There is a new class at project why and like everything else it happened quite by chance. The special educator who comes thrice a week to work with our children came to me last week and asked me whether project why could provide some space for a bunch of deaf and dumb students who needed after school support to keep up with their studies. As you may have guessed we said yes immediately. That is the way we are. The logistics would be worked out and all would fall in place.

The reason for which I agreed to the request is that I more than anyone else believe in inclusive education and I more than anyone else know how things are on the ground in the government schools these kids go to. The extra support can and will make all the difference.

So a a few adjustments were made and space crated for these students who now come thrice a week to catch up with their school studies and what is wonderful is that little Bittoo, our hearing impaired child joins the class.

It is a wonderful silent class and I invite you to peep in:

He leaned against his cart forlorn and dejected. No one seemed to want to drink his water today. He was a wizened old man who could barely stand, let alone push his cart. He had been coming to this very spot, year after year, actually at each Durga Pujo. He always placed his cart in front of the biggest Puja Pandal, next to the temple and every year he made quick business. Something had changed. This year he was alone. The usual food carts were absent and with no one eating food, no one needed to quench their thirst.

He was not aware of the new court ruling that now banned selling cooked food on the streets. He was illiterate and no one in his home spoke to him, let alone share with him the on goings of life. He felt like a burden and looked forward to leaving his son’s home early and spent the whole day out, even if he had sold all the water he had in his cart. He kept a rupee or two for himself and dutifully handed the balance to his daughter in law. At least that way there was no recriminations. But today, when everyone would be expecting a killing, he would return empty handed. he did not even want to think about what would happen.

The old man is part of what is known as the informal economy, the hawkers and street vendors; people who come to the city looking for jobs and then not finding any create their own. It is estimated that there are over 4 lakhs such vendors in Delhi. They make barely enough to live and have to pay huge bribes to be allowed to function. According to an NGO they pay over 600 crores annually! This was one of the reasons for the new law but what it amounts to is punishing the victim and not the perpetrator.

In the last ten days or so we have seen furious activity along side the main road in Govindpuri. All street hawkers are targeted by the police. Some try to slink into the nearby alleys. Others have just closed shop. Wonder how many new families now go hungry at night. Street food has been an age told tradition in Delhi and the hygiene factor is not really one that I buy. A hot samosa may send my LDL cholesterol flying but has never given me a Delhi belly. The idea of a cold samosa makes me lose my appetite.

Many of the parents of our children run food stalls. That is how they have survived for years now and looked after their families. They feed the poor and the middle class with affordable and healthy food. Such people cannot afford the swanky fast food joints which seem to be getting a thumbs up all the way and which are proliferating by the minute. The new order will make the list of unemployed swell. And with no new jobs on the anvil where will these people go. Are we just going to watch the death of an age old tradition and say nothing?

Just like the old man, many across the city are slowly seeing the end of their journey So help them God!

My grandson will be with us in a few days. The excitement is palpable. Everyone seems tobe walking on air. The old house is being spruced up. The wood has been polished, the windows are squeaky clean and the ancient and worn out floor is almost gleaming. Everyone is busy and yet time hangs heavy, refusing to pass reminding me of Bergson’s theories. The same time will fly once the little fellow lands and then hang heavy again when he leaves. But the purpose of this post is not to write a treatise on time!

Little Agastya is just 8 months old. His whole life awaits him and as any dotty granny I wish it is filled with all that is good and beautiful. Do we not always wish that for our children! And yet what we forget is that we are responsible for what lies ahead. We adults hold the coloured crayons that will fill the blank canvass. The little child will become what he sees, hears, feels and experiences. It is for us to show them the very best.

In a recent TV debate on violence and aggressive behaviour, someone said that what we failed to teach the young of today were values such as compassion and empathy. In a world ruled by possession and control, principles like fellow feeling and tolerance seemed passé and outdated. Children grew up to believe that the measure of success is in the things you had to flaunt and vaunt. Hence you smothered your child with objects of all shades and hue, the bigger the better, the dearer the better!

A good heart is better than all the heads in the world wrote Edward Bulwer-Lytton. I wonder how one teaches a child to have a good heart in our day and age. How does one teach compassion? How does one teach concern, tolerance, humanity. By example of course but examples are few and moreover the child should never feel alienated. I remember a friend who had no TV when her child was growing up. One day the child came back from school upset and crying. The reason was simple: she could not be part of the break time chat that revolved around the latest episode of the latest TV serial aired. So how do you strike the right balance in your quest to teach values to children. The TV programme suggested that compassion be taught as a subject in school. My mind went back to days where we had moral classes in school. But those days are gone too.

My little grandson is still too tiny but as he grows I would like to make him discover the true meaning of things: make him feel the caress of the wind, listen to the humming of the birds and the rustle of leaves. I would like to read to him passages of the Little Prince and make him discover the secret of the fox. As he grows I would like to teach him to celebrate difference, make his own choices and walk the road less traveled.

