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.

Some months back S walked into our office. S was someone I met on the net. After exchanging a few innocuous mails, S came visiting. Like is oft the case with virtual friends, one does quite know who to expect!

S arrived by bus from one of India’s satellite suburbs and was the image of simplicity as he walked into our office barefoot (having left his shoes downstairs) and no matter how hard I tried, I was not able to affix the labels one is usually able to by simple gaging a person for a few minutes. However what was obvious was S’s warmth.

Unlike many visitors, S spend the whole day at pwhy and even helped carting furniture!

S’s memory of the day was beautifully spelled out in a mail he sent to his friends:

Happiness is when what you think, what you say and what you do are in harmony. Mahatma Gandhi. A day snapshot would be immature to conclude anything but is indicative of honesty, urge and the will of the modest project WHY. Albeit the project questions us in many ways and if one is honest, there are no real answers, only solutions awaiting us to overcome our numbness. A fresh air about this project is its operational modesty and the same is in its appeal for help and support. There are endless ways that one can help the project with our good wishes, goodwill, donations. Really anything. A Rupee a Day really is hard to overlook.

In Delhi, around a bus stop there is a large neem tree. A careful look and one discovers a few different and larger leave growing on the neem tree till you realise that a banyan tree is growing out a branch joint of the neem tree. Nature’s beautiful illustration of life supporting life. Makes us wonder.

For those of us who lack time but have the willingness, projects like Why offers a great channel for us to give back to the society without having to worry about the money being spent on business class air tickets or air conditioned offices. For those who have the time along with the willingness, it would at least a few memorable hours spent with some people who are doing an incredible job.

Days passed…

I got busy with the inauguration of the women centre. Mails were sent inviting people. Only one person decided to make the long trip to Khader: S! Once again he spent time, and even talked to the children at length on environment and other issues. Before leaving he promised us CFL light bