined to fulfill. I must also admit that I have spend many sleepless nights wondering how it will all end, wondering whether I will be able to set things on course so that project why can sail on smoothly even after I am gone, and whether my mission has ended. I got the answer in Bachs’ words: If I am live, it hasn’t.

Yesterday was a very special day at the project why creche. Twelve little creche kids had been invited by Navakriti School to spend the afternoon on their premises and in spite of the bitter cold the children were very excited. The morning was spent sprucing everyone up, making badges, combing hair, washing faces: in a word getting ready for the big outing. At last it was time to go. The children walked to the waiting car and piled in. The adventure had begun.

Navakriti is a lovely school with large playgrounds, swings and slides, a kitchen garden and even little bunnies. Our kids were taken back. They had never seen such things having all been born and bred in the squalor of Delhi slums. They did not know what to do and simply stood frozen for a while. After a small welcome it was time to go out and conquer a whole new world. The first task was to go to the kitchen garden and pluck tender spinach leaves to feed the rabbits. Not an easy task for children who had never seen vegetables grow. But soon everyone got the hang of it and everyone had his or her leaves in their little hands. Feeding the rabbits was another ball game as most of the children got scarred of the little furry balls in their cages. But slowly they got over their fear and handed out the leaves to the hungry little animals. The children also saw the large cauliflowers, the big radishes and every thing else growing in the garden. It had been a wonderful discovery of nature.

Then it was tome to play and out came the bat and balls. The children played to their hearts content running with gay abandon in the wide open spaces. Their little faces glowing with excitement and joy. After the bat ball game it was time to explore the swings and the jungle gym. What fun it was and how easy it is for a child to reclaim an usurped childhood!

But the weather soon got the better of everyone as it was extremely cold and getting dark. However there was still a treat left: story time. The children sat enthralled and listened to the wonderful story of the little bird looking for his mother.

The day ended with hot pakoras made from cauliflowers from the garden and warm halwa. The children sat at little tables and devoured the lovely snacks. It was time to go and the children thanked everyone and climbed in the waiting car, their little heads filled with images they would never forget.

Here are some pictures of this wonderful outing

We would like to thank our friend Rahul and the Principal and the staff of the Navakriti school for giving our children this wonderful opportunity.

The year end festivities are over and today we begin the first week of the new year and the new decade of project why. Overwhelming is it not? But also exhilarating and exciting. The first thing that comes to mind at the dawn of a new year and more so a new decade is new resolutions. I pondered a long while on what our new year resolution should be?

After much thought I decided that from this day onwards the one thing we would do is celebrate every good moment, no matter how small or seemingly innocuous. I realised sadly and sheepishly that one often tends to maximise the few bad moments, the small obstacles, the tiny impediments, the minor hitches and forgets all about the good things, the wonderful achievements, the superb feats and the miracles big and small that have come our way.

That project why has been in existence for a decade is wondrous. That it has withstood the test of time is nothing short of a miracle. Is that not worth celebrating! All else pales in front of this simple accomplishment and yet we forget to acknowledge let alone honour it. Is it not remarkable that in spite of all odds we have never faltered in the past 10 years, never given up on any challenge no matter how impossible it may have seemed and always come out winners. It is sad that far too often such achievements are just brushed under the carpet or taken for granted. From today onwards we will take time each day to highlight the good moments no matter how trivial they may seem.

A new year and more so a new decade is also time to introspect and make necessary course corrections. 2010 should herald the decade when we make a slow transition from quantity to quality. Till date our main objective has been to arrest drop our rates and ensure children complete their schooling and we have been successful in doing so. We now intend to slowly mutate and try and give our children an enabling environment and the skills needed succeed in today’ world. We aspire to give Education for All a whole new meaning!

This where we stand at the dawn of this new decade.

An unexpected occurrence enabled me to pay off all the pending loans for the planet why land. Call it a miracle if you wish. I call it a father’s gift. I sat a long time, after having written the repayment cheques and let my mind travel back to the time when I use to sit next to my father and listen to his wise words. I must confess that at that time I never truly realised their sagacity and often brushed them aside with impatience. One of the things he oft repeated was that nothing happened without a reason as not a leave moved without Divine will. You will agree that when you hear such words in your adolescent years or as you enter womanhood, you are quick to discard such thoughts as you believe you can conquer the world and more! But as I grew up and as life slowly enfolded, these words became a leitmotiv. Hindsight is always wiser, is it not?

