Sunday was truly staggering in more ways than one. On the way back from Utpal’s school I banged my head on the edge of the car door and it was a stunning blow. Somehow it was ominous in more ways than one.

As I lay down to catch a few minutes of respite I switched on the TV hoping it would provide the needed escape. It was a news channel and as usual the topic was the ongoing cricket controversies. I laid down with my eyes shut barely listening to the droning voice of the newsreader. The news item changed and I sat up in horror as the story of a seven year old being brutally beaten by a mob filled the air. My blood ran cold. The child, just a baby, was tied to a pole, trashed without mercy and stripped while the crowd jeered.

My thoughts went back to an incident that had occurred a few months back and that I had written about though sadly many had not understood why the plight of that woman had shaken me and disturbed me. An ugly spat had ensued on the comment box and that disturbed me to the the extent that I stopped writing about such issues.

Yet the sight of this child made me cringe and brought back all the repressed feelings. What have we become and I say we as can one afford the comfort of excluding one’s selves from the mob that carried out that abhorrent act? It is a reflection of the society we have become and a shame. How can anyone allow such a thing to happen; how can anyone watch a small child being subjected to such humiliation and pain and stand still? A seven year old is a baby, a tender being that needs protection, care and nurturing. Any child that age can err; what he needs is someone to show him right from wrong.

My thoughts went back to an incident that occurred many years back when we had just begun our work. Two small boys, about 6 or 7, where often jeered and threated as thieves. Their misdemeanor was to steal a few coins from the local temple. Both hailed from poor dysfunctional families, their mothers in the village and their fathers brutal drunks. They were sweet boys, one with a severe handicap. I sat down with them one day and asked them why they took money from the temple: they looked at me with broad smiles and answered in unison: to buy chocolates! I gave them some coins and asked them to go and buy the said chocolates and show it to me. They dashed off and came back with a tiny packet of corn puffs. That was what they called chocolate. I told them not to take money from the temple but to come to me whenever they wanted chocolate and I would give them the money to buy it. Unlike what many would have believed, they never came everyday, but sometimes when they felt like a bag of corn chips.

I wonder what the little 7 year old from a little village in Bengal wanted as he set about opening a tool box? Maybe just a small treat, something every child is entitled to. Was there no one in that jeering mob that could have reached out to the child and asked him why he was stealing? Was there any justification at all to beat the child, strip and humiliate him in public? What makes us behave ion such a repugnant manner? Where are all the values we love brandishing at the drop of a hat? I cannot begin to imagine what that little child must have felt for that interminable hour? Which God did he pray to? Was that God listening? I cannot begin to imagine what scars the child will carry for the rest of his life?

What gives us the right to act in such a way? I have no answers. I just hang my head in shame.

The tragic death of four tiny school children in Mumbai brings to fore once more the terrifying reality of the safety of our children and the alarming conditions prevailing in our cities. The illogical school system compels parents to send their wards to faraway schools. The absence of safe school transport forces then to take recourse to whatever is available and the greed of transporters on the look out for a quick buck makes the journey to school one fraught with danger. A vicious circle no one can truly break.

I have seen many children climb into potential death traps every morning as vans propelled y cooking gas cylinders abound in our city. Little Kiran is one of them. It is true that her family did try the school bus but the route was so long and the stop so far away from her home that they soon fell for the easier option: the school van! It fetched her from her door step and droped back home and was a tad cheaper too!

What alarms me is the way our education system is heading. A safe option is always a neighborhood school and that can only happen if and when the government school system is reinforced and becomes a viable option for a larger segment of society. But sadly it is quite the contrary that is happening as more and more parents are opting for the now mushrooming private schools. Somehow the fact that free education is a constitutional right seems to have been lost in translation.

How many more deaths will it take for us to finally wake up.

Sunday 20 January will remained engraved in my memory for times to come. I normally shy away from TV appearances but when a leading Hindi channel called to say they wanted to do a programme on pwhy I accepted more for the sense of elation it gives my team. At that time I thought it would be a story on our activities and a little publicity could only help and would look good on our CV!

When the shooting was done I fell off my chair when the young reporter told me that I had to come to the studio the next day as the programme was a live call in one. That was out of my league but one look at the young reporter’s face and I knew there was no way I could back out.

I walked into the studio as nervous as someone going in for her first job interview but the kind anchor and then the pictures of pwhy kids as the story was played did manage to calm my thumping heart. But nothing could have prepared me for what was yet to come.

As the last image of the report faded away and the anchor began her introduction the first call came in from a remote part of India and then another and yet another and the beautiful words of love and encouragement from these simple people filled me with a range of emotions I cannot begin to unravel: I just know I felt tiny, humbled and undeserving of all the praise that was coming my way, but at the same time my heart filled with pride and elation as an India I always knew existed reached out to me.

The calls kept coming: someone who wanted to give a month’s salary, a bunch of college students who wanted to help, people asking how they could help children, people wanting to help us.. and a simple touching message that simply said: I have no money to donate but I want to work for the poor. I am a housewife…

People from all walks of life, from different states, from different faiths came forward with words of praise and encouragement and offers to help! It was moving and soul stirring and wondrous. Above all it was a vibrant proof of the reality that is India, of the land that we all need to fight for, a reminder of how we as a responsible civil society had to shed our cynicism and selfish ways and stop being armchair reformers and begin acting.

For me personally it was the vindication of much of what my parents had taught me and wanted me to believe. It endorsed my father’s last words: have faith in India! Nine years in a soulless city like Delhi had eroded this faith. The simple and candid words that came my way rekindled it and renewed my resolve to carry on my work till my last breath.

That is the wonder that is India!

Thew new toast of town is undoubtedly the Nano, or Tata Motors new 100 000 rs car! Everyone wants one: the young girl who was till date quite happy with a scooty, the three wheeler owner, the lads who have still not finished paying their EMIs for their still gleaming bikes, everyone who could never have dreamt of owning a car.

To many it is undoubtedly a huge leap in our new found economic revolution. Somehow it seems to have been linked with the shift in private transportation from bicycle, to two wheelers and now four wheelers! Recently a TV debate on the threat to environment highlighted the need for efficient public transport rather than more and more private vehicle. But who wants to hear such voices, they are party poopers and today it is party time! No one is thinking of pollution, carbon emissions, escalating costs of petrol, parking problems; everyone wants a car!

And yet everyone grumbles about the traffic snarls,the clogged roads, the polluted air that one can barely breathe, the noise pollution and the increased incidents of road rage! Our city is dying a low but sure death. But we still cut trees to widen roads, build on river banks and continue our hubristic race to what will be our nemesis blissfully unaware of the fact that one day it wil be too late!

What we need is efficient public transport, car pools and stringent laws that make us think twice before taking out our car as our collective conscience seems to have gone AWOL! WE do have a plethora of armchair environmentalists who could spin convincing spiels on our need to respect the environment but who do not bat an eye lid before taking out their 6 cylinder bolid to buy a loaf of bread from the store next door or come to think of it is our city new love for malls fuelled by our need to show of our new four wheel wonder off!

I must confess that I still slip up at times and forget to close a tap or take my cloth bag but at least I try. However I have a friend, my green guru, who will never take a car when he travels alone, even though he lives in a faraway suburb and even if he has to come for a business meeting.

I wonder what Delhi will look like with more cars.maybe it is time to move to greener pastures!

If I had a hammer…I’d hammer out love between my brothers and my sisters goes the age old lyrics of Lee Hays and Pete Seeger.

I remembered this song when the Mitchells came to project why on the very first day of 2008. they had come all the way from Spain where they lead a retired life to volunteer at project why and wanted not just to spend time with the children but wanted to help build or repair something. Well we do not have much that we could build, but the floor our Okhla centre that sits pretty in our reclaimed garbage dump was in a pitiable state and the Mitchells decided that they would rebuild it.

To any sane person, the building ways of India are nothing short of anti-diluvial but this wonderful couple would stop at nothing. The first task was to buy material. A trip to the local store turned out to be quite an experience as the store keeper could not understand why we did not want any mason or labour too! It took a long tome explaining but we managed and then for the next three days a happy crew of two lovely beings and a gang of excited kids set out to break and plaster the broken floor. It was bitterly cold and the cement and water was freezing. needless to say that there were no gloves and most of the kids were barefoot but the task was undertaken with eagerness and enthusiasm and oodles of fun.

Many bystanders wondered why two white people were dirtying their hands in this godforsaken place: the answer was simple they were hammering out love.

Come January 15th we run the risk of getting stopped by the police and asked for an identity proof or give the reason for our staying in Delhi. This is what the administrative head of the city decreed some time back. Nothing wrong as this is something that happens in many cities the world over. But oh darling yeh hai India and things are quite different here.

As soon as the news was made public the political head of the city candidly stated on national TV: I got to know about this from the newspapers making one wonder whether we are in some kind of wonderland!

