Sohil is the new kid in the special section. He is 6 years old and has hydrocephalus. He also has spindly legs and malformed feet making his gait unsteady and awkward. But that does not deter him from doing everything his new pals do.

Come dance time and Sohil surreptitiously moves towards a wall and takes his position. In this way he knows he will not fall. And once the music plays, Sohil dances with his heart, his huge head and tiny body gyrating and moving just like any Bollywood star.

Little Sohil is very talkative and loves asking questions. He is extremely friendly and goes to every and anyone. He is the darling of the class and is loved by all but his special friend is little Radha and they are often together. My heart misses a beat each time I see them. Do they actually realise that they are soul siblings? Do they know that they both have truncated lives and can not dream of many morrows? Is that why they are so attracted to each other.

Radha and Sohil are both extremely bright and intelligent kids. In spite of their handicaps they are extremely independent and have a rare thirst for knowledge. They are like little sponges wanting to imbibe everything that comes they way and always wanting more. Their joie de vivre is infectious. They deserve to live long and fruitful lives and yet we all know that their sojourn on this planet is short, very short. Had they been born on the other side of the fence they could have perhaps dared aspire to more. But that is not to be.

When Radha and Sohil are in class there is no space for gloom or despair. Everyone gets touched by their special brand of optimism and moods get lifted by magic. Life is celebrated in its purest form and everyone is joyful. And for a brief moment all is well on planet earth.

Watch Sohil dance, you too will be touched by his magic

For the past almost ten years now, project why has been giving what can best be called after school support to hundreds of slum children. For the past almost ten years we have basked in the glory of knowing that all our children passed their examinations and that no one dropped out. For the past almost ten years this seemed to be our mission and we were true to it. The challenge now was to see our work become sustainable and thus freed of any vagary that could hamper or even halt it midway.

Thus was born the idea of planet why, and though its primary function was undoubtedly to raise funds for our work. But that is not where it stopped as, almost intuitively and even surreptitiously, silent yet deafening whys were heard and needed to be addressed. One of them was simply: after this, what? Or in other words what would happen to our kids after they completed their schooling keeping in mind ground realities. Let me elaborate a little. It is a fact that in spite of our best efforts most of our children will never be top of the class. What must remember that they run the race with huge handicaps: a late start, a hostile environment, no support at home, no English at home, no access to extras (books, computers, internet), no positive stroking, no encouragement and much more. That they even manage to complete their. studies is nothing short of a miracle. But the question that begs to be answered is what do you do with a class XII certificate with poor marks? The answer is: not much. And the reality is that with no extra skills or learning the child is often doomed to follow the father’s footsteps and become what he could have without his long school years.

Parents of such children do not have the means to give them the required added skills needed to change their lives and break the cycle in which they are caught. The long school years look like a terrible waste. This has been disturbing me for some time now and that is perhaps why planet why was conceived the way it has been: a way to take the children a step further and give them the skills they need to become productive. Hence after school they could learn an added skill: be it in the guest house (housekeeping, catering, gardening etc) or in the courses we envisage running when we have the space and infrastructure to do so: plumbing, electrical work, TV repair, mobile phone repair etc.

It is imperative that we do so and sooner than later. Otherwise the very spirit of project why is defeated.

The austerity debate has been going on for too many days! For the past week we have been treated or should I say subjected to innumerable debates and parleys on whether Members of Parliament and others in so called power should fly economy or business. Innumerable tweets and blogs have been written on the subject.

The debate seemed to have been triggered off by news of two Ministers living in 5 star hotel suites pending availability of their Luytens bungalow that were being spruced off. And before one knew it the battle had boiled down to business versus economy class travel and the ensuing parleys laughable: one dignitary talked of his long legs while the other of his need for a state-of-the-art gym. Well my dear Sirs, have you forgotten that you belong and represent a land where there are millions who go to sleep hungry without a roof on their heads. That a whole week was needed to discuss whether one should travel in one class or another is frivolous. It is just matter of status symbol as in fact both classes get you from point A to point B in exactly the same time barring the fact that one saves a little of the tax payer’s money.

The austerity debate should have led to some serious soul searching about whether each one was discharging his of her duties in the best manner possible. It should have led to course corrections in functioning and delivering. I have often held that if all government projects and schemes delivered 50% of what they promised, India would be a different country altogether. A simple scheme like the ICDS launched in 1975, that is 34 years ago, would have taken care of malnutrition and immunisation for millions of children. And the list is endless.

We cannot be fooled anymore by cosmetic actions like the ones proffered in the on-going debate. We have earned the right after six decades of independence to be taken seriously. I was shocked by the tone and words of a political party spokesperson when he said on national TV that he was willing to travel in the cargo hold if he were given the permission! This is not a game dear Sir. If the government has felt the need to talk austerity, it is because the country is facing a severe crisis and we expect our representatives to behave in a befitting manner.

No one would grudge first class travel to anyone, if all else was going well. We are fed up to see our so called leaders waste precious time on frivolous debates.

The tragic death of seven young girls in a stampede in a secondary government school is a tragedy that no words can describe adequately. Like thousands of children across the city, these girls went to school to sit for their second term exams. It was a rainy day and classes were flooded. A simple rumour triggered a stampede in the sole narrow staircase of a building that housed over 2000 children at a time. The result: seven lives were lost and many children were seriously injured.

A multitude of deafening whys scream for answers and yet one knows that few if any will be answered. The usual and sated response mechanism has been set in motion: endless and useless enquiry commissions and monetary compensation for the dead and injured. Enough is enough. The children of India have the right to demand that things be set right once for all and that ALL the children of India be treated in the same way, notwithstanding their social origin. They are fed up of being treated as second class citizens and demand their place in the sun. The society of schools should be made equitable. It is time that slogans like education for all be taken seriously. Band aid solutions are not enough. Every school in the country should be a centre of excellence, a place where children can learn and remain safe. What goes by the name of schools is nothing but an aberration! Dilapidated buildings with no basic amenities are not acceptable.

I wonder who designed the building of the school where this terrible terrible tragedy occurred? How can over 2000 children be housed in a building which has only one narrow staircase? How long will be keep silent spectators and allow this to continue? How many more young lives will have to be sacrificed before we open our eyes and dare to look and perhaps see? Reality stares us in the face and we simply look away.

Tomorrow or perhaps the day after, this tragedy will be forgotten. Some cosmetic action will be taken in the hope of assuaging matters and life will resume its course. That is sadly the harsh reality.