In the past years I have more than once realised the futility of banging against closed doors and understood the wisdom of simply waiting for things to happen. Nevertheless when a few weeks back the kind person who had given us a loan to purchase our land called to say he was in desperate need and wanted his money back I really did not know how I would ever be able to repay the loan. I must also admit that in those moments Papa’s wise words never came to mind. Yet a few days later a letter from an uncle informed me of the imminent sale of an old property I had forgotten about or rather given up on. The proceeds of the sale would be ample enough to repay back all incurred loans. It was a miracle or as I realised later a father’s gift. Had the sale occurred earlier the money would have been spent and I would never have been able to get out of my predicament.

Yesterday all loans were paid back and today we proudly own the land for planet why. I can only whisper: Thank you Papa.

It is the last day of the year and the decade. Time to take a moment and look back at time gone by as we at pwhy step into our 10th year. Time to allow ourselves a moment to celebrate the achievements and successes of the years gone by and I must admit there is heaps to be joyful about: the little school bags that year after year got filled with new books as children passed to the higher classes, the bright eyed youngsters who held out their Board results with pride, the tiny boarding school stars who topped their respective classes beating every odd in life, the little once broken hearts that now beat with confidence ready to take on life, the very special young adults who have a home to call their own and do not need to wander the streets or live in fear of abuse.

But that is not all as none of this would not have been possible without so many wonderful souls who never gave up seeing with their hearts and made all of it possible. As I look back on the decade gone by I am filled with an overwhelming feeling of gratitude that no words can express, but then for those who see with their hearts are words necessary?

An acquaintance dropped by yesterday. He is one of those strange persons who seem to be donning a new hat each time you meet. Last time we met he was involved in defending water rights worldwide and this time he handed me a card with the acronym MDG engraved on it. MDG, I was soon to discover were the lofty Millennium Development Goals of the United Nations and our friend was meant to work on seeing how to involve big businesses, again worldwide, in the game or how to make CSR programmes relevant. Why did I catch myself smiling. I guess because once again I was faced with the bizmess of giving! My mind went back to one of my earlier posts written almost half a decade ago.

Anyway I enjoy teasing this person about his new avatars and we began a gentle banter about his new role. I asked him what the famed goals were and how he planned to involve the so called big businesses in this. We never got further than Goal 2: Achieve Universal Primary Education. Somehow the playful mood that we had begun with turned serious and grave. We were now treading grounds I knew and had strong opinions about. This was no matter to kid about. I asked him how he envisaged involving large business houses and what if anything had he done in India? It seemed not much.

I was surprised at how militant I became. I guess I had found an interlocutor to share my extreme views on the matter with. I launched into a long diatribe about universal primary education. Education for all could only happen if state run schools became centres of excellence and the obvious choice for all – my dream of a common school. And maybe it was time that we in India ended the charade of having 33% as a pass percentage for school examinations as 33% got you nowhere. It was time to end the caste rid society of schools and come up with a school every child could attend.

Education for All targets the poorer strata of society and yet when we look around we realise that it is the poor children who have been let down again and again. In spite of constitutional guarantees, children from weaker sections are not given the enabling environment they need to grow and take their place in the sun. And what is infuriating is that they need so little. We have proved that in our ten years of existence as with very little help our children have sailed through school. And our little boarding schools stars quietly slipped into the top position of their respective classes without much ado. Imagine if all our kids could be given the right environment!

Universal Primary Education can and will only make sense if the adjective quality is added to the goal. If not then it will remain a charade played to satisfy questionable agendas or meet statistical compulsions.

It is Xmas morning and I pondered a long time about what would be the subject of my Xmas post. Silly of me as the answer was evident, it had to be Lolita.

Lolita landed on our little planet some weeks back and from the moment she stepped into our lives and hearts she brought with her the true spirit of Xmas: compassion, generosity and above all huge dollops of love. From the instant she walked everything was imbued with the magic of Xmas as we fell under her spell. Everything that had seemed impossible became incredibly easy and miracles after miracles sprung out of her invisible bag.
Lolita is someone who can only see with her heart and that makes her truly remarkable. You just have to murmur or wish or actually simply think it and it is fulfilled.

As I sit on this blessed morning I am filled with a deep sense of gratitude. I have far too often complained and whined about the puny obstacles that have come in the way of this extraordinary journey called project why and never sat down to think of the wonderful and abundant occurrences that have made this journey possible. Today I realise how fortunate we have been as every little impediment was the door real life Angels took to enter our world. And there have been so many. Lolita is one of them.

From this day on, when Xmas morn dawns on project why, we will always remember the pure unadulterated love that this incredible woman showered on us

To Lolita and to all the Angels that have landed in our lives I say Thank You!

Merry Xmas to all!

Will I be safe tomorrow, is the question every little girl in India is asking herself today. The reason are the weak laws that protect them from abuse and ignominy. Almost two decades ago a young 14 year old was molested by a powerful man, someone she looked upon to as he held the key to fulfilling her dreams, that of being a sports star. Twenty years later the molester was handed over a sentence: 1000 rs fine and six months imprisonment. But the story is not that simple: in the twenty years the powerful and heinous support system had tried every trick in the book to protect the perpetrator and ensure that his life goes on unhindered. Young Ruckiha’s family was hounded, she was tormented and persecuted till she took the extreme step, that of ending her young life.

Today a nation is in shock and determined to see that Ruchika’s tormentor is brought to justice and I like everyone else want to see that day dawn. But the story does not end there. Every day, in homes and elsewhere young children are subjected to abuse by powerful predators and no law or kind heart is there to protect them. The powerful wheels of our patriarchal system are set in motion and again and again the perpetrator is protected and shielded while the victim is isolated and more often that not condemned. The child after a few feeble attempts that are met with suspicion and disbelief, locks herself in a abject solitude carrying scars that will and can never heal. Some, like Ruchika take an extreme step and put an end once for all to a life of torment. Others simply carry on nursing scars no one cares to see as protectors have turned predators.

Yes we want justice for Ruchika, but we also want to see all our children safe. We want justice for all those who have no voice, for all those who are thrown into a well of loneliness by an insensitive and feudal society who thrives in protecting misplaced notions like honour and reputation. We want a legal system that understands the damage an apparently innocuous gesture can do to a child and protect that child. But why do I feel that we still have to wait a long time.

It began like any morning. It should have been a quiet Sunday but that was not to be. I sat with my morning cup of tea hoping to catch up on some innocuous reading. I picked up the latest issue of a well known magazine and flicked through its pages when my eye caught a picture that almost looked like the project why creche minus children. The title: Ghost Lullabies and the bye line: Babus milk a national creche scheme for Rs 350 cr on false claims, sent a chill down my spine. Thr story was that of another scam and by now one would think that one has become inured to the words like scam, fraud, swindle living in a land where corruption has almost acquired a respectability or has been accepted as a belief system.

Is that not what I so brazenly stated during the recent conclave on corruption where I was a guest speaker. Then why did my blood boil tis morning as I read about yet another scam? I guess it was because it concerned children, the tiniest ones, the poorest ones, those who had no voice. The Rajiv Gandhi National Creche Scheme was for the children of working women in the unorganised sector, for the little children who are often left unattended and in unsafe conditions, the ones for whom the pwhy creche was started.

I still cannot forget the sight of the little toddler whose mother use to tie him on a charpoy and then placed in front of her home every morning as she left for work. When she returned she would untie him and smother him with kisses. This was probably in the very first few months of our existence and the woman’s home was located in the street where we worked. I was baffled by the contradiction between the act of tying up a child and then later cocooning him with love. Though we were very new in the area and had not yet gained the trust of the people, I could not stop myself from asking the mother why she did that. The answer was irrefutable: she could not take him to work (she cleaned people’s homes) and did not want to leave him alone inside her home. By placing him on a charpoy outside she ensured that he was visible to others and hence protected, and by tying him up she ensured that he remained safe and did not wander away. You see she loved him too much to have anything untoward happen to him. Needless to say the next day we opened a creche in the tiny veranda of our office and he was the first child enrolled.

The Rajiv Gandhi National Creche scheme was set up for such children and to read that 350 crores have been swindled by bureaucrats and others from such a scheme makes my blood boil and run cold at the same time: boil because the money could and should have been spent on innocent children and run cold because is seems that nothing is sacred for racketeers. yes corruption has become a way of life, a socially acceptable belief system.

The question I ask today is when will it all stop? The question I ask today is how will it all stop? What is even more shocking is the answer given by one of the persons responsible for the programme: “I agree that mistakes may have taken place at some point, but the fact is, we’re human beings. None of the mistakes were malafide and intentional.” I am left speechless. How can falsified documents, fake audits and balance sheets can be bonafide and unintentional. No Sir, you are not just human beings, you are worst than the most dangerous predator!

This is our very own little Meher, the one who not even two years ago walked into my life and my heart. What an incredible journey it has been from that day onwards. Her look at me , I exist, was perhaps the loudest of all!

Today after several difficult and often painful surgeries, Meher boasts of a hairstyle that strangely resembles mine and is all set to to take the first steps to change her destiny. Next month she will sit for her entrance exam to the same boarding school her favourite pal Utpal goes to. And then in April will pack her bags and go!

Looking at her smile in this picture is overwhelming. It makes me wonder at the ways in which my friend Godji sometimes work. Do innocent and beautiful kids like Utpal and Meher have to suffer incredible pain before seeing light and joy? Maybe. I am not the one to challenge that. I simply feel blessed and grateful when I see them laugh and play and reclaim their lost childhood. Never mind the occasional tantrums or the unreasonable demands, they have acquired the right to be children at great cost and are just making up for lost time.

I got a message on Facebook this morning. It was from one of the innumerable friends I have and came as answer to a series of pictures of my grandchild I had posted. It said: I always remember you in final stages of pregnancy taking classes sometime between 1979-82. You were inspirational and lively. I was always five point someone (Chetan Bhagat) type of a student (one of the hindi belt one) but you were never prejudice and sometimes more considerate. That was encouraging. Till this moment I had not realised that this friend was one of my students from my JNU days. She was referring to 1981 when I was expecting my second daughter and teaching French in the Centre for French Studies.

I read and reread her short message. Was there a hidden message? Was it the sign I was looking for? The bottom line was that even after almost three decades nothing had really changed. Invisible and impregnable walls still divided our society one of them being the one that separated those who spoke English and those who did not, the former having a head start in any race they ran. Never mind how intelligent or smart you were, how good your marks were, how motivated and serious you were, if you had not mastered the lingo of those who had ruled our land for a few centuries, you were doomed to be left behind. Was not teach my child English, the first request formulated by parents when we began our work. Even the most illiterate parent knows that, and even the most illiterate person will try his hand at English!

It is unfortunate that though we began with spoken English classes we somehow lost our way. Maybe it was because we all felt that keeping children in school was far more important and spoken English took a back seat. Our children passed their school exams year after year and many passed out of school. And though they cleared their English exams, they sadly never mastered the language and thus could never break the glass ceiling.

It is time to help them do so. And as I wrote in an earlier post it is time to mutate. We at project why must look at quality and not quantity and ensure that no child feels he or she is a five point someone type!

After the wrath and anger of my last post, I needed a healing touch before I could pick by virtual pen again. I knew that unless I mended my hurt, I would not be able to carry on and above all ran the risk of taking decisions I might later regret. So I waited for the proverbial sign and it came unexpectedly in the form of my little grandson tucked inside an old carton box looking at me with eyes filled with hope, hope that I would reach out to him and pick him up. Needless to say I did and that simple gesture melted my anger in a trice.

His eyes were trusting and brimming with innocence. He somehow knew that I would free him from his box and allow him to crawl wherever he wanted. I must admit that he did just that! I sat watching him zip around the house giggling and laughing and when he tired he sat down and applauded himself hoping again we would follow. I had fulfilled his momentary wish and that is all there was to it.

All children are like Agastya. Their little worlds are simple and they look up to those who love them to actualise their wants and needs. And so it should be but sadly that is not the case for millions of children whose little dreams get crushed out even before they are expressed. They are confined to little boxes and no one is their to lift them out and set them free. The little silly game Agastay and I played was an eye opener and made me look at pwhy in an altogether different way. Were not all our children trapped in little boxes and were we not there to try and set them free? What a challenge but more than that what a wonderful and blessed task. So what if the adults around them sometimes behaved irrationally and stupidly. Perhaps they were still locked in their boxes as no one had set them free.

