Preeti is back after almost a year! Her mother had one day decided to withdraw her from pwhy and send her to another place which I must confess did look prettier than pwhy and seemed to have and give much more. We were sorry to see her go as she was one of our first student and in spite of her stubborn ways she was an endearing child.

I can never forget the day when our friend Nauko had celebrated a Japanese festival where children are meant to write their dreams and tie them to a bamboo tree, Preeti had written hers: she wanted to be a mother.

I also remember the day when we launched our aloe vera project and the excitement on the face of this child as she held her very own pot. Sadly the project did not take off the way we would have liked it to. I hope it does one day, maybe on planet why!

As Preeti walked backed into her old classroom where her old and some new friends waited, she was as always all smiles. She pointed at a picture of hers that sat on the wall and wanted everyone to see it. She then tried to communicate again using her hands and signs. We were all shocked as when she was with us Preeti used language and words to communicate. It is true that she had a very limited vocabulary but she did speak. I wonder why in the school she went they treated her as a speech impaired child. Shamika was furious and decided to take matters in her hand and get her to speak again!

Seeing Preeti back was heartwarming as it proved that in spite of our limited resources we still manage to give our special children a happy place and one where they can fulfill their potential and prove to all those who consider them as disabled that they are simply differently abled.

Welcome back Preeti!

Sing a song of sixpence. For the past month I have been reminded of this nursery rhyme and feeling like its king: The King was in his counting house, Counting out his money and wondering whether the big black bird would come and snip away my nose! Like many nursery rhymes this one too has a gory double meaning and was a coded advertisement to recruit pirates at a time when piracy was outlawed.

My reference thank heavens is not gory but just adapted to the mind boggling situation I find myself in: counting money to meet the huge amount required to begin saving dreams and provide the suitable heir to project why aka planet why!

I am truly blessed as each time I feel a tad dejected, all I need is a walk through project why. This morning when I was greeted at the special section by the whoops of joy and peals of laughter as it was trampoline time. My eyes grew misty as I watched Preeti jump on the trampoline in spite of her useless legs. Actually I should have known she would do just this as is she not our very own incredible karate kid!

So the low spirits lifted and I felt imbued with a renewed determination to go on counting the money till the magic and still elusive figure was reached to enable us to secure the plot of land that would ensure that children like Preeti remain spirited and can life life with dignity and surrounded by love.

Many cannot even begin to imagine what life was a girl like Preeti can turn into once she loses the support of her mother. She could be used and abused or just be thrown out of her home by an unkind sister in law and forced to beg as was the case with Manu. She could also land in an institution where life is hell or is some ashram or the other where even hell has to be redefined. And yet Preeti just has useless legs. Otherwise she is just like any other 11 year old and deserves to live a full life.

And it is not just Preeti, but Champa, Ruchi and many others who are today at the threshold of a terrible morrow unless we do something. Planet why is our answer and we know that we have to make it happen.

Yesterday was a very special day at pwhy. We were blessed to have the visit of Manmeet Bhai Sahib and Seema Bhabhi. I seek your indulgence for this rather personal post but I would failing the spirit of pwhy were I not to share this special moment.

Project Why would never seen the light of day if Ram had not been part of my life. And Bhai Sahib is someone Ram loved dearly and respected profoundly. His visit was akin to having Ram drop by. It was a rare privilege and a moving moment to have Bhai Sahib see the work we are doing and above all share his wisdom and give his advise and guidance. And for me it was a tender moment when I could for those few moments be once again a little girl hanging on to every word that was said and answering every question fielded by someone I held in awe. For the past 10 years or so I have been the one to have to answer questions, solve problems, defuse problems and it does get lonely up there. Yesterday I could revel in a few stolen moments of having someone tell me where I was wrong or what I was doing right.

Time flew by. And for many present nothing earth shattering happened or was said. But I could read between the lines, hear the words left unspoken, feel the immense love that filled my heart and above all feel that I was not alone, that all would be all right, every little hurt would go away and the sun would shine again.

Bhai Sahib’s visit was God sent or should I say Ram sent! For the past few months I had been battling impossible odds and yet I knew that that was the only road I could walk were I to be honest and true to all that I had been taught. And yet it had not been easy to go on. I needed a sign, a tiny pat on my back, a blessing whispered in my ear ans yesterday that is just what happened.

It was indeed a very special day.

During a recent interview an eager young journo kept asking whether I did not get disturbed or feel helpless at the sight of all the children I saw at red lights or other places begging. He was quite bewildered when I told him that I did not, I simply felt outraged.

And that too for more reasons than one!

First and foremost this was the wost form of child labour but one that did not seem to be addressed at all by the powers that be. It was undoubtedly the easiest one to be identified as it happened not behind close doors or dingy sweat shops but out in the open for everyone to see! And yet no one seemed to care. Moreover it was one that we were all guilty of abetting as most of us did give that coin, perhaps to get rid of the pestering child or whining mother or perhaps simply to ease one’s conscience. And as long as the business was lucrative it would carry on.

My mind went back to an incident that occurred many years ago when I was accosted by a beggar woman. I did not have any change on me so I looked at her and simply told her that I was sorry I did not have anything to give her. She held on to my hand and told me that I had given her a great gift. I was needless to say bewildered. Seeing my confusion she smiled and told me: You looked into my eyes child, and acknowledged me as a fellow human . People normally throw some money at you but never dare look at you. This was probably one of the greatest lesson I got in my entire life.

Herein lies the problem that plagues our society. The divide between rich and poor is getting wider by the day and the rich have lost the ability to look into the eyes of the poor that are actually everywhere. Do we see the families working relentlessly in the biting cold or scorching heat on all the fancy new constructions that are mushrooming in our city; do we see the children at red lights peddling their ware and realise that they are children just like ours; do we look at the road side slums that have been in existence for decades as we drive pass and wonder at all the babies born amongst the fumes of cars revving at the red light and at the plight of people living under the constant fear of demolition?

In our nine long years of trying to make a difference, of striving at building better and brighter morrows for what we call underprivileged children we have faced and surmounted many obstacles. And it has been the most rewarding time in our life in spite of all. But if there is a sense of helplessness or frustration it foes not stem from inability to help each and every child. It does not require to be a rocket scientist to know that one person cannot solve all the problems that plague our society. What is infuriating is the fact that what disturbs us leaves others cold. What is enraging is that people around us have lost their ability to see, let alone act. What is bewildering is that hep is not forthcoming and that instead one is treated with a string of cynical lectures.

No I do not feel helpless, I feel actually feel terribly sad that most of us have lost the courage to look deep into the eyes of a poor child. Perhaps because we are terrified of getting lost in them.

Was it just yesterday that the plight of a disabled man locked for 14 years by his family shocked us all. One did not get time to recover from that news that another horrifying incident was brought to light by a TV channel. Little Manikanandan abused and mutilated body violated the space of each and every home, his bewildered eyes replete with questions begging for answers.

Manikanandan is 11. He is mentally challenged and his family too poor to care for him admitted the child in a government run institution. In the last one year the child was subjected to severe torture, his only fault being that he was hyperactive.

This incident makes you wonder whether the parents who chose to lock their child for 14 years in heir home were not actually exercising a better option.

The plight of mentally and physically challenged persons is abysmal to say the least. The government run institutions are hell holes, and families are often in the best case scenario at a total loss for a host of reasons: ignorance, poverty, lack of knowledge and paucity of valid options. This is a market where demands outweighs supply and moreover returns are nil.

fine day a lady landed at our doorstep holding on to 5 special kids. Thir As I have often said, notwithstanding social mores, special children are images of God and caring for them should be viewed not as an chore but as a rewarding experience. It has now been over 6 years since we launched our special section. Another case of force majeure as one school had been closed without notice and they had nowhere to go. For us it was not a question of debate or pondering we simply knew wee had to give these kids an option. Today there are more then 20 kids and young adults in our special section.

Each has his own challenge and yes some can be violent, others hyperactive, some are extremely slow others moody, some cannot hear, others cannot walk, yet others can barely comprehend what is said to them. And yet hey all form terrific team each one helping the other almost instinctively. They spend the whole day together and have a whale of a time. They sometimes fight and argue but is that not what every kid does.

They love going out together but their favourite activity is undoubtedly dancing which they are willing to do at the drop of a hat. We are never needed to ‘tie’ them up or restrict them in anyway. And we have never felt that anyone one is a impediment or a challenge. Each one of us oves going to their class, actually for me t is a sure way of getting over any feeling of gloom, the best anti-depressant possible.

So you understand why little Manikanandan’s plight made my blood boil. How can children be treated this way? How can any government have the audacity to run a home for special children and treat them in this manner? How come there are no ways of keeping a check on such things? Why did it take a year for this poor child to be rescued?

Valid questions indeed in any normal society but probably futile in a society like ours where collective conscience seems to have gone astray. How can one accept suck things to happen and continue happening as this is not the first incident of its kind and will not be he last. wonder how may Manikanandan’s there are across our land who are suffering the same plight. Yes there will be an enquiry and some one will be made the passing scapegoat. Politicians will get some mileage, there will some debate, even the parents may get blamed and then all will be forgotten till the next incident happens.

Sadly no one will address the situation and find long term solutions. Things will juts carry on. No one will accept the fact that special children are entitled to a life filled with fun and laughter.

Here are some pictures that show you that the project why special children have a ball all the time!

Nine years may seem sufficient to inure you against all human and humane aberrations. But in a land like ours it is not so, as each time you seem to think you have seen it all or allow yourself to believe that things may have changed in the wake of all the talk you hear around you, something happens to rudely jolt you back to reality.