Our website has a brand new look. Do check it out. It is a labour of love! Some months back Anisa a wonderful young lady wrote to me offering her support. She said she could help us redesign our site if I so wished. I of course accepted and thus began a journey that culminated in our new site going on line this morning.

I must confess that I was quite pesky and annoying as we old ladies often are and I must admire Anisa’s patience as she incorporated all my idiosyncrasies: be it my annoying obsession for pristine looks, or my insistence to include often redundant information. She bore it all and painstakingly incorporated each and every element I asked for. Slowly the new site emerged, just as I had often dreamt it to be. Till now, the project why site had been the result of my haphazard attempts at web mastering. For the first time in almost 10 years we had a professional site, and yet it it reflected the spirit of what pwhy stood for. Kudos to Anisa who had the ability to read the mind of an old biddy sitting thousands of miles away.

Our site has come of age. And I guess somewhere we have too. Ten years is a long time. I remember my first hesitant attempts at learning an alien language: htm and html were double dutch to me. And yet the need of having a website was real. We did not have the funds to pay for professional expertise and did not have supporters or friends to reach out to. A static site was no option, so I decided to try my hand at it and I guess managed to muddle my way through. Thank heavens no one saw the patchwork masterpieces that my programming was. The end product was palatable and that is all that mattered.

Today I can take a breather and sit back and enjoy the new project why website. It is more than just a site. It shows how over the years we have crafted an amazing network of supporters ad friends who today spontaneously reach out to us when we need them. This is undoubtedly the strength of project why, something I would not like to lose for anything in the world. It infuses pwhy with a rare spirit and makes us want to continue walking that extra mile with a smile on our lips and a song in our hearts.

Thank you Anisa,

Little Radha never ceases to amaze us. In spite of her brittle bones and her useless legs she is the most independent child I have seen. She participates in each and every game, dances and even jumps around. True she evolves her own ways some quite stunning as her way of drinking water!

Radha is a true survivor. Her zest for life is infectious. Her thirst for knowledge is overwhelming. It is as if she wants to pack all she can in her truncated life, as if she knows that time is short. Watching her is uplifting and heart wrenching.

Vineel is a new student in the creche. He was born without forearms, his hands awkwardly stuck to his elbow making it quasi impossible for him to do simple tasks like hold a pencil to write or pull down his shorts to go the loo. If he falls, he hurts his nose or face as his arms cannot reach out to break the fall.

Vineel is a bright and intelligent child who wants to be just like his pals and tries to do everything the others do as best he can. In spite of it being the first day in school and in spite of the tears that kept welling from time to time, Vineel did us proud as he danced and played with his new pals.

One may wonder what Vineel’s morrows will hold. He has all it needs to go to a regular school and yet will he be accepted. No one knows. It is certain that Vineel will need help and special care, something a government and even a private school may not be able to offer. He will have to be helped in some tasks and above all will have to be protected from the sometimes cruel remarks and actions of his peers. His small handicap should not shut the doors of a sound education and yet one fears for him.

We will in the next year try and make him as independent as possible by evolving ways in which he can do the simple everyday tasks that will be asked of him as he grows. We will try and build his confidence to help him face what lies ahead. Vineel deserves the best and we will make sure he gets it.

Sunday was PTM day for our little foster care kids. This was the first PTM since school opened. For the past week there had been a flurry of activity to prepare for D day. All the parents had to be informed and plans made. It was decided that the parents of all our four kids: Babli, Vicky, Nikhil and Aditya would pool resources and hire a car. Every one was excited.

On Sunday morning they all set out bright and early for what was to be a very special day. After meeting the kids it was time to meet the teachers. Everyone was thrilled to see the results and even more so as Babli and Vicky had stood second in their respective classes. Report cards were collected and then the children showed the school to their proud parents: the dorm, the dining hall and the play grounds. The excitement was palpable and the pride in the children’s and parents eyes was for all to see.

A set of incredible circumstances enabled these four children and their little pal Utpal to break the circle of poverty and a life in the slums and accede to a good education, the kind you would give your child. This is nothing short of a miracle. Had they been left where they supposedly belonged, most of them would not have completed their school, and even run the risk of becoming child labour. It almost happened with Babli! And that time no one would have believe that the same little girl would one day be in a boarding school happily building her morrows. And yet that is exactly what she is doing today with her little pals.

After the grand tour it was time for a little outing to a nearby park. There was a surprise in store for the children: the moms had packed loads of home made food for their children and everyone had an impromptu picnic. Then the happy party returned to school to share lunch with the children in the dining hall. A grad moment for all. Soon it was time to leave an say bye till the next time.

You can share some glimpses of this very special day

It was very hard to walk into the pwhy building yesterday. For the past 6 years I had been greeted almost every morning by Nanhe’s huge smile, and if for some reason I was lost in my thoughts and failed to look in his direction, Nanhe, the child who could not speak, always managed to get my attention and treat me to his huge smile and I knew that no matter what, all would be well.

Yesterday there was no smile to greet me. The building seemed strangely empty and hollow. I knew things would never be quite the same. One may wonder what a little broken soul like Nanhe could mean to someone like me, how a little seemingly useless being could become such an important part of one’s life. It is once again a matter of looking with one’s heart. Nanhe was undoubtedly an Angel that the God of Lesser Souls sent our way. His message was simple and clear: no matter what life is still beautiful and no matter how bad it looks, it is still worth a smile. And the little chap lived by the book: even in his worst moments of pain, he never lost his smile. And when you looked at him smiling you suddenly felt uplifted. No matter where and when, in a hospital ward where he lay or in his tiny hovel Nanhe smiled.

Tomorrow maybe Nanhe will be forgotten. His is not a life you commemorate. The pain we feel today will undoubtedly lessen and even vanish, life does have to go on. He more than anyone else would have wanted it to. But for me it is important to ensure that it is not a life lived in vain. I did hear his message loud and clear and it is a simple one: never give up, no matter how dark the night looks dawn is only a few moments away. And I promise you little Nanhe, I will not give up. You have left many smiles in my custody and I promise you they will be safe.

Let this blog be his epitaph. I urge you to look at the pictures below. You too will be touched by the magic of a little angel’s incredible smile.

That Nanhe was important is borne by the number of blogs written for him. read them if you have the time.
when today is over
to die for
for the little ones
urban treat
how many times must nanhe
a smile in custody
pwhy and beyond
back with a bang
praying for a smile
because of your smile
the spunk of a smile
when nanhe’s eyes are smiling
smiling on
a smile lost
a smile referred to
a promotion for nanhe
wish I had a dreamcatcher
whose life is it anyway
an unequal battle
is it walking towards him
miracles happen everyday
return of the buddy
a samosa and a jig
nanhe is back
mazza a gaya

Recently a donor asked us to find out where the pwhy alumni was today. I felt a little sheepish as this was an exercise we should have done but somehow it slipped our minds. So it was time to set out and find out where all our past students were. We began class XII classes in 2006 and our class of 2006 all 5 of them have good jobs. One of them is also doing his BCA while working.

Our class of 2007 is more studious. One of them is doing Chartered Accountancy, four of of them are in college and one is working while doing her BA. The class of 2008 is also studying. Shashi Kant who was the South Delhi topper in Government schools is in college. Three of his classmates are doing their Chartered Accountancy, four are in college and two of them are working and also studying. And this year’s batch is not to be left behind. The class of 2009 has 6 Chartered Accountancy aspirants and the remaining 6 are in college. Wow is all I can say!

It is heartwarming to see all these children of a lesser God bloom and shine. The number of budding CAs brings a smile on my face as I remember how Naresh our secondary teacher spent two years taking accountancy classes to be able to teach the subject. This was before we actually began class XII teaching. And today many of his students are aspiring to become CAs.

I was thrilled when I got all this information. It was really fulfilling to see that all the efforts we had put in bore fruits and that perhaps we had helped a handful of kids aspire to a better morrow. I must confess that I sat for a long moment taking all this in, my heart filled with pride and joy.

This is the I time normally remember Ram and what he meant to me. Every year since his departure I have never forgotten to reminisce about him, particularly on his birthday, celebrated on the very day of India’s Independence. There is however another birthday that is celebrated within our home the day before: it is the one of R, my husband.

R has been my life partner for 35 years. In all those years he has always stood, albeit quietly, by everything that I have done. If not for him pwhy would not have seen the light of day. Very often in life we take people simply for granted and forget to express gratitude where it’s truly due. We often fail or forget to realise that there are some people who give us the strength to fulfill our aspirations, who clear the path so that we can walk, who give invisible yet strong wings to our dreams. R has done just that. In his strong yet unobtrusive way he has stood by me in my moments of weakness and doubt. He has been the shoulder I can always lean on, the sounding board of all my ideas before they get translated into reality and has never failed to boost a sagging spirit or calm an irate one.

I was thrilled beyond words when R accepted to come by pwhy on his birthday and see the little show that the special children had put together. R visits to pwhy have been rare. Somehow he has always chosen to remain in the background and let me soar in what is my world. I realise today that he did this for me, respecting the space I had created for myself, not wanting to take away anything that was duly mine. It is indeed very humbling. That he decided to come by and spend some time with us on this day – his 60th – was indeed special.

Thanks are due today to this wonderful man without who nothing would have ever been possible.

Last Friday the Sari Kids had a special treat in store for the creche children: an outing to the Children’s park. It was truly special as most of the creche children belong to extremely poor families and never get to go out. Notes had been sent to the parents informing them of the outing and most of the children came in their best clothes. It was a very hot and humid day but no one seemed to mind, the excitement was palpable. The children were rearing to go and son it was time to do just that.

A ride in a big bus, a snack in a huge green park with trees and flowers and birds chirping and then it was time to attack the swings and rides. And boy they did, to their heart’s content. Not a swing was missed, every one had to be tried. It was touching to watch them as they giggled and laughed and were real children, even if it was for a very short time.

You can share some the very special moments here:

Received a mail this morning asking me to write about a new venture called indiameme! I clicked on the link given and landed on a bright and colourful page that caught my immediate attention. Indiameme is a place where you can get all the news about India at one place- news, blogs and more -. Project why is also part of this exciting venture. I spent some time on the site and found that it was a great place for getting the best of what is available.
Do drop by indiameme, you are bound to like it!

As expected Dear Popples did not make it to the short list of the Golden Quill award. Its brush with fame was short and fleeting. It did sit proudly and bravely for weeks next to giants but then got knocked off. Did I believe it would ever make it: I guess the heart did while reason screamed otherwise. Was there a tinge of disappointment: I guess there was, I am but human.

The story of a little poor boy written by a dotty old woman is not what is crowned and feted in our world. It is not a burning issue of today or yesteryears. It may touch your heart but only if you allow it to do so. Sadly many have forgotten how to do just that: look with their hearts.

The saga of dear Popples finds its genesis in the dream of a teenager. The dream was turned into reality by two beings: a small boy and a big man, both wonderful beings and surprisingly similar though you again need to see with your heart to see that! An unusual book launch was the culmination of the dream saga and then it was time to get off the clouds and get back to one’s life. Dreams only last till the first knock of dawn.

Imagine my surprise when more than a year later I get to know that dear Popples has been nominated for a literary award. Time to dream again, even if it was for a few moments. And one did just that. Now things have again fallen in place, and dreams laid to rest. But the story of an extraordinary little fellow continues to haunt me and will do so for the remaining days of my life.

The Right to Education Bill has been passed. After 62 years of Independence the children of India have finally got the fundamental right to free and compulsory education! Wonder why it took so long but then today let us simply celebrate the event.

It is true that millions of children have been excluded, those below 6 and those above 14. Wonder why as both these age groups are extremely vulnerable and need adequate care and understanding. We do hope that our lawmakers will make amends at a later date.

Once the celebrations are over, it will time to think about whether words will be translated into action. It will be time to ponder at how the piece of legislation will actually affect children or whether, for the time being at least, nothing much will change. If you look at things around you you soon realise that there is still long way to go before every child born in this land will be schooled. Education alone does not make any sense. It has to be linked to a broader vision where employability is addressed. As we know, many jobs today require a class X if not a class XII certificate. 14 is the age where you are just in class VIII. Social needs must be part of any education policy. If education leads me nowhere why should I study. Free education has to lead somewhere: to a school leaving certificate at least!

Before and after August 5, 2009, the ground reality has not and cannot change. Children may have acquired the right to education but education will still be imparted, at least for some time, in the same conditions: the same schools, the same teachers, the same environment. No teacher will look at his pupil in a different way post 5/8/09.

If ones looks at the Bill closely one finds many lacunae, each one needing to be addressed. How will one ensure that every child does go to school? How will one ensure that quality education is being imparted? and so on.

The RTE Bill also states that 25% of seats available in each public school will be reserved for the less privileged. This in itself is a contentious issue in many ways. It has been on the cards for some time now and we all now that free and equitable education for ALL the children of India is not around the corner. There are still many hurdles to clear and though the neighborhood school was mentioned in the Bill, its definition was too vague. One would have liked to see it mentioned as it is the only way one can truly ensure the free and equitable education for all.