I realised that I had foolishly allowed myself to be locked in a box, albeit for a few instants, and little Agastya Noor had set me free.

I am livid and have been so for the past twenty four hours or almost! Not the way I usually am but some things do make me see red. I have been mulling over my extreme reaction for the past twenty four hours as I knew it was far deeper than a simple reaction to a apparently innocuous incident. And here I am twenty four hours later writing a ruminative essay on compassion and gratitude.

It all began with a phone call. The call was from Prabin, our foster care teacher. Apparently the mothers of two our boarding school kids were with him and were asking him to ask me to arrange for transport that they would pay for so that they could go the the school PTM! As I said not a big deal but somehow it was like the proverbial straw that breaks the camel’s back. I could have easily dismissed the request by a curt no and ended the matter. But that was not to be.

To set the record straight before I go on, parents of the 4 children that are in boarding school were taken to the school for the first PTM some months and told that henceforth they would have to make arrangements to go to subsequent ones themselves as I felt this was the every least they could do. The boarding school is accessible by public transport. The request of the two ladies was thus totally out of place.

However the request they made was very much in sync with a disturbing fact that has been plaguing us for quite some time and that we have tried our best to ignore and/or justify as best we could. The disturbing fact is the total lack of gratitude that we have witnessed over the years from those we have helped. And what is troubling is the fact that the larger the quantum of help, the less the feeling of gratitude. It is almost as if greed creeps in when help is forthcoming. The two ladies in question are perfect examples of this: we sponsored the open heart surgery of one’s daughter and cared for the other when she was terribly sick. I am at a loss to try and fathom why this happens? Is it because of desperation or because of wiliness. I would still like to believe it is the former but I really do not know. And today I somehow am not finding it in my heart to forgive easily.

For the past ten years I have been battling the lack of compassion I see in my social peers and the Lord only knows how much of it I have seen. Whether it is when I seek monetary help or share stories of the work we do, I am often met with disapproval bordering on contempt. What kept me going was the fact that I still believed and held on to the fact that what one was doing was at least appreciated by those it benefited. Please do not think that one is looking for kudos and credit. Far from that. But what irks me today is the feeling of being taken for granted. And that leads me to think that the lack of compassion perhaps stems from this very fact.

I know I have to take hold of myself and not let my momentary exasperation translate into any action I might regret tomorrow. I have to hold on to the fact that I am helping children who have done no harm and are in no way responsible for the idiosyncrasies of their parents. I have to assuage my heart and check my temper. And above all have to try and figure out one teaches compassion and gratitude to children so that they grow up with the right values.

So help me God!

It was a balmy day. The kind that sets you in a mellow mood and makes you feel benign. It was also PTM day, something I always look forward to and that for more reasons than one! First of all it is always lovely to meet the children, but there is more. The few hours spent in the little boarding school are always an escape to an island of hope and allow me to forget the trials and tribulations of my everyday existence and simply relax for a few hours be it by imbibing myself into a kid’s world, or even getting a lesson in life! One thing is sure each PTM is unique and special.

So we set out for this one in a happy mood. I was accompanied by Cat and Lukas two young volunteers. We reached early and were told that the children were in their respective classes. We set out to find them and lie all parents dreaded the outcome of the meeting with the teachers. But we were in for a surprise. All our stars had once again performed extremely well and three of them were first in their class with Babli and Vicky getting certificate of merit for best handwriting and scholar of the month! Wow we were stunned. These were little slumkids, the kind no one expects anything from, the kind you write off without even giving them a chance to prove the contrary.

My heart swelled with pride and I felt absolved of all the criticism and cynicism I had faced when I had dared think of sending such children to a upmarket boarding school. Maybe I had read it all wrong: the reticence of privileged people to open the portals of quality learning to kids from slums and poor homes stemmed from the fear or the conviction of knowing that they would outshine their privileged peers! Food for thought.