This is just what happened yesterday as I sat watching TV. A line on the ticker of a new channel said: man locks up mentally ill son in loo for 14 years! It was no gag or joke, it was stark truth and happened in a small town in Orissa. And what is even more disturbing is that the family finds it a better option than sending their child to a hospital. I guess in spite of all better sense, one can understand that as the plight of institutions for the mentally challenged is known to all. When one sees the state of such homes in Indias‘ capital city, one shudders to think about what happens in smaller cities. What is even more disturbing are the words of local social activists: “The parents are very poor and helpless. There is no point in blaming them when there is absolutely no facility from the government for such people.“

This state of total helplessness and surrender is to say the very least demeaning. Not for the victim but for each one of us who pretend to be educated, humane, endowed with a conscience and values, overtly religious. If any one of us can see a human being locked in a cage for 14 years and walk by, then we seriously need to look at ourselves.

When we fist saw Manu we could just have walked by, shut our eyes and heart and mumbled words akin to those above. But we chose not to and in spite of all odds and difficulties we did not give up. Today Manu dances with friends and tomorrow he will have a bed of his own!

And one day, in the not too far future Many will have his home and a place where he will be able to live and work with dignity as long as he lived. That is what planet why is all about and when viewed this way what seems an astronomical amount seems paltry.

Yesterday was Uptal’s 6th birthday. He is at the women centre and his mom planned a special party. It was on this very day, five years ago that Utpal had his tryst with fire, one that undoubtedly changed his life in more ways than one. His tiny life has not been an easy one. It has been packed with many hurdle, but he has always come out a winner.

For the past two years, Utpal has been in boarding school and lived a normal life, the kind little boys do. No drunken brawls, no night visits to the cop station, no strange men, no hunger pangs. And like little boys he now has his tantrums and his moods, his likes and dislikes: you see he does not have to be the man of the house any more, he can just be a kid. And that is exactly what is it now and one cannot grudge him his new found zeal as he has lot of lost time to make up for.

So we too decided to give him a fun birthday party with presents, cake, his favourite food, and the people who had been with part of his life for the past 5 years: his best friend Kiran, Radhey his old pal, Rani didi and Shamika didi, Dharmendra bhaiya and his mum, one that he loves in his own special way and of course maam’ji! There were some new friends too and we had all a great time.

I am sure that each one of us did take a trip down memory lane, each remembering that one special moment that remains engraved in our mind. I found myself recollecting a plethora of touching times, each one imbued with its own sense of wonder but the one that will always remain engraved in mind is my first real meeting with this incredible kid, the moment he walked into my heart.

The past few years have been replete with Popples moments, each one endearing and touching and even if he may sometimes seem spoilt and even exasperating, just look deep into his eyes you may just see an Angel passing.

share some of the birthday mood here

I normally am weary of TV crews always on the prowl for a story. They hound you till you give in. And in spite of your trying to give the story a different twist, they all ultimately turn out to be pasty copies of each other. The rag to riches kind, or rather riches to rags!

I find myself accepting more for the kick it gives the kids and staff as I learnt long back that media appearances are not the panacea one thought they could be. And yet last week when a new TV channel approached us with a request I once again accepted. The programme bore an imperious name: ek aur eklavya, making me wonder what tithe still remained to be paid in my life.

As always the shooting is a long protracted and disrupting affair where one is made to feel helpless and a tad obtuse. It stretches over days and requires immense patience and is usually quite annoying. The crew came on the appointed day and blissfully at the specified time. After some preliminary discussion we all went to the special section for the first scene of the shoot. As I settled amongst the kids busy in their morning routine, I suddenly realised that it had been a long time since I had spent quality time with them. I normally made it a point to drop by every but it was always for a fleeting moment.

I could not even remember when was the last time I had spent a day or a part of a day with the children. Al my waking hours now seemed to be spent chasing funds, striking the keyboard, glaring at a screen or answering calls and attending meetings. I suddenly found myself sending a silent world of gratitude to the TV team.

It was a lovely moment as I sat with all the kids and went through their morning routine. It was a Proustian experience of reliving a forgotten past through a host of sensory experiences. For that moment in time all else was forgotten as one laughed, screamed, stretched, bent and above all revelled in total contentment.

The spell was soon broken and it was time to move to the next scene.

I often find myself browsing through the mass of photographs that sit on my computer. I do that when I am troubled and in search of answers to questions that seem insuperable and overwhelming. I do it when I feel my spirits sagging and am in need of that extra fillip. And wonders of wonders I have never been disappointed. It is almost as if these pictures were my very own divination manual.

The last few days, weeks or it is now months have been spent trying to overcome a huge setback and finding ways to garner a huge amount of money to enable us to fulfill many dreams. I have prayed for a string miracles: one that would bring into our lives the elusive anonymous benefactor, one that would enable us to find the funds we need effortlessly, one that would give us the right idea, the right sales pitch, the right whatever.