In today’s India getting your child into school is nothing short of a nightmare. No child should be subjected to rejection and yet the society of schools is a reality one cannot circumvent, and better schools come at a better price. It was a relief to see the Bill address the capitation fee issue. But again who bells all the cats? A question waiting to be answered.

True the Bill throws up many questions and each will need to be carefully addressed. Let us just hope it is a step in the direction of the still elusive common school that would truly give every child its newly acquired fundamental right.

Yesterday the girls of the special section tied rakhis on the wrists of the boys of their class. These were very special rakhis as they had been made by the girls themselves!

The moment was solemn and touching as each girl got ready to proceed with the small ceremony. The brothers were seated on a small stool and the girls had their box of sweet and tikka ready. The ceremony proceeded with clockwork precision and in silence. Each brother ‘s wrist was soon full of bright and colourful rakhis.

It was moving to see these children of a lesser God create bonds that one could not really qualify and yet what linked these extraordinary children was hours of laughter and fun, of sharing and giving, of fighting and making up. It did not matter whether you were rich or poor, whole or broken, whether you could hear or walk, what mattered was that you belonged to the exclusive group called the special children of pwhy.

It is difficult to describe the mood that permeated the air for those magical moments. All I know is that the Gods were smiling.

I received an email informing me about a new initiative: the joy of giving week! The mail said: The “Joy of Giving Week” is planned for Sept 27-Oct 3, 2009 as a national movement that aims to engage more than two crore Indians in different “acts of giving” -money, time, resources and skills. The week aims to engage every Indian citizen in “giving back” to society in a way that s/he chooses. From a billionaire writing a large cheque to a poor villager sharing 1 out of his 3 rotis with someone less fortunate, the idea is to create a “festival of philanthropy” that can, over the years, become a part of the Indian ethos, with the Week being celebrated every year covering Gandhi Jayanti. Wow what a great enterprise and how one wishes it works. Actually it should as it has all the ingredients for success: stars, celebrities, media campaigns and more. The email solicited one to spread the message… and let us do just that. The details of the campaign are available on the link given above.

What I want to do is to extol the joy of giving and share with you some of the very gentle ways in which people have reached out to help project why. I have been in the business of soliciting and panhandling for a decade now hoping against hope to ignite the flame of giving in individuals, corporates and others. That it seems to have worked till now is vindicated in the fact that we have been in existence for almost 10 years. The price one has had to pay is another story waiting to be told. You can find glimpses on it in blogs written in times of despair: be it about the art of giving or the way to do so. If my blogs were ever to be published, they could be happily titled: the saga of giving!

We too initiated our joy of giving week/month year in the form of the one-rupee-a-day initiative and encountered many a storm. Somehow our joy of giving pitch did not quite take off the way we would have wanted. And yet over the past years we have been privy to some of the most beautiful and generous ways of giving that anyone could imagine: the efforts of a very special young lady who refuses to give up on us and has the knack of lifting my spirits when they drop well below zero, the spirit of an incredible woman who puts on her running shoes to ensure that pwhy children keep smiling, the initiative of young business school students who come each year and spread their brand of love, the effort of a young volunteer to make sure that the life of a little scalded child is not wasted, and the many others miracles that drop our way with obsessive regularity urging one not to give up! The tiny efforts of huge hearts that make us believe that all is not lost, even when everything urges you to think otherwise.

There is joy in giving, but it requires you to make a huge effort: that of looking deep into the eyes of a little beggar child knowing that you run the risk of getting lost forever. One does not need to run festivals of philanthropy. Philanthropy lies dormant in each one of us and needs to be awakened and often it happens when you least expect it.

Last Friday the special section spent the day making rakhis as Raksha Bandhan is being celebrated next week. Threads, glue, sparkles, coloured papers, paint, brushes and scissors were set up and everyone set to work.

There was a palpable excitement in the air as the rakhis were to be sold and a big treat bought from the sale proceeds. It was touching to see everyone toil over his or her rakhi, sticking sparkles or painting flowers as they decorated their rakhis. Little Radha forgot the plaster on her foot as she set out to make a stunning rakhi. Some worked in pairs, others alone. Sometimes the teachers would help but somehow everyone knew that they had to make their rakhis unique. And they truly were: special threads of love woven by very special children.

You can share this very special day here.

I had to share this picture. It is my fleeting moment of glory as Dear Popples still sits proudly amongst giants valiantly battling for an elusive yet coveted prize. I do not know whether Dear P will be a David but the fact that it got here is already praiseworthy. Pardon my audacity as I sing my own praise and allow me just for this short instant to blow my own bugle.

Dear P was written because I wanted to share the story of how a little boy could tranform so many lives. It was written because I wanted all to know that miracles happen and they happen without much ado. All you need is to look with your heart. Dear P was written to tell all who would hear that no life is too hopeless to be saved, and that it is within each one of us to reach out and help another.

I do hope this fleeting moment of glory results in many of you picking up Dear P and reading it and you will discover the magic of life in its purest form.

I would like to share with you the preface of the book:

There is a time in life when you feel a strange emptiness, as if all that you had done or experienced till then has come to a close. It may happen in an instant, often after a tragic event, or it may seep in slowly, in bits and pieces, each leaving you a little disoriented, a tad empty till you are faced with a huge vacuum that threatens to devour you.

When you come to realise that you have travelled as much as you possibly could, felt every emotion from pure rapture to abject misery, done more than one would have expected, lost many battles and won a few and lived your life to its fullest, setting impossible goals that you have met with a measure of success, played the diverse roles scripted for you with a fair amount of kudos and your share of catcalls, it is time to stop and set out on a new journey.

A yet unformulated and hence unanswered question springs in your mind: what is the true meaning of life and how best does one live it? It is time to seek life’s bare bones and to extract its essence. And what comes about is steeped in simple truths that transcend the barriers of space and time.

In my effort to share these, I struggled with many options but each fell short in some manner or the other till I stumbled upon the idea of addressing them to a little child who acted as a catalyst in my life.

We often shy from revealing our bare self when our interlocutor is someone who has the skills and ability to react and hence sit in judgment. At those times truth gets clouded; we find it necessary to add ‘meat’ so as to make ourselves more likeable, more erudite and in doing so the raw nature of what we need to say gets lost forever and what remains is a sated life philosophy, propounded by one too many.

When you take the decision to travel inwards, to lands yet unknown and unexplored, you are surprised to stumble on a world replete with simple elemental realities and, when you craft them together you are faced with a wondrous wisdom, the wisdom of twilight years when you are through with explaining, emulating, fighting, bending backwards, proving the exact opposite of what truly is. That is when you are ready to fall in love for the last time: with life itself.

Dear Popples, is the sum and substance of my life, the quest for twilight wisdom: a simple love story.

Remember Nandini? The young girl with a hole in our heart, a hole that could not be fixed because she was too old. The one who wants to be a doctor? The brave little girl was in town for a check up and dropped by project why to see us. She is now in class VIII and doing well in spite of her heart condition.

Nandini is your matter of fact girl, one who can talk about her medical condition without fear or emotion. She told us that her blood pressure was low and that she was given some new medication that she had to take for a year till she came back for her next check up. She barely talked about her health as if it was of no consequence. She showed me all her school reports and once again I was impressed by her performance and by the quality of education imparted in a small town in much maligned Bihar. She had also brought her bills and receipts as we had promised to help her complete her schooling. I was again impressed her efficiency.

Nandini is the kind of child you want to help. Her quiet determination and will to succeed is touching. It is almost as if she felt that time is too short for useless banter and niceties. There is a task at hand: that of making adream come true, the dream of a child with a hole in her heart who wants to be doctor!

Dear Popples has been nominated for the Golden Quill awards were the words that greeted me yesterday morning when I woke up and found an SMS from my editor. I must be dreaming was my first reaction. But it was no dream. or was it just that: a dream come true, one that I needed to take time to savour. I must confess that I spent the day on cloud nine.

Dear Popples was written at a time when I was facing a dilemma and somewhat hurting. I needed to once again believe in all that was good and beautiful. And what better way to do it than to share the story of a little boy whose laugh made a half centenarian smile again, a little boy who whips up miracles in a trice and makes even ugly things look attractive. A real life story that makes you believe that life is worth living no matter how bad it may seem.

When Dear Popples was published I was frightened and shaky, but soon reactions and reviews started pouring in and I was touched and humbled. The book had touched others just as Popples had touched me. I had written it as an ode to hope and it had touched a chord in many. I was fulfilled. To see it today standing proudly among other books written by known authors is a matter of joy and pride. It proves that no matter how cynical our world looks, it still has place for simple stories that extol old fashion values.

For me it is little Popples and his friend Godji brewing yet another miracle.

Rinky is one of our oldest students. This beautiful and extremely talented hearing impaired girl is one of a kind. She is a fully trained beautician and works part time in a local beauty parlour. While with us she also took sewing classes and tailoring classes.

For some time now she has been asking us to give her a sewing machine so that she can supplement her earnings by stitching clothes for others. Last week a dear friend presented her with a brand new machine and Rinky was on cloud nine. Her dream had come true!

In our land, sadly, hearing impaired children are treated as handicapped and often cannot accede to any formal education or training. Yet if given a chance they surpass themselves and even others. We saw the same spark in Saheeda who sadly left us for a better world and little Pooja will also follow the same path. With just a little help and oodles of love these children of a lesser God amaze everyone. You just have to believe in them and help them grow new wings.

Elise and Catherine, two of our summer volunteers, decided to make a fruit salad with the junior secondary girls in lieu of the normal English afternoon class.

The first step was to go and purchase the fruits from the local market. The idea was to buy at least one of each kind and thus to learn all the fruit names. For many girls it was the first time they saw a kiwi, a peach or a bunch of grapes. Once the fruit bought it was time to come back to class and get started. Each step was a new lesson: in colour, texture, aroma, a real treat for all the five senses. Then out came the knives and a new set of vocabulary as they peeled, pared, cored, sliced and diced. Each moment was filled with fun and laughter the biggest one being handling the pineapple. As juiced flowed and pits were cast away the excitement grew by the minute.

Soon the salad bowl was full and it was time to taste but not before another lesson this one in geography as the origin of each fruit was reviewed and maps were gleaned. A simple fun activity like making a fruit salad had become a real interactive lesson that every one enjoyed and loved.

The shocking, repulsive, abhorrent incident that happened in Patna recently has left me speechless and numb. I do not know whether to be angry, sad or bewildered. A woman is lured away from her home with the promise of a job. When she discovers that she has been duped and is going to be abused she tries to run away. However she is caught, molested in public, stripped and humiliated for over an hour while hundreds watch and even join in the game. The so called law enforcers a.k.a the police watch as mute spectators, one of them even joining the predators.

I cannot even begin to imagine what the poor woman felt as she bore the humiliation and outrage. Only one of her tormentors has been arrested, the others still run scot-free. No one stepped in to stop the ignominy. Everyone standing there simply watched the show with glee. The entire incident was caught on camera. Wonder why the camera men did not reach out to help her.

Nothing, simply nothing can condone this outrage. Even if the woman was the worst offender possible she did not deserve this treatment. We are supposed to live in a society where laws prevail but for that hour it seemed that all was simply forgotten as predators took the stage and played to the gallery that stood as silent spectators. I wonder why no one wondered how they would feel if they woman in question was one of their own: a sister, a daughter or a wife!

I could go on writing pages about how I feel today or simply limit my words and ask: Is it worth being born a woman in a land where women can be worshiped as an image but never respected in real life?

During the course of the debate on education that brought Hillary Clinton and actor Amir Khan on a platform a young volunteer stated that she had been trying to teach five children under a tree, but that the kids’ parents would rather they begged or sold trinkets on trains. This was a touching and yet very real question.

Some time back I had asked my staff to ensure that all pwhy children of school going age should be enrolled in school. Parents had to be convinced and in case they did not agree, the child was not to be accepted in our programme. I was soon to learn that it was yet another silly diktat issued without truly assessing the reality of the situation. There is a bunch of girls well in their pre teens who attend our classes and yet do not go to school. The reason is that their mothers work in the morning and need these girls to man the home and tend to their younger siblings. In the afternoon the moms are back at home and the children can come an attend classes at pwhy and thus educate themselves. Needless to say I immediately reversed the diktat and told the teachers not only to accept them in class but to give them special attention. Some of these girls are exceptionally bright and it occurred to me that if they could not been mainstreamed they could perhaps do their schooling through the open school. Something we need to look at.

There are many instances when children are kept away from school not to be put to work and earn money but to enable mothers to work and this is a reality that all law makers and educationists should keep in mind. And if we were to go a step further, parents who send their children to beg or sell trinkets as was the case with the young volunteer, here too it is a matter of survival. The few rupees brought by the child go a long way in keeping the fires burning. In a country as large as ours and where millions live in poverty any law has to be sensitive to the situation on the ground. In pwhy classes we allow girls to bring their baby siblings to class as if we did not, the child would not be allowed to come. The situation is critical in urban slums where often both parents need to work and the only way they can do so is if the elder child is left at home to tend to the smaller ones. And in our society it is the girl child who is sacrificed.