In spite of being independent for over six decades, we as a nation have not been able to issue a unique ID card to all our citizens. A photo identity card is what will now be mandatory: passport, driving licence, ration card, voter ID card were some of the suggestions made. This may be feasible for some but for many who live in this city it is a a quasi impossibility. Securing a civic identity proof is a catch 22 situation as we learnt when we tried to get Manu one. Yet Manu is no migrant: he was born in this city over 30 years ago! In spite of all our efforts we failed!

I shudder to think at what might happen come the ides of January; simple people who try to eek a living in this city will be unnecessarily harassed and will have to once more pay their way out as the police carry their supposed random checks!

Yes we need ID cards for all citizens of the country and this is something the government should ensure in a doable manner keeping in mind the existing reality. Unfortunately what happens is that to meet political ends short cuts are often adopted as one often sees during elections. I must confess that I have always voted though I do not have an election card as make shift solutions were always at hand.

Guess time has come again to look for such solutions! A sad reflection of the reality we live in!

Pwhy has its own special way of celebrating special occasions; one may even call it brand project why and 1 January 2008 once again reflected this.

It was a bitterly cold crisp morning as we set out bright and early ready to make the best of this first day of the new year which promised to be a busy one. The Mitchells a retired couple from the UK were to come by at 9 am. They had come all the way to volunteer at pwhy and they wanted to help us build or repair something. It was to be the broken floor of our Okhla centre. They had already purchased all the material and were waiting for us!

The morning was spent breaking the old floor and beginning work in earnest with the help of the older children and the teachers.

I had decided to make this day special and to play truant and do something totally out of sync and become a kid myself. It was to be a treat for Utpal and Kiran: a movie in a multiplex, a meal at fast food joint and a quick foray into a candy store. We did it all and i did enjoy hanuman returns a true delight in more ways than one! Wish they made more such movies!

While I enjoyed my escapade, the rest of the gang decided to mark the day by organising an impromptu party with the few kids that had brae the cold to come to pwhy. So party time it was for the junior secondary and the special kids – our own tare zameen par – ! They danced with gay abandon forgetting all differences and then enjoyed hot samosas, discovering each other and forging new bonds!

the excitement was palpable as you can see in these pictures:

Now you understand what brand project why is: a melting pot of different worlds where the only common denominator is love!

Happy New Year

It was party time at project why and everyone was busy sprucing up their dancing shoes and rehearsing the latest moves. Even little Komal who has just learnt to stand did not want to be left out!

This year we were truly privileged as we had not one but two parties. One at the women centre organised by our wonderful volunteer Sophie, and the other a gift of our very special supporter young Dhaniya who has always given us this special moment.

For the women centre it was their first party ever and everyone was a little nervous, a tad tense as they spent a whole week in preparation: shopping, planning, more shopping, trimming the tree, wrapping gifts. Children were busy making decorations that were then hung all over the centre. Finally the 25th dawned and the excitement was palpable. Everyone turned up ahead of time, even the guests! The party was a huge success as the sound of carols filled the space infusing it with the true spirit of Xmas and it did not really matter if most of the kids had never heard of this festival, they all knew it was special and blessed. After tucking in cake and hot samosas the children left clutching their little packs with huge smiles on their faces and a song on their heart.

I urge you to look at these pictures so that you too can share the magic of this moment

The next day we had our project why annual bash one that is now almost tradition thanks to a lovely little girl who lives in another land but who has always given this very special treat to her pwhy friends. When the first such party was planned we asked the children what they would like to have: pat came the answer a DJ and a coffee machine. So there was a DJ and a coffee machine and the children had a ball! Rinky and Saheeda who cannot hear danced with gay abandon and little Komal all of 18 months old put p a mean performance that could match any item girl! Kids enjoyed a nice meal and then it was time to leave.

My thoughts went to our host of the night, a little girl who lives in another land but who each year gives a bunch of children of a lesser God a moment of pure unadulterated joy. I hope that one day she too will be here with us sharing this incredible experience.

Share some moments with us

Yesterday a leading TV channel aired a programme on slum tourism. What held my attention was the comment made by an activist who went to say ‘ I very strongly feel that this is the worst kind of human rights’ violation or I would go on to the extent of saying that its an abuse of its own kind.’

In the past years slum tourism or reality tourism has been formalised by certain NGOs as a means of raising awareness and much needed funds. It may look voyeuristic to some and appalling to others and many would condemn it and maybe I would have too, ten years back before pwhy came into existence.