The last few days, weeks, month have also been filled with furious activity. Mails have been sent, calls made, reports written and costings drafted. We have received loads of words of encouragement and support, we have got many promises but also our share of cynical advise and worse than that: total silence. Somehow this has not surprised me at all as in our day and age charity has become a business and hence all comments and reactions are par for the course.

But let me stop digressing and come to the point of this post and my photo search.

As I set about pondering about all mentioned above I came across the picture you see. Anurag helping Sabha during a recent outdoor visit of the special section. Now Anurag is 14 and is autistic, Sabha is 19 and is mentally challenged. They both come from different worlds, different faiths and have nothing in common barring the fact that they are both pwhy students! Anurag has been with us for almost 4 years and Sabha joined us just a month back. And yet when Sabha needed help Anurag simply extended his hand. No one had to tell him to do so. This for me is true giving, charity or whatever else you want to call it.

As I looked at this picture, my mind went back to the umpteen times I have seen this spirit of reaching out and helping in the special section of pwhy. It is remarkable and touching as none of the 20 kids and young adults have anything in common were we to apply existing social norms. And yet each and every time one is need of help another is there to give it. I wish we, the supposedly normal beings acted the same way and to borrow the words of Norman Rice dared to reach out our hand into the darkness, to pull another hand into the light.

I talk too much and mostly about project why. This is the buzz doing the rounds. I guess it is a valid one.

Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa!

Yet, I guess my grey hair and my over half a century on this earth give me the right to explain the reasons for what may seem, a rude or even infuriating behaviour. I guess talking too much finds its roots way back: an only child with middle aged parents and a nomadic life where time was short and connections had to be made rapidly. It goes back to growing up with adults rather than kids your age. It goes back to a thirst for knowledge, a passion for books and a questioning mind. But none of the above can justify or condone poor behavior!

I beg your indulgence and urge you to read on. Project Why is undoubtedly the best thing that happened in my life. That it came about in my twilight years was something beyond my control. I often refer to pwhy as my magnum opus and my swan song!

As one grows old, time seems to gain momentum and move at accelerated speed. Before you realise it a day, a month , a year has gone by making you feel vulnerable and a tad helpless. You want to pack as much as you can and forget that others, younger than you cannot view things your way. I guess it is a befitting example of Bergson’s concept of time.

Pwhy is still in its infancy. It needs to find its own wings. Time is of the essence and for me time is short. I guess that is why I find myself thinking, dreaming, contemplating and yes talking pwhy all the time. In my haste to see it soar, I seem to forget that for others it is just one of many.

As you get on in life you become painfully aware of the fact that any moment lost will never come again so you cling to it with desperation. That is what I am guilty of I admit. But I try to assuage my guilt by remembering that what I do is not to fulfill some selfish goal or ambition but to ensure that children continue to laugh and deprived souls get their place in the sun.

I did say project why was my swan song and being but human, one wants to take that last bow with a feeling of success. The problem is that at this moment the choreography still needs its last touches, its final rehearsals and its opening night. The obsessive blabber is probably just that: my way of finding the missing links, ones that are not obvious but may spring out surreptitiously at some furtive moment, when one’s mind get spurred into action by a word.

Yes time is short and much remains to be done. And yes I do talk too much and about project why!

Mea culpa!

I thought she would make it… but a few hours after I wrote this, she moved on and left this world. The doctors said she died of pneumonia and malnutrition. Come to think about it Pooja died starved of love. Her mother had abandoned her and her father had no time for her. She died because she intuitively knew that she was a burden to all.

Pooja tiptoed out of this world just like little Sandhya had, leaving many questions begging for answers. One again I guess, death was the kindest gift that the God of lesser children could have granted this unloved child. I wonder what would have been her life in a land where Goddesses are worshiped but little girls are not wanted.

We came to know later that the woman who had ‘adopted’ Pooja, was not quite the kind woman we thought she was. She sought such kids and then used them in different ways to earn her living. Pooja was lucky that our centre was close to were she lived as she could for a few hours just be a child. I shudder to think what would have awaited her in years to come.

Yet over the years I have leaned to look at life through a wider angle. Had the woman not come into Pooja’s life her fate would have been worse. She may have helped her father who panhandles for a living and then fritters his earnings on hooch, drugs or women, or she would have landed in some state run institution where life is dark and abysmal. Pooja could never have aspired to what life normally has in store for girls born on the other side of a fence: a loveless marriage and early motherhood laced with the acceptability that comes from wedlock. At best she may have been sold into a life of abuse. At least for some time she was cared for, just like the proverbial goat being readied for slaughter.

Pooja has left many questions that need answers and yet have none. Her death has brought to the fore the total helplessness that one feels in the wake of such tragedy and makes one wonder what one could have done or could do. Barring the few hours we can give a child in despair, we have little to offer. And yet at times like this one knows that something has to be done.

It is at time like these that the need to set up planet why seems urgent. If it did exist than may Poojas could have found a shelter and protection. If it did exist than maybe we would be able to open our eyes and hearts wider and reach out to those no one wants.