A mail dropped by in my inbox. It was from an organisation that was launching a new funding campaign. My first reaction was to trash it immediately but something made me read on as the mail seemed to be personally addressed to me. I was curious to know what was wanted of me. The answer was in the last para: Your blog is extremely well written and read. A mention about Anand Charity, its mission, its current projects or the fundraiser would immensely benefit us. It would allow us to reach out to and touch more underprivileged people. We would be very indebted to you for your help.

How presumptuous! Did people not know that I ran project why and hence was also constantly looking for funds to survive. But again I did not trash the mail and decided to find out more about Anand Charity. I clicked on their website and as is always the case with me looked for the faces behind.

What I saw filled my heart with pride and joy. Seven smiling faces of young Indians, each from the best schools and universities, each with a message that went straight to my heart. They were, all just like me, paying back a debt they felt they owed. It had taken me half a life to get there. They had not wasted any time. They were true children of India and the very best. They had learned the fox’s secret in the Little Prince and knew how to see with their hearts.

Today their organisation is reaching out to help organisations like project why. They fund projects related to education, health and disaster management across India and they have launched a fundraiser urging people to part with just 5$. I wish them success andI hope they succeed. They have to so that they become role models for young Indians. And perhaps they can show me the right way!

It is only when more young Indians learn to see with their hearts that India will truly change. God bless them.

Restore, not remove is an article I urge you all to read. In the wake of the decision of scrapping class X Boards, it comes as an eye opener and is quite unusual as it urges the powers that be to restore two jaded institutions namely the NSS and the NCC as ways of continuous evaluation of children as continuous evaluation seems to be the flavour of the day.

I must confess that I would not have thought of this and yet the more I ponder over this suggestion, the more I like it. I had blogged recently on the grade system wondering how it would actually work in situ. The task seemed daunting as one had to train teachers to accept new ways and that is no easy task. Kaveree Bamzai seems to have come up with the ideal solution, one that does not need any new inputs or training as both the NSS and NCC are part and parcel our education system. As she says in her article today’s over active and energetic children would be better off playing soldiers and doing real social work than watching useless TV programmes targeted to the young.

The NCC and NSS may at first sound a little passé and outdated. But I urge you to look at them with fresh eyes. The NCC teaches discipline as well as opens new avenues to young minds who can learn a host of activities ranging from battle tactics to para jumping. The NSS is a way of teaching compassion and responsibility. What better values than we think of. I myself can never forget the weekly visits to the orphanage during my school years in Saigon. I think somehow what I do today finds it first seeds in those visits. Instead of finding new ways of creating good citizens, a relook at these two institutions could do wonders. They just need some smart repackaging.

In earlier days free time was spent reading books. Sadly today children have stopped reading and watch TV instead. The slum children or their parents never savoured the joys of reading; they just jump started straight into the TV era. Parents both privileged and underprivileged have scant time for their progeny, schools have abdicated their real role and the huge void thus created had been filled by useless and often absurd activities. As the author of the article points out the youth of today, our so called good citizens go on UTV Bindass’ Dadagiri to look for cheese cubes in a bowl of leeches and eat sauce mixed with human hair.

We desperately need to look at education again and why not restore what was good and healthy like the NSS and NCC or the forgotten SUPW (socially useful productive work) which took children to slums and old age homes.

We cannot afford to have a generation of MTV roadies. If this does happen we would be responsible of having failed our children as children are just what you make them to be.

The recent scrapping of the class X Boards has been welcomed by one and all. Then why is it that I am feeling uneasy and slightly rattled. I sat for a long time trying to figure out what was disturbing me and why I was not jumping with joy. Was I not the one who had always been against examinations that tended to assess a child’s future on her of his performance on a single day. Was I not the one who once extolled the benefits of alternative schools to all those who would hear me. And yet here I was brooding over the news of Boards being scrapped. What had changed?

The answer was simple: then I thought of my kids, now the faces that came to mind was those of the pwhy kids whom I had seen toiling over class X exams for many years now and succeeding. What was disturbing me was how they would perform in the new scenario. What would we expected of them and how would they be able to compete with their peers from privileged homes and schools? I decided to try and find out what would be expected of them in the new continuous evaluation system.

The new CBSE grading system would comprise of a summative and a formative assessment. While the former would be based on the term end examinations, the later was far more complex and would evaluate class work, home work, assignment and project work. The system again seemed to tilt in favour of the privileged schools where project work and assignments were the order of the day. Sadly in government schools that was not the case at all. In such schools the only thing that mattered was learning and mugging for one exam and one did that with the help of guide books, past question papers et al. Now all this had ended and much of the performance of the student would be assessed on work done in class along the year.

I read somewhere that special training classes were soon to be held for teachers. I wonder how they will achieve changing mindsets and old ways. Extra classes and tuition days are now passe. Every child will have to perform day-after-day. Knowing the situation prevalent in government schools one wonders how that will happen and one also wonders how one needs to reinvent one’s self to address the new situation. I guess things will fall in place after a few batches and that in the ultimate analysis it is all for the better but I still ask myself how a student whose family can barely buy her guide books will be able to come up with all the resources needed to complete an assignment or project that the child will have to complete in a cramped tenement she shares with many.

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.