As we had planned to stay for a short time, we had brought some goodies to share with the kids as there was to be no trip to the pizza parlour. We sat on the grass and opened the boxes and I must confess we had as good a time as the kids as we gobbled cookies and cakes washed with warm cups of syrupy tea generously provided by the school. It was a perfect moment, one we knew was not to last but that we enjoyed to the fullest.

It was time to go and we bade farewell to the kids. Our driver seemed to have vanished to we stood next to the car and waited for him to reappear. In one corner of the patch of grass where we stood sat a little family. An elderly man with the kindest face you could imagine in spite of his forbidding moustache, and five boys aged between 15 and 9. The man had a picnic basket from which he fished out little glasses, bowls and plates. He had two large packets of food and I looked at him and smiled. He immediately invited us all to share the meal he had brought for his children and would not take no for an answer. There were divine millet rotis and homemade butter, the kind that comes straight from a farm. We shared this simple meal with a little guilt as this was what he had brought for his children, but refusing it would have been anathema and gone against all what real India stands for. It was an incredibly moving moment, particularly for young Cat and Lukas: a glimpse of India they would never forget.

The driver was there and it was time to go. Lukas wanted to know when the next PTM would be as he wanted to invite the proud and generous man! I smiled. I did not know if you would ever see him again, but we all knew that we would carry this moment in our hearts forever.

Here are some snapshots of this very special day

I recently sent a mail to a dear friend, staunch supporter and incredible human being informing him about amongst other things my recent award. I his usual gentle and unassuming manner he sent his heartfelt congratulations and a link stating simply: In fact I’ve been getting some press lately as well–In fact I’ve been getting some press lately as well! When I opened the link I feel off my chair: Willy has been selected for the Rhodes Scholarship!

If anyone ever deserved if it Willy.

I have know Willy for two years now but it seems I always knew him as he is what I would like every young person in the world to be like. He slipped into our lives via an email offering help. It sounded like no big deal. But Willy Oppenheim is one of a kind. When I first interacted with him via emails, I never would have imagined Willy was what we call just a kid, the kind who go pubbing and hand around with friends and have just barely grown out of GI Joes and Ben Tens! At the age when young people actually do that, Willy and his friends were busy finding ways to make a difference and boy they did. They set up the omprakash foundation and began reaching out to the less privileged the world over.

When I first met Willy in the very early hours of a summer morning in Delhi, when I had just woken up and he was still not asleep having just landed, I was deeply moved. Though we had never met and though almost 3 decades separated us in age, we hugged as old friends would. It seemed just right as we both knew how to see with our hearts.

Today Willy is not only a friend, but someone I turn to when I need a sounding board for new ideas, when I need reassurance, when I feel a little low and need to be uplifted and also when I need help and he has always been there for me. Thanks to the omprakash foundation we at pwhy have weathered many a storm and also own a great library with thousands of books.

I will end this post by quoting the opening para of Willy’s application essay for the Rhodes Scholarship: I spent my adolescent years idolising the men with whom I worked in construction in rural Maine. The chasm between this environment and my affluent Connecticut hometown made me self-conscious of my privilege and determined to forgo college until I felt that my elite education could benefit someone other than myself. As an eighteen year old volunteer teacher in India, I was suddenly invigorated by the idea that i could use my relationships with local educators to amplify their voice before a global audience an d help avid the tendency of development efforts to patronize and disempower those they intend to serve…

Willy has already done more than that! The children of project why join me in sending their congratulations to their Willy Bhaiya!

Dear Papa,

It has been exactly 17 years since you left and there has not been a single day that you have not been on my mind. Our journey began almost 58 years ago when I clutched your finger as I saw the first light of day and breathed my first whiff of air. It is your hand I held as I took my fist step and you I looked up to each time I needed to be reassured or praised. And even though you are gone I still feel your presence. Somehow I never let got of that finger.

You taught me everything but above all Papa, you taught me to look with my heart, something I held on to and never let go. And that made the rest easy and possible.

If not for your my life would have remained barren and empty. You gave me the strength to walk the high road no matter how difficult the journey, you taught me not to give up on dreams how impossible they seemed and the belief that the morning always dawned no matter how long the night.

Yesterday I received an award recognising the work I had done for the last ten years. This one is for you as you are the one that made me worthy enough to get it. Today thanks to what you taught a little girl many little lives have changed and many children smile and believe in tomorrow. And I see you in each and everyone of them.