When a few days back I sent out myriad of emails in all directions seeking help to salvage a dream that was threatening to melt away into oblivion I was overwhelmed with the words of support and encouragement I received. Among them was a poem of which I quote a few lines:

The words gave me great solace and the courage to survive the moment and not give up. Days passed. Deals were renegotiated. Time was bought. We had barely 6o days to save our dream. Another desperate mail was sent once again.

How I wish I had 20/30 or the whole 80 lacs said one of the answers and I was moved to tears. I could not imagine what was to ensue. A day or two later another mail from my dear friend Abhigyan simply said Let’s make a mailer on the book offer and send it out all our contacts. explaining your cause and also the offer.

Before I go further let me explain: Abhigyan wears many hats, and one of them is that of a publisher who recently launched his very own publishing house aptly named Undercover Utopia. Before I could catch my breath again another mail confirmed that the show was on the road,. Undecover Utopia had decided to save our dream by offering all the 4 books of their collection at half price and donating half of that to save pwhy’s dream.

Words are inadequate to express what I feel. I believe that the only way to salute this beautiful gesture is to ensure it meets with complete success, not so much for the dream fulfilled, but because it is an expression of all that is good in our world, something we see so little of!

I could not end this post without mentioning the books on offer. I have read and enjoyed them all. However one of them – Soul Search Engine – has stirred my soul. Read it, it is unique and everyone’s story and perhaps throws some insight into why there are some who dare walk the road less travelled.

Soul Search Engine ends with these words: “Creation is a manifestation of the one’s many ideas… every idea one step away from being alone… The meaning is for us to discover. Creation is only a stimulus. All we have to do is respond. And respond well. Everything is a great question waiting for a great answer.” Al Raines (Soul Search Engine).

Treat yourself to a unique experience and help us save our dream.

Was it just a month ago that we at pwhy were all set to launch a new project. A very ambitious one I must confess and one that was not quite our own I must also admit. It all began with an idea suggested by an erstwhile well wisher, one that was so daunting that we quickly suggested a trial version as we were a little apprehensive.

What ensued was rather peculiar. As we began giving life to this idea, our resolve strengthened whereas the commitment of its initiator began to wane rapidly. I presume this happened because we were looking at different ends of the same issue.

The once intimidating thought of giving deprived children a go at the best education possible looked eminently doable. The enthusiasm of both parents and children gave the encouragement we needed to surmount whatever obstacles came our way. Necessary course corrections were made and our minds wide open to new ones if need be. That was the view from one side

From the other side things looked different. What had seemed as a win-win situation, a panacea for all ills, a great way to change society when conceived in thought started losing its shine as it was shared with others in a attempt to secure the much needed financial support for such a programme. As numbers were stated, doubts started emerging: how could one envisage spending so much for a poor kid!

The tune seemed too familiar and the conclusion foregone, the idea once held as path breaking was now found preposterous, one that needed to be quickly dropped. The fears recently voiced raised their head again bringing to the fore the invisible yet impregnable line that divides our society.

One could have comfortably slunk back into earlier days and carried on as if nothing had occurred but that would have been perfidious as one cannot put back the clock. How can one take away the hope one so patiently instilled in parents; how does one wish away the sparkle that one sees in the eyes of the children when one talks about the new project, one just has to begin.. again!

How I wish I had 10/20 lakhs to spare if not the whole 80! These heartwarming words dropped into my mailbox shortly after my appeal for help. They may seem anodyne to some, empty to others, and to yet others as futile as the famed if wishes were horses.. But to me these simple words are the expression of the immense love and unstinted trust that have come our way since the day we took our first hesitant step on the journey called project why and has made our every wish a reality.

Our steps grew bolder, our dreams larger and each one was backed by a wonderful network of people who saw with their hearts and never turned their back on us. Hearts were mended, hopes fulfilled and new ones crafted, and challenges accepted with new found conviction as there was always someone out there who came forward and embraced them with us.

And along the way came the ultimate dream: planet why, one that would make us come full circle and above all provide a befitting finale to my swan song. It was a dream I started sharing with all those who had made pwhy possible, hesitantly at first but as days went by with more confidence and even temerity.

Today the dream seems a reality within our reach. True that some minor hiccups came our way, but none big enough to make us stop, let alone lose faith. Once again I have been overwhelmed by the spontaneous offers of help that have come our way. True that they may seem small or even insignificant when viewed against the target we have to meet but that is only if you look at them with your eyes. When you look with your heart, each one of them is priceless.

Some have offered whatever they could spare, others have proffered words of support and encouragement that infuse us with the strength to go on. A publisher friend offered us a 50% of sale profits of books sold to pwhy supporters and donors. Many have donned their thinking caps and are brainstorming about ways to raise money. Across the world, a bevy of project why supporters are at work to make planet why come true.

How I wish I had.. are not empty words at all.