There were two back to back discussions on education on national TV yesterday evening. One was a recording of the Hillary Clinton Aamir Khan event at St Xavier’s Mumbai, and the other was a live debate with the new education minister and a handful of educationists, NGO reps, students and parents. I sat riveted for two hours as for the first time much of what I have been harping about was being debated. It was music to the ears. For the first time people were talking of school education and the need to give every child quality learning. Many new ideas were mooted. The grade system in preference to the incomprehensible and unjust percentile system, choice rather than marks to decide what stream a child would enter, introduction of vocational subjects and more.

Though the two debates were very different they touched on many common concerns one of them being quality of teachers. Both forums accepted that teaching had to be given more social acceptance. In today’s world you became a teacher because you were unable to become something else. Both forums felt that this was a skewed view and needed to be redressed and many possible solutions were mooted. One person even talked of setting up an Indian Education Service on the lines of the Indian Administrative Service, something I have been suggesting for a long time. It was wonderful to hear the idea mooted on national TV in front of decision makers!

The debates continued touching on many valid points aiming at ensuring that every child gets the opportunity to achieve his or her potential: inclusive education, caring teachers, quality education etc. Many questions were asked and answered and yet something was missing. Each time one touched on the subject of giving quality education to ALL children, answers remained vague and one could even sense an air of unease. You see only one half of India was represented, the other was absent. Solutions proffered to this disturbing questions seemed more like hand outs, the zeal to reform and redress was strangely absent. Once again one fell on the value of programmes like the Sarva Shiksha Abhyan, or in other words a parallel system as one needed to respect the society of schools! To a question from a young girl on how to teach English to poor kids, as it was her ability to speak English that had got her to be present in this distinguished forum, the answer was to try and excel in one’s own language. It seemed as if English, the real even field leveller was only for the chosen few.

I would have liked at least one person to talk of the common neighborhood school.To me it would be the panacea to all the ills that plague our education system. A common school where children of both Indias could learn and grow together taught by the best talent available: a pipe dream maybe, but one that I will hold on to till I breathe my last.

With you, for you, always is the motto of the police of our city. Each time I see these words slapped on the side of a vehicle or on a larger than life poster I instinctively recoil. Nothing could be more untrue and the last encounter you would want to have is with the police. Somehow stepping into a police station is an experience one would not wish for anyone. It is the last place you will get help or justice.

It is with extreme sadness that I read about the young girl who had committed suicide because the police failed to act against those who regularly eve teased her. Instead of getting the justice she sought from the protectors of law, the family was subjected to harassment and intimidation. It was too much for the young girl who decided to end her life. The reason for which the police behaved in this manner was that the eve teasers belonged to some well connected political family! The police is not meant for the poor, the helpless, the downtrodden or simply the innocent.

It is sad that the police in our country still behaves as a force created by the coloniser to beat the colonised to submission. It is just that the colonisers have assumed a new avatar: that of the unscrupulous politician or the moneyed men. And no matter how many nice soundings mottoes they invent, the essence remains the same. Once you don the uniform you are given the liberty to act as you please.

We too have had our encounters with the police and each has been distasteful and vile. If we need to repair any of our centres, before we can lay the first brick the beat officer is at our door his palm extended for blood money and no matter how hard we try to appeal to his better side, it is all in vain: once you wear the uniform you lose your better side forever. If we try and go to the police station to seek some assistance, we are viewed with such suspicion that we beat a simple retreat. And how can I ever forget the case of a young woman taken in by the police because a piece of jewellery had disappeared from the house she worked in? The jewellery was found and the information given to the police station but the poor young woman was gang raped by the posse on duty. Th next day an officer did take the men to task and the woman was offered monetary compensation but that one night changed her forever and scarred her mind. She today suffers from deep psychoses.

The poor girl who committed suicide last week must have suffered extreme humiliation and known that her life too was scarred forever. She simply decided to take it away and she did. And no one could do anything to help her, specially not those who profess to be with you, for you, always!

I often like browsing through my pictures library and looking at snapshots again. They each tell a story that one somehow misses when one first glances at a new download. This picture was taken who days back, when our fantastic five where dropped back to boarding school for a brand new term. To anyone or at first glance they are just a bunch of kids back in school, posing for a shot before taking off and join the rest of their pals. And yet if one was to pause, take a little time, let one’s memory wander back in time they each have a story to tell.

How can I forget little Babli and her shrill voice when she first told me about her heart condition. And how can I forget everything that ensued the cynical voices that tried to make us see their kind of sense, the terrible day well after her surgery I saw her dreams shattering and decided to do something, and the day when we finally took the first step towards salvaging her dreams. How can I forget Vicky, Munna’s little brother who I first met as a tiny little boy, and his family that even today struggles for a meal. Or little Aditya and his proud mommy and her terrible ordeal? How can I forget Utpal my little braveheart and the day when I first laid eyes on his little body swathed in bandages and read the hospital paper that sounded like a death sentence? How can I forget how he proved everyone wrong and became the epitome of life itself and my little miracle maker?

Today all these kids that should have never met, live, laugh and learn together and are busy crafting their morrows. Who knows what they will become: a doctor, a police, a choreographer, a musician or a teacher? The world lies waiting for them. My only prayer is that each one of them become good human beings with the ability to comprehend the fox’s secret and see with their hearts. On that day I mean not be around, but from where I am I will surely look down and remember the faces on the photograph and the very special a very special wishwish I made today.

Munna is back. His mom brought him to class this morning and all his pals were thrilled to see him. She also wanted us to admit her younger daughter to the creche. Her older daughter
studies in our primary centre and goes to government school. Vicky her other son is part of our fostercare programme and will be leaving for boarding school tomorrow.

I remember the cold winter day when I first met this family for the first time almost 4 years ago. I was aghast at their plight. We decided to help them as best we could. But tragedy seems to be a constant companion to some. Munna’s father did get a better job, this time as a bus conductor and with three of the children taken care of, things seemed to be on an even keel. Munna’s family went to the village as they do every year. They came back a few days ago and the father resumed his work. Last week the bus he works in was involved in an accident. A man died. The drived managed to flee but Munna’s dad was caught and locked up. he is still in jail. It seems that he will stay there till the bus owner bails him out or the driver is caught.

We could see the tears welling up in Munna’s mom eyes. She is a simple lady who can barely communicate in Hindi. She simply told her story. When I asked her how she would manage to feed her family till her husband came back she answered: we brought bag a bag of rice from the village. I saw the same dignity I has seen when I had first visited her and felt humbled.