Today again I look up to you to be reassured. The journey is still long and I need your strength to ensure that my steps do not falter and that I reach the end of the road.

I miss you

Anou

The award ceremony is over. The lights have dimmed and the next morn dawned. There was no glitter or glamour. An informal press conference in a sunny garden, the actual award giving in congenial surroundings and a day long conclave on corruption. It was all in all a simple yet memorable event. And what made it so was not pomp and show or sheer numbers but the kind of people present. It is probably the first time I had the privilege to be with so many souls who saw with their hearts.

There was the special band of organisers that were undeterred by the fact that no sponsors had come forward and determined to make the event memorable and follow their dream and honour those who shared it: the remarkable young man who withstood months of detention and then celebrated his freedom by helping others regain theirs, the slum dweller who broke the circle of poverty and decided to help other children form slums do the same, there was a group of young men passionately fighting for the dreams of millions of marginalised children and a princess from a faraway land giving hope to little girls. And these are just a few. They came from all walks of life and all parts of India and other lands. They had come together to right every wrong in whatever way they could. The mind of people not deterred by obstacles big or small, not swayed by cynics or doomsayers. They believed that tomorrow existed and was just a night away. And that had all come together to proclaim this loud and clear.

It was wonderful to be in a space where only positive energies had right of way. The mood was upbeat and buoyant. True people shared their problems but the solution was a sentence away. And if one did not work, one knew there were many others that would be tried till the problem was overcome. What a gathering it was. One that spelt hope and promise.

For me it was a privilege to be there though I felt very small and humbled. Yet I came out of the experience a changed person. I realised how much more there was to do but for the first time nothing seemed daunting or impossible, I just knew I would reach the end my journey.

The field was barren, rocky, uneven, patchy and strewn with empty plastic cups and bags. The players: a bunch of slum kids, an eager young German football fan and a business school student from France. The day was sunny and spirits soared high.

Welcome to the project why secondary kids first football match of the season: an initiative of young Lukas, a volunteer from Koln who is with us for a couple of months. And there are more to come.

Unfortunately I was not there but the pictures and the excitement of young Lukas as he recounted the event were sufficient to know that it had been a great game. I was thrilled to learn that the children played extremely well and that some were good enough to be in a team. And yet I knew that these kids would never make it, not because they lacked talent or motivation, but simply because once again we as adults had failed them. The state of the field – actually the sports ground of the two local secondary schools – said it all. Barren, rocky, dirty. Such is the state of sports in state run schools in spite of hefty budgets. And slowly with time the enthusiasm and talent dwindle and vanish and with them the dreams of simple children.

And yet all is takes to reignite them is a young boy from another land who dreams football and comes from miles away to share his dream with children from a Delhi slum.

The children of the special section went for a picnic yesterday. For a whole week everyone had been busy planning the event. Lists were made, plans discussed. Everyone agreed on the menu: samosas of course and frootis to drink. Shamika and Cat our volunteer from the UK decided to bake a batch of brownies and some banana cake. Then it was time to decide about what else to take: mats of course but also hoola hoops, Frisbees, balls and the badminton set. Everything was retrieved and dusted and made ready. Notes were sent to the parents and everyone was ready to go. The excitement was palpable.

The picnic morning finally dawned and everyone was there on time, even the ones who usually come late and everyone was dressed in their best clothes. The star of the show was undoubtedly little Radha whose brittle bones and distorted legs were forgotten for the day as she turned up in a flouncy skirt trimmed with fake fur! Wonder where she ever got it from. Two big cars had been hired for the day and it was time to go. The chosen spot: the Lodi Garden.

For the next few hours these wonderful children of a lesser god forgot all their woes: their dark and stifling homes, the abuse and slander, the sadness and hurt. For the next few hours they were just like other children running on the grass, basking in the sun, playing games and laughing as they never had. Never mind if some could not walk, hear or talk. For those few hours they reclaimed their usurped right: that of being children. It was touching and heartwarming to watch them: a truly blessed moment. I wonder if the god of lesser being was also smiling.