It is easy to become guardians of morality and jump to conclusions without giving it much thought. I guess what is abhorring in this instance is the fact that foreigners are the ‘tourists’. We Indians would not sign up for such a tour. Come to think of it we it we are so inured that we do not even see what stares at us, bet it in newspapers, TV shows or simply on the street or at a red light.

I remember how offended I felt many years ago at TV programmes in Europe that showed India either as a poverty ridden land or as one of snake charmers or turban headed Maharajahs. I wondered why other achievements were not highlighted. That was then, before pwhy, before my own brush with reality and my own struggles at getting my country fellowmen to open their hearts and part with a coin to reach out and help others.

To the activist that cries out human right violation and abuse I would like to ask why there are still children who roam the streets in India, who are used and abused by the like of us and above all why we chose to remain silent or simply turn away.

It is sad but true that getting support within our own country is quasi impossible and that many of us who try and alleviate the situation have to extend our begging bowl beyond frontiers and share our disturbing reality. Then we are all guilty of the same though we do it in a covert way. Is that what makes it acceptable, as if that were not the case then we are all guilty of abuse and human rights violation. The flip side is that if we did not do it, then we would wind up our activities.

In the last year or so many children and others have received help because their stories were highlighted by the media. Is that a human right violation too? I wonder.

It is easy to sit in judgement but I would implore people who do so to think before they condemn or to give viable alternatives. Tourism with a heart or voluntourism is here to stay and speaks volumes for the new ways in which we should look at things in a world where globalisation is the preferred mantra. That an NGO should propose a slum tour to people visit India should not be anathema. It should at best makes us think and resolve to do something.

But sadly this seems wishful thinking. On human rights day a picture of children ploughing fields in land belonging to a minister’s family will once again be swept away to suit political ends and public memory too will fade. This happens far to often for comfort.

Saturday December 8th was a very special day for a bunch of disabled kids, but more so for a very special young woman whose mother I have the privilege to be. A TV crew was coming to share their lunch.

The morning was spent in a frenetic bustle of cleaning, sprucing up, shopping and cooking. Everyone was excited and time seemed to stand still. Everything was set: the newspaper mats woven by the kids, the unopened lunch boxes, the freshly made aloo pharathas that were in the Saturday cooking class menu, and the project lunch of rice and dal that was always there for those who brought nothing.

Lunch has always been an important issue at pwhy’s special section as we have always held that parents of disabled children need to be made aware of their responsibility and treat them as they would treat a ‘normal’ child. However the staff lunch is always there to ensure that no kid goes hungry.)

Finally a phone call announced the imminent arrival of the TV crew. What followed was pure magic, or rather the miracle we had all been waiting for since eight long years. For the first time ever someone from the world out there came and shared a moment with these beautiful kids. It is true that they have been filmed many times for diverse shows and programmes but in reality it has always been from the outside or the edge. This was the first time that someone, stopped by all the lunch boxes and served plates and dug into them no matter how cold and congealed and unappetising the food looked. The moment was so heartwarming that Geetu our 2o year old fed the young dashing anchor with her own hands.

The food turned to manna from the Gods or a three star chef’s creation as years of yearning to be accepted and valorised laced it with a unique flavour no one could miss. Soon it was time to wave good bye and I too left the premises for another appointment.

It was only later in the evening when I got home that the true meaning of that day would enfold for me. A deeply moved Shamika asked me for the number of the TV producer as she said she needed to thank him. This was a first as Shamika is normally a reserved person. After many attempts she got the person and started thanking him but as she talked her emotions choked her, and she burst into sobs. It was then that I realised the real meaning of that lunch that almost did not happen.

It was like a dream come true for this young woman who at the age of 15 decided to work with special children and help them get their rightful place in society. A place where they too could be accepted and cherished. Lost in my own struggles I had not discerned how each rejection had touched my own child and how hurt she had been at each step. It also made me understand her initial reluctance at accepting this show. But above I became aware of how momentous the moment had been for her. I could not hold my own tears as I hugged her tenderly.

Today the kids are all going to troupe in to one of the teachers home to see this programme on TV. It is a moment I would not miss for anything!

Today is November 29th.

Exactly 15 years ago papa left this world leaving behind a huge hole that nothing could fill for many years.

Seven years ago project why began its first hesitant spoken English Class in a tiny shack with 20 eager eyed kids and I instinctively knew that the emptiness that had been gnawing at me for so many years was slowly going to be filled.