Tomorrow we will see how we can help this family. Today was not the time to do so. Dignity had to be respected and the tears not allowed to flow.

After many twists and turns, many false starts and many terrible moments, Radha’s mom has finally accepted to come and work at the women centre. We had tried everything to help this little family in every which way possible, even if at moments we were close to giving up. We wanted to find a solution because little Radha is one of a kind. We even got a national TV channel to cover her story but forgot that in our land there is no compassion towards a disabled little girl. Hardly anyone came forward to help this little family in distress.

And yet to me it had sounded so simple: Radha and her mom and three siblings could have easily moved to our women centre and lived a safe and protected life. But once again I was rapped on the knuckles: we had forgotten about the extended family, the one that thought they could use Radha’s terrible condition and extract whatever they could, the typical case of the hen that laid golden eggs and was killed out of greed. And Radha’s mom herself seemed reluctant to come and live in a place that had rules and regulations. The young widow was also a free spirit.

A few days back they lost their sole means of livelihood – a food cart – and even if they retrieved it from the clutches of the police, they would never be able to set it up again: new rules were now in place and food carts were a big no no! Radha’s mom came to us seeking help again. We knew that she would not give up her extended family. She wanted to work but who would give her a job as she had a one year old she could not leave anywhere.

We offered her a job at the women centre. She could bring her baby and leave him at the creche. But there was a rider and that was that she also attend sewing classes. She accepted. Radha’s mom began her job yesterday and even attended her first sewing class. The baby played happily in the creche. I hope she settles down and continues to work with us. Once she has completed her sewing course we will buy her a sewing machine which will enable her to earn some extra money from home.

Radha’s mom will rebuild her life, one day at at time and we hope that she realises where her future truly lies.

Listening to our new HRD Minister outlining his proposed educational reforms was music to the ears and balm to the heart. He said his mantra was “expansion, inclusion and excellence” and this was not possible “if you deny access to education to every single child in the country”echoing in his own way what I have been harping about for almost a decade now.

A grading formula instead of the inane mark systems, a common Board for all the children of India, making the Xth Boards optional it all sounds too good to be true. For once the right R word is being used Reforms and not Reservations. Unifying and not dividing.

The new Minister seems to have his heart in the right place when he proposes: for instance, a municipal school building has two floors vacant. A private player can set up his classes and charge fees, while he imparts the same quality of education free to those studying in the municipal school. Personally I would have liked to hear the word common school but perhaps that is still a long way coming. I still hope it will happen one day.

This is the first time one is hearing a Minister talk for the children and not trying to fulfill and pursue some hidden political agenda. This is the first time one feels that education is in safe hands. Emboldened by what I read and hear I would like to suggest going one step further and institution an Indian Education Service on the lines of the IAS. This would bring about quality and unity in the teachers and give primary and school education the much needed acceptance.

Education is the corner stone of our society and it is time that we have it the place it deserves. I just hope that our new Minister will continue to address the situation the way he has begun. It is high time someone thought of India’s children.

It is the end of an era. Kodak is taking Kodachrome away. For those of us that belong to the Paul Simon generation we cannot but remember the words immortalised by him: They give us those nice bright colors. They give us the greens of summers. Makes you think all the worlds a sunny day, I got a Nikon camera I love to take a photograph So mama don’t take my Kodachrome away!

At times like these which are almost like rites of passage one is tempted to take a walk down memory lane and reminisce about times gone by. Those of my generation will remember the camera as a prize possession. It required some handling and one of them was the art of placing the film roll correctly. I was never good at that and often had to seek help. Taking a snapshot in those days was no instant gratification. There was a fixed number of shots in each roll you bought and once you had clicked those you had to fulfill one more task: that of rewinding the film and getting it out of the camera, and then place it in the box you purchased it in and then take it to a photographer’s shop to get it developed, hoping against hope that your shots were in focus, and not overexposed. Then you had to wait for a day or more before you collected your pictures. These we given to you in a folder along with your negatives. Only then did you know whether you had your Kodak moments or not.

Today with digital cameras all this is long past. You click your image and can see it on the screen of your camera moments after you have shot it. If it is not to your liking you delete it and shoot another. The digital era has dawned and taken away the film reel. Many may not know it, but Kodachrome was a process invented by two musicians a violinist and a pianist know as God and Man (Leopold Godowsky Jr and Leopold Mannes) way back in 1935.

But what were the Kodak moments we so loved to capture. My mind travels back to the late sixties and early seventies: my college years. What did we do with our free time? Where did we go? What did we enjoy doing? Slowly images trickle from the recesses of my memory, images of parks and open spaces, of poetry books and strummed guitars, of syrupy cups of tea and oily omelets in between slices of white bread, of overstuffed jholas (cloth bags) and worn out chappals (sandals). Those seemed to be our Kodak moments, the ones we wanted to immortalise on paper as this is what we did in our free time. A free afternoon with friends was often translated into a walk in a park or in the zoo, a poetry reading session or a heated debate on some philosophical subject or the other. We made and remade the world and felt on top of it. You were appreciated and liked not by what you wore or possessed, but by your ability to share your knowledge and talent.

And if you wanted a lasting memory you had to select what you wished to consign on paper. Even today, after many decades I find myself looking at the innumerable yellowed photographs that tell the story of my life and lie not in a computer hard disk but in some old drawer, or stuck in the pages of well worn albums.

Today everyone wants instant gratification and all good moments are measured in the amount of money spent. I recall a newspaper article where a journalist decided to spend an evening with a bunch of high school kids. The night was spent zipping from one five star hotel to another and buying an expensive drink that was left untouched as the gang felt bored and needed to move. The evening cost over 10K a head and resulted in not a single Kodak moment.

It is with a sense of nostalgia that I read the about the demise of the good old photo reel, the one that had given people like me hordes of wonderful moments that now lie yellowed in some corner of my home.

Children reinvent the world for you said Susan Sarandon. Today I wonder how 800 children are going to help me reinvent our world, the project why world.

Much has happened in the last few months or should I say weeks. I guess we had again sunk into one of our comfort zones, when one thinks and believes that one has finally reached home and that nothing can come and disturb things. We had a respectable number of children, our teachers were doing a commendable work as not a single child failed, our funding pattern seemed to be on course as we had regular and seemingly sound partners and the problems encountered en route were all more than manageable. It was time to throw one’s self wholeheartedly into our long term sustainability programme and start seriously looking for funds to build planet why!