It is with the spirit of the soldiers of the Light Brigade that we have set out to raise the funds needed to secure the piece of land that came our way almost by miracle. When we began this daunting task we were needless to say petrified. This was way out of league. But two days later we find ourselves armed with newfound confidence as the 10 lacs needed to buy us two months of reprieve landed our way not as a loan, but as a donation from two wonderful souls that have always been there for us.

We now need to raise the remaining money. Easier said than done. But one look at the kids in the picture is enough to fuel us with determination and courage. To many the picture may seem innocuous, just a bunch of kids enjoying a picnic. Let me unravel the reality that lies behind. Most of these children are what is in our day and age called differently abled. Preeti who sits on the table walks on her hands, Sapna sitting in front is 12 though she looks 5. Champa whose smile is larger than life was abused, Ruchi will soon be unable to walk as she suffers from a debilitating neurological syndrome.. the list is endless each child in this picture has a future in jeopardy, held by a tenuous link: the life span of a mother. Oops I forgot there are two little girls in the picture who are wat one says in common parlance normal. Yashu who has been celebrating her birthdays for now five years with hers special pals, and Kiran who has known them since she was a baby.

Yesterday was Yashu’s birthday and our special kids had a day out at Dilli Hath. Like regular kids they played, blew candles, sang, ate cake and got return gifts. They too had bought their gift: beautiful cards they had made with love and care.

Most of these kids will grow up and one day become differently abled adults.. While differently abled kids are cute, adults are not. They become the butt of ridicule and are often derided and pilloried. It is a sad and harsh reality that often after the death of their parents, such children are rejected by heir won families. That is what happened to Manu who in spite of having a family was left to roam the streets and beg. Planet Why is for each one of them, as they grow old and lose all hope. It is to ensure that they live with dignity, surrounded by love and care and tended to till they move on.

We have 70 days to make this come true. Not much time but when one looks at these wonderful children one knows that we have to do it, come what may.

The last few days have been spent trying to comprehend what befell us. One day everything and more seemed going our way; the next we were struggling to hold on to a dream in peril. No matter which way one looked at it and how much one beat one’s self, it was impossible to find a reason that would explain, appease and lead us to accept the situation we found ourselves in and walk away.

We just took some time licking our wounds, regrouping and drawing new battle plans. We knew it was not time to recriminate neither was it time to accept defeat. We needed to review the situation and make the last ditch effort to salvage it.

The bottom line was that we found ourselves in a situation we had never faced in the past. A set of unforeseen circumstances had made the dream of owning a piece of land a reality, albeit a tenuous one. To make it happen we need to raise a whopping 70 lacs in two months. Our track record in raising funds is poor as we have always been a hand to mouth organisation. Our ability to meet our needs is best described as a constant struggle. Yet today we cannot give up and need to reinvent ourselves. Too much is at stake.

The piece of land holds the key to securing the dreams and hopes we have nurtured for almost a decade. What makes them precious is that they were not conjured by the ones who will benefit, but stars that we put into their eyes, thus making us responsible and answerable.

What lies ahead is our ability to secure a loan and then set about repaying it. A Case for Planet Why has been drafted and is being sent out to everyone we know. New ideas for funding are being mooted and discussed and will be executed. Should we not do so, then all past efforst would be in vain.

My mind goes back to the Charge of The Light Brigade

Last Friday our very special friend Andy had a haircut. But this was no ordinary haircut. Everything about it was noteworthy. It brought together a wonderful human being from Seattle, a hearing impaired girl from a Delhi slum and a little cat who decided to grace the occasion with its presence. The location was no beauty salon or barber shop; it was the terrace of the pwhy building!

It all began in our special section with Andy tugging at his growing locks and someone suggesting he have a haircut. Rinky our resident beauty consultant who is not only a trained beautician and hair artist but has now almost one year of work experience immediately offered to do the needful. In our own inimitable yet eloquent sign language she offered to take him to her salon. However the suggestion was shot down as the said salon is for Ladies Only and Andy’s presence there would have been anathema!

After much deliberation a solution was found. The haircut would be done at pwhy itself and the terrace was the designated salon of the day. So come Friday our tiny terrace was converted into a barber shop and Andy got his haircut! For Rinky it was a very important and serious moment. It was the very first time she was cutting a man’s hair. But Rinky is one of a kind and she set out to accomplish her task with professional prowess and extreme composure and the result was quite stunning. Even the little cat was impressed.

It was yet another perfect moment; one that can only happen at pwhy!

There are moments at pwhy which are incredible and moving. These are the moments that make you forget all the bad times, the struggle, the dejection, the angst that is part of any one engaged in the kind of work we do and these are the tiny cameos that make it all worthwhile.

Courtesy our dynamic volunteer Mathilde the special section of pwhy has been having weekly karate classes. As the class has children with are differently abled to use the politically correct word, they were divided into two groups. Preeti, our spirited polio affected 12 year old, who walks with the help of her hands, was relegated to group B as the class was going to concentrate on kicks and everyone felt that was something she would not be able to do.