Ram taught me many things. From absolute surrender to a greater force, to unwavering faith in the destiny of India; from the delights of life king size to the undiluted joy of sharing a humble meal, from erudite books of diverse culture to the soothing lilt of a bhojpuri lullaby. But the greatest lesson I still think he gave me was a the answer to a simple question I had asked as a child: where do I find God. His answer was simply: in the eyes of the poorest, most deprived child.

When I look back at the last seven years I feel blessed and overwhelmed. To many pwhy may look like any other organisation that dot the planet in a world where charity has become a lucrative business. But that is not quite the case. Pwhy is and has been a deep seated journey that had to be undertaken to give meaning and substance to the greatest gift we are all endowed with: life! To many again it may seem haphazard and undefined albeit rudderless particularly in a world where everything has to have a mission, a goal, a structure and is then evaluated by statistics and returns. If one were to adopt this canon than pwhy would fail miserably one many accounts as it often defies all logic. I must confess that at times I too have had difficulties in explaining what and who we are.

But this morning, almost ominously a volunteer who had spent a month with us this summer shared some the entries of his journal. As I read an account of pwhy through other eyes I realised the essence of what it truly was:

It was a wake up call in the true sense of the word!

This morning at 4.43 am the earth shook and though the magnitude was small (4.3 on the Richter scale) the epicentre was just a few kilometres from Delhi. I had just lit my prayer lamp and was about to start my morning prayers when grit from a crack in the ceiling fell on my head, windows shook and a loud rumble was heard.

It was a mild quake and the met department felt no damage would occur and Delhi would wake up to another day. Nevertheless it was a wake up call in more ways than one though it may once again go unheard.

Laws will be broken with impunity and alacrity and man will resume his hubristic roller coaster ride not heeding the gentle warning nature sent our way. Buildings will be built on river banks, trees will be chopped down to make way for more roads and more cars, concrete jungles will expand. more plastic will choke drains, carbon foot prints will become gargantuan in size and global warming increase by quantum leaps till Nature sends her next warning which may not be gentle.

It was also a wake up call of another kind. One that highlights the frailty of human nature and precarious nature of our lives, dreams, plans and morrows. A wake up call that compels us to stop and think in more ways than one. About all the things that remain to be done, all the words that need to be said, all that we often put off because we feel there is so much time left.

But more than anything else I felt it was time to express one’s gratitude for everything life had brought one’s way. To express appreciation for the obvious we take for granted, for the little things we fail to see. To give meaning to the two words we use in far too trivial a manner: thank you.

And I realised there were so many thank yous I had failed to convey. Not that one did not want to, but because one felt one had enough time. The list is endless but maybe it can be summed up by simply murmuring a gentle thank you for every moment I have lived.

Designers uniforms for Government school children screamed the news headline. There must be something wrong was the thought that sprung in my mind. But no, I had read it right government school children in Delhi would soon have designer uniforms and geometry boxes which in the words of the man in charge of education in our city would ensure that they should not lag behind: they being the poor students!

Something must or should be wrong. The idea was puerile and hare brained more akin to a chapter in Alice in Wonderland or a Groucho Marx movie. A deluge of thoughts crossed my mind. Wow a new way to line pockets had been found and that on a day where a leading news channel was busy highlighting the abysmal failure of the (ill)famed midday meal. What about drinking water, toilets, proper classrooms or at least teachers who teach Mr Minister.

And talking of uniforms themselves, the reality today is that kids rarely get their uniforms in toto and in time, or their school books and all else that is promised. maybe one should first ensure that was is meant to be functions properly before launching new schemes.

But is this the tale of all development programmes in India. They look good only on paper or in speeches but never truly see the light of day. It is time that we as civil society and tax payers ask some hard hitting questions.

Sometimes it is necessary to get off the spinning world, catch our breath and take a pause. Sadly this is something we rarely do as we are, or seem to be always on the run. Recently two mails dropped in my inbox and both had a similar message. They both highlighted the importance of gratitude. I guess it was because this week is thanksgiving!

We often mutter or mumble the words thank you in the course of a day and we often do it for innocuous reasons. But how often do we sit and think about all the things we should be grateful for and never acknowledge?

So today I decided to get off that spinning wheel, shed off the usual constraints that we live with and simply list all the things I should be grateful for. As I set upon this task I realised that that list was endless as when I looked at my life every single moment was one that I needed to be grateful for and somehow even the most ordinary occurrence looked extraordinary.

As I walked away from the hospital ward where Utpal’s mom lay sleeping unaware of the terrible ordeal that brought her there, many whys crowded my mind. I guess we humans sometimes forget that we are mere humans as we get swayed by illusions of grandeur and hubristic ways. And when our carefully crafted plans crumble like a house of cards in front of our eyes we are lost forgetting that what is, is always the best.