And then recession hit the planet! At first we did not take it too seriously. We, like many others thought or wanted to think that it would pass without creating too many ripples in our lives. But then a few weeks back, two of our partners, the ones we relied upon the most informed us that they would not be able to meet their commitments, at least for the months to come. We were taken aback and thrown out of gear for a brief moment. But then we realised that we could not close down shop, send kids back and sit in a remote corner to wait for things to change and improve. We had to carry on no matter what, recession or no recession.

I must admit that this not the first time we have been at such crossroads and I know it will not be the last. The last will be when planet why sees the light of day. But that is still some time coming till then we need to reinvent ourselves once again. And once again it will be the children who reinvent the world for us, or perhaps we who reinvent it for 800 of them!

Our new avatar is the sponsorship programme where we ask each one of our friends, and thus you, to spare a little money each day and use it to protect a child’s future. In an earlier post I had asked the simple question: does recession make us less compassionate? I would like to believe the contrary and urge you to prove me right. Sponsoring a child was never the way I wanted to go and yet it is the one I chose today as it seems to fit the prevailing situation. I have always believed that our redemption lay in expanding our donor base so as to be able to deal with the occasional drop outs without bleeding. What seemed ridiculous and laughable to many, seems to make sound sense today.

Our sponsorship programme is defined here. Please drop by that page and find it in your heart to help our children reinvent their endangered world.

You can write to us at: sponsor@projectwhy.org

It never rains, it pours goes the saying, and nothing could be truer for Radha’s little family. The day after the TV crew came and went, the authorities came and took away the family’s food cart and every single utensil they possessed. They did not even leave a plate, a spoon or a glass. The little family lost they sole mean of livelihood and also the basic utensils needed to cook their own meal.

True it was to happen as all street food is now illegal in Delhi but somehow one did not expect it all to happen so soon. It seems the few carts in the area were linked to the wrong political party and hence the haste in getting rid of them.

Now begins the numbers game. If Radha’s mom wants to retrieve her belongings she needs to come up with a whopping 2500 Rs plus Rs 100 per fay in demurrage. A herculean task for a family that barely earned 1500 rs a month. But then without their belongings the family cannot even cook a meal for themselves and the cart was bought for over 5000 Rs and could fetch them some money if sold as they know they will never be able to revive the business. The predatr family who had come out of the wood work after Radha’s father’s demise have simply packed their bags and left. The only one left is Radha’s younger aunt who toils in factory from 9am to 9 pm for a paltry 2500 Rs, way below the minimum wage. And in her case, like in the case of thousands of others, no worker’s union comes to the rescue. They are quietened by hefty amounts paid by the factory owners who find numerous ways to circumvent laws.

Radha’s mom is ridden with debts, the ones she occurred after the demise of her husband as she was made to do complex and expensive rituals. Our offer to come and stay at the women centre went unheeded as perhaps it was not an option for the extended family. Or perhaps was it that very extended family that saw Radha’s mom as a potential money spinner. We will never know what truly happened.

Today Radha’s mom has very few options. She cannot work in a factory like her younger sister as her soon is too small to be left alone and then her other children do come back from school and need to be tended to. We now have to rack our brains to find a workable option. We will probably ask her to come and work at the women centre as it is not located too far from her house and she can bring her little boy along. We need someone to clean the place and cook the staff lunch. And then she can after her work, join the sewing class which could be an added skill that would help her earn some extra money. She must earn enough to look after her family.

That is where we stand today. As I wrote in an earlier post, the story on TV did not translate into any form of support. We will have to find a way to help the family get back their belongings as some can be sold and others are much needed for the family to survive. The numbing numbers game will have be unravelled and won!

“Jump, and you will find out how to unfold your wings as you fall” wrote Ray Bradbury. I was reminded of this quote when I saw this picture. It is our very own Popples aka Utpal bungee jumping during a recent outing. Amazingly, though he was the youngest in the queue, he was not afraid or nervous. He found the experience simply exhilarating! I could not resist putting this picture on the blog. The sight of this little fellow with his hair raised like a comic book character was too much to resist.

But a usual my mind wandered and I found myself thinking of the number of times I have found myself having to jump without quite knowing how and where I will land, praying each time that I will find the way to unfold my wings as I fall. My jumps are one of a kind. They occur at times when I have sworn to myself and to all others that I will not add anything to the existing structure of pwhy. And then something happens out of the blue, a child needing help, a woman in despair, a family rendered homeless and all promises are forgotten as I jump to their rescue not knowing where and how help will come from, having totally forgotten that we have barely enough to survive, hoping against hope that I will grow the much needed wings before it is to late. And miraculously each and every time it has happened.

Many may not understand as it defies logic and sane thinking, but many do not know that when I began pwhy I promised myself to try and answer all the whys that came my way, no matter what they were. So I guess just like little Utpal, there will be many more jumps and free falls and I hope that no one moves the ground from beneath my feet and that each jump is as exhilarating as the previous one.

I wonder why there has not been much interest in little Radha’s story aired on national TV. Last time we sought help for an open heart surgery, we were flooded with phone calls and offers of support. The child in question is now a strapping young boy in class VIII.

Radha’s story came and went as quietly and unobtrusively as little Radha who can sleep on a roadside and simply tell you she did so and get along with the task at hand. We did find her a little home, more a burrow then a living space fit for human beings. She was so pleased at not having to sleep in the open that she danced her heart out the next day. You see she had slept right through a dust storm.

What had we hoped to achieve by making her story known to all? Some financial help that would have enabled us to move the little family into a proper home? Some medical advise about her rare disability? Some hope that her morrows be safe? But that was not to be. The very next day the authorities took away the cart which was their livelihood and all the utensils they possessed. Radha did not come to school today.

The death knell of all street food vendors has tolled. The cat and mouse game has begun. Bribes to be paid for a few days of reprieve till the next predator comes and removes the reclaimed cart again and so on. Wonder how long it lasts. Politicos jump in the fray for a potential votes. All is fair you see.

But that is not what I am disturbed about. My mind keeps going back to the one question we began with: why has no one come forward. And the answer is there for all to see: little disabled girls are not sound investment. Their truncated lives are not worthy of even the loose change that jiggles in your pocket or lies hidden in the folds of your drawing room sofa. After all Radha is only a little girl with a disability.

Could I forget the plight of our dear Preeti and her lunch box, or that of the sad people locked away behind impregnable iron gates? Little Radha is just one of them. Her story may result in a few chuckles of sympathy but does not translate into action of any kind.

We would like to see her thrive and grow, even if it is for a short time. She deserves every bit of happiness that can come her way. And we shall strive to ensure that this happens. So help us God.