You can share some of these very special moments:

Looking at this picture warms the cockles of my heart. To the uninitiated it may look just like two little girls learning together. It is not quite that. Allow me to unravel the mystery of this special snapshot.

Kiran the little girl on the right of the picture is very special to project why. She was born the day we began our activities. Mature beyond her years she chose to make the special section her haven and spent her early years there. She now goes to an upmarket school though she still spends all her free time with her old pals of the special section. Pooja the little girl on the left has been a student of the specials ection for many years. She comes from a very poor family and is hearing impaired. Kiran and Pooja have been best friends and Kiran even learnt sign language to be able to communicate with her special pal. When she has time, Kiran often helps Pooja with her class work. Like all little girls their age they share many secrets and laugh and giggle together. It does not really matter if one of them is locked in silent world, the other broke the barrier long ago.

Kiran and Pooja are the perfect example of inclusive education. They prove beyond doubts that children from different worlds and with different abilities can learn and grow together if given a chance. It is we adults that never really give them that chance.

Just a few miles away from where I sit to write this post lies the village of Badarpur Khader. I would have never known it existed were it not for a small article tucked away in the inside pages of my morning paper. The article simply stated that this village which is in North East Delhi does not have any civic amenities: no electricity, no water, no dispensary, no school. Over 200o people live there. None of its children, particularly the girls have ever been to school. And this after 62 years of independence!

I decided to browse the net and find out more about this village. Over the years the people of Badarpur Khader had found ways to cope with the situation: all housework is completed before nightfall, mobiles are charged through adaptors connected to tractor batteries, and all weddings take place in daylight! There is more. Last year, the village decided to stand up and take action by setting up their own school.

Of course politicians do visit the village during elections, make empty promises and then vanish in the dark. Authorities give implausible reasons for the state of affairs and retreat into their comfortable shells. Life goes on in this forsaken village…

What is shocking and disturbing is the fact that this little village is within the very city that is busy preparing itself for a sports extravaganza and spending astronomical amounts of money, and yet it does not have the tiny amount needed to build a school promised to this village years ago. A PIL has been filed in court highlighting these issues. One wonders how long it will take to wake people out of their slumber!

There are many aberrations around us and this is just one more. The tale of two Indias is a never ending story. In the same city some children ride to school in smart AC buses while others need to walk 8 kilometers in inclement weather. Something is wrong somewhere and I wonder what it will take for us to wake up and begin setting things right!

A gold bucket worth 3 crores ( 30 million) of rupees was donated by an anonymous donor to propitiate Lord Balaji. The offering would be used for storing incensed water during the celestial bath of the deity. This is not the kind of news that normally catches my attention. I have over the years become inured to the aberrations committed in the name of God! The reason why I this item caught my eye, or should I say my ear is the price tag: 3 crores. Just the amount we need to build planet why.

The recipient that will now hold the bath water of a stone deity could have brought smiles on hundreds of little faces and brought light into their dark lives. I wonder what God would have opted for, were he given the choice. The price of this bucket was all that is needed to give young Champa, little Munna and a host of their special friends a home and a place where they could live and die with dignity. Champa and Munna are what we often call children of a lesser God. Are they that or are they manifestations of that very of that we fail to recognise? I do not know. What i know is that when I look into their eyes, or share a moment with them I feel uplifted . I only know that in their presence I feel cleansed and complete and far more at peace than in any so called home of God. So is not caring for these pure and simple souls the best way of propitiating and venerating God.

The equation is loaded: one the one hand a bucket that will simply hold water and on the other a recipe that churns smiles, hope and brighter morrows. And yet the former one wins the race each and every time. How does one reverse it is what I ask myself.

Today planet why is in jeopardy. Last year we believed in this dream with all our might. When we managed to secure our land in spite of many hiccups we were elated. We felt we could conquer all. But then recession hit the world, and us and everything took a back seat. All plan went askew. We knew we had to simply wait for things to pass and then pick up the pieces and reinvent ourselves to fit within the new scenario. That is what we did and are trying to do, and figures that looked manageable now seem monumental. So you can well imagine why I turned turtle when I heard that a bucket cost just about what I was seeking.

Every cloud has a silver lining and maybe this innocuous piece of news was what was needed to set me on my quest again. It is not the holy grail I seek but just the price of a bucket.