As I sat and tried to come to terms with what had happened, I decided to share my angst with those who knew little Utpal. Many responded with supportive words but what truly set my mind at rest and gave immense strength was a beautiful poem that simply said:

The recent debate of the right to privacy of a physically disabled child whose surgery was done under blinding media glare, raises a number of questions, the first one being the reason why the medical team who operated free of cost, decided to do so this way. The other question raised by an activist is far more troubling: would it have been the same if the child belonged to a rich family?

In recent times we have seen many poor children being given new leases of life following their story being aired on TV channels. We too at pwhy have been able to help many children needing costly surgeries by appealing to friends and supporters. One cannot deny the fact that people get ‘touched’ by real life stories. Thus it is easier to get help for individual cases than for wider causes. I must confess that this is something that has always disturbed me and made me uncomfortable.

It is true that we live in a world where advertisement and publicity rule the roost. Even charity is now a business. So if you want to succeed you need to play by the rules. But how does one determine the thin line that exists between what can be done and what ought not to?

The debate is endless.

We at pwhy could not have done much of what we have achieved without sharing the stories of those in need of help. The answer to the activist and her query regarding the origins of the child cannot but be yes, as it is only a poor child that would need help. In my mind what is important is the motive that underlies the need of sharing the story and above all the necessity to remain within the realm of decency. But more than that is the responsibility of ensuring the long term needs those you help.

I dropped by the women centre yesterday and decided to spend some time with a bunch of spirited boys who had joined the centre recently. There were about 6 or 7 of them and most of them were students of class VI of the sole government secondary school in the area.

We started talking of many things but very soon the conversation veered to their school life. As the kids talked about their school in a bantering tone, I could not stop the rising anger that welled inside me.

We never have class as there are no teachers said one, to which the other added:We just give our attendance and then leave. The principal beats children with a stick, even small children piped another kid. Yes but the gujjars beat the teachers retorted yet another.

Hearing all these candid revelations I could not imagine that what was being talked about was a school, a place of learning where tender minds were supposed to be imparted knowledge. I was unable to process the information. I needed to know more. I sat down and asked the kids to explain what actually happened in the school.

Madanpur Khader is a gujjar village and the gujjar are known for their violent ways. Over the years many gujjar families have built tenements for the ever increasing migrant population and recently a resettlement colony has also come up in the vicinity of the village. hence the local school has a mixed population of gujjars and migrants hailing from Bengal, Bihar and other places. It seems that parents of gujjar children threaten and browbeat teachers and hence teachers hardly come to school. Teachers on the other hand victimise other kids hence the beating and wielding of sticks!

The children I met want to study and above all want to go to another school. But other schools are located miles away though the lads are willing to travel by bus however admissions are not easy.

We plan to visit the school and find out what actually happens. Maybe we will need to talk to the gujjar parents too and explain to them that what they are doing is against the interest of their own children. We of course will ensure that these boys keep up with their studies.

But once again the whole question of education comes to the fore. Laws, court orders, even constitutional rights are ineffective when one looks at the reality that stares at us. And once again innocent children are the victims.

Our women centre is soon going to have solar energy to meet part of its requirements. Like everything else at pwhy is just happened. And again like everything else at pwhy it happened for a reason. Global warming is something we have been concerned about for a long time. But sadly till date the concern seemed more academic than real. Things are getting out of hand and it is time to act now.

One of the first step in this direction would be to try and teach children. But this is easily said than done and kids have no real role models. And most of the good habits we should be adopting seem so infra-dig. How can I walk when so many cars stand in my driveway or when I have just bought a gleaming new bike? Consumerism does not beget moderation. Even slums have more than one TV sets today!

And yet if nothing is done, our planet is sure to become unlivable.

Even a week before Diwali, Delhi skies are hazy and laden with pollutants. Shudder to think at what they will look like on that day. In spite of our best efforts to try and tell children and adults not to burst crackers on that day we know we will not be heard. Shops are full of new fireworks and shoppers a plenty. Everyone, even the most educated will partake in the festivities. For that spell of time, all resolutions will be forgotten.

is there a way out? One wonders. Maybe a diktat like the one issued by the Sikh clergy on ostentatious marriages? But who will bell the cat?

We continue to use and abuse our planet with hubristic abandon. One day Nature will retaliate as it often has and we will be left wondering what happened.

But it will be too late. We need to begin now.