The class started and everyone was busy kicking. A few minutes into rthe class and Mathilde felt someone tugging at her pants. It was Preeti who wanted her attention as she set about showing off her version of kicks: furious movements of her useless leg achieved with the help of her had!

Needless to say we all felt tiny and like heels. Mathilde stopped the class as place was made in the centre for Preeti who joined the class and proved to everyone present that she was as good of not better than all of them.

We had our new Karate Kid, one who called us back to order and ensured that we did not forget that if your spirit was in he right place nothing was impossible.

Normally the first Sundays of every month are special. This is the day when the motley crew that goes under the name of ‘Utpal’s parents’ sets out for the long drive to his school and spends time with him. Every month the set of parents is different – barring a few constants – and comes from all walks of life and the world over. This Sunday too his family extended from the US to India via Italy and France!

The day was to be special as we were also planning to visit our new plot of land. After a quick visit to the school we spent some time at the site and then set off to give Mr P his monthly treat. This time after much deliberation it was to be a new mall! After a long drive and a longer wait at the new toll highway we reached the said mall. It was a strange experience as we strolled along Kafkaesque corridors interspersed with newly opened stores.

At last we found a place to eat and later the children play area. The children had their fill of games but somehow the mood was not right as Utpal kept clutching to my hand and refusing to leave me though he had to go back to school in another car. He was unusually stubborn and would not listen to any coaxing. I sat with him on a bench trying to talk to him but to no avail. It was heart wrenching as he does not normally behave that way.

I did not want to leave him and could feel my eyes welling up with tears. He looked up and saw my face and sensing my pain he just walked away towards the waiting car, clutching the little bag filled with the goodies he had bought. I just watched him walk away, wondering what was going on in his little head and not finding the answers that would quieten my mind.

We drove back in silence. I had been deeply disturbed by Utpal’s behaviour and wondered what had caused it. What had he been trying to convey? Why was I not able to sense what ailed him?
A plethora of questions crowded my mind each needing an answer but none forthcoming. Some pertained to Utpal only but others took on a wider connotation and I thought of all the little ones who would soon be in our care, each one needing much more than one could even begin to anticipate.

As long as they were left in their world, however dark and abysmal, they were protected by the ways of that very world, but once you took them away things were bound to change. With each step they take on this new journey,will come new dreams, new hopes but also new pain, grief and hurt. As they reclaim their right to be children they will need the protection and care till now denied to them in their world where all one does is simply survive. And we as adults have to play by the rules.

Is that what Utpal was trying to tell me in his own way?

Seeing Utpal is always a celebration and I must confess that since he has gone to boarding school I do miss seeing his little face and incredible smile.

Yesterday was a special day as we had to give the first instalment of our land and we all knew that this had to be done by no one else but Utpal. And though it was not PTM day, we made the necessary phone calls and got the required permissions.

We reached the school and as we sat in the reception area we soon saw Utpal strutting down the corridor all bundled up and wearing his stunning smile. Soon it was hugging and cuddling time though I could sense his almost imperceptible unease – he was now a big boy – and stopped immediately.

He sat with us at first a little self conscious as we were surrounded by teachers and staff but to my absolute delight he soon reverted to his old endearing self and asked me what I had brought for him. He smiled with glee when I handed him over his bag of goodies filled with his favourite biscuits and cookies and set about examining his booty. He then opened one packet and after eating one biscuit set off to go and share it with his pals.

Soon it was time to leave and unlike past days when parting was always difficult he waved us a cheery goodbye and set off back to the game he had left to come and meet us. I guess this time I was the one to wipe the corner of my eye but was happy to see that Utpal had settled in his new life.

This would make any teacher go ballistic and hurl a string of unkind words at the child who stands mortified not quite understanding why his valiant attempt at forming words meets such rage!

The truth is that in most cases both are right: the teacher is unaware of the problem of the child,and the child is incapable of doing better.

Most adults are not aware of learning disabilities and akin them to incompetence, sloth and even impudence. And children who are learning impaired slowly withdraw and lose all self confidence! They become failures and can rarely achieve what they are capable of. The plight of such kids was beautifully evoked in tare zameen par and I decided that all pwhy teaching staff see the movie in the hope that they would be able to understand the extent of harm that a word often said with good intentions could have on the child under their care.

I must confess that it has been an uphill task to try and get this across to my great team who often thought that I was clueless about teaching. I cannot blame them as they themselves are products of a harsh school system and even harsher home environment where verbal and physical abuse is the order of the day.

Many of the children who come to project why may not have learning disabilities but do have difficulties because of their social background, the inability of their parents to teach them and above all because of the callousness of their insensitive school teachers who have often already bruised their faltering self confidence. And yet each one had incredible potential waiting to be tapped.

So the entire staff was sent to see the film with the tacit understanding that this was not to be fun time but learning time and that there would be a brainstorming session after that. So we sat down the next day to exchange our thoughts and feelings about what we had all seen. I set the ball rolling by simply asking what they thought the film was about. As expected one of he younger teachers started by giving a summary of the film viewed from the outside. I stopped her half way and simply asked: How do you think each one of you fitted within the story?

There was a long silence some puzzled faces and then one teacher softly said: we should not use harsh words; another: every child has great potential and yet another: I saw myself in the film as this was happened to me.

These three simple comments had said it all and I realised with some satisfaction I must confess that I had finally been able to convey what I had been trying to for a long long time.

Two years ago when pwhy was facing one of its proverbial financial crisis, our indomitable friend Isabelle decided to do something. Knowing Isabelle it had to be something unique and it was. On July 29th 2006 a heart warming event was held to help pwhy survive. Since it has begun an annual event and on that day two very special souls Christophe and Judith play and dance their hearts away for children they had never met.

January 3rd 2008 was to be a very blessed day as Christophe and Judith finally met some of the children they already carried in their hearts as they found time from their busy schedule to come to pwhy. As they had little time we all went down to the special section where they children has just settled for the day. Soon copy books were cast aside and the the CD player was turned on and almost by magic these bunch of very special kids decided to say thank you in their own way by dancing for their very special friends. It did not matter whether some could not hear, or others could not walk; it did not matter if no one spoken the same language everyone decided to put their best foot forward and dance with their hearts. Even as I write these words my eyes are moist as nothing can ever truly convey what happened in those precious moments. It was a moment only for he privileged as the gods came down from heaven to be part of it.

Judith then decided to dance a Flamenco for the children and even if the guitar had been left behind Christophe provided the beat with his hands and feet. All the kids were mesmerised and I could see little feet tapping. But blessed moments come and it was soon time to say farewell. But promises were made as our hearing impaired girls who are great dancers wanted to learn the Flamenco and our friends pledged to come back.

Our camera did capture some of these moments for you

Tommy can you hear me sang the Who in their famous rock opera way back in 1970! Soon we at project why will be singing Rinky, Saheda, Pooja can your hear us!

These three lovely hearing impaired girls who have been with us now for many years will soon be able to hear thanks to some very special friends in Germany!

They will be fitted with very sophisticated hearing aids that will allow them to hear the world and learn new experiences and above all be safe!

Rinky will be able to hear her clients at the beauty parlour where she works part-time and maybe get the raise she hopes. Her walk back home late in the evening will be less frightening. Saheeda will find it easier when she joins her beauty course in March and little Pooja may be able to learn much more before she decides what she wants to do in life!

Yesterday they audiometrist came for the first measurements and it was quite an experience:

Xmas was celebrated in earnest at the women centre. There was a tree, streamers, stars and bells, pictures of Santa drawn by the kids and much merriment. There was home baked Xmas cake and presents for all.

Sophie who had planned the party made a little speech explaining what Xmas was and how it was celebrated y children in our country. I was designated to translate and began by asking the kids whether they knew what Xmas was. Most of the children at the women centre belong to poor Muslim families and rarely go beyond the streets of Madanpur Khader where shops are not decorated for Xmas and do not sell Xmas ware and hence the answer to my query was a barely audible no accompanied y a vigorous shaking of the head!

Links had to be made so I asked about Eid and then Diwali and everyone nodded and smiled and went on to say that Xmas was just like those days for people who went to church instead of temples and mosques, all homes of God. When I asked what kids ate on Eid and Diwali, pat came the answer: ladoos and sewaiyan, so cake it was for Xmas and the link was made. Xmas became something familiar and comprehensible: it was simply a matter of replacing cakes with ladoos or sewaiyan!

In many schools across our city where English is taught children are often heard singing the following prayer:

Strangely this prayer transcends all religion and faith, all social and economic barriers. Schools in remote corners of the city which boast of a sign board stating English medium have their children reciting these verse often led by a teacher who can barely articulate the words. I must confess that in our creche it is also sung with great fervour even if it sometimes difficult to differentiate the words!

I have heard it over and over again as I walk up or down the stairs of our centre but it was only yesterday evening when I was looking at the pictures of our Xmas party that the familiar tunes came to my mind as I saw the snapshot of Manu eating his meal sitting at a table and using a spoon!

My mind flashed back to the summer of 2000 when I had first seen Manu and to the words I had first written about him: Manu, a young physically and mentally challenged young man lived on the street, neglected, dirty and soiled. People would feed him but like you feed an animal. Children threw stones at him. His family abused him in all conceivable ways. No one touched him, when things became too much he would let out the most heart wrenching cries.

In many ways those cries seeded what was to become project why as we all know it now. And as I looked at the photograph of Manu sitting at a table with his friends and teachers enjoying his meal I whispered the little prayer as it conveyed what I truly felt…

Yes God thank you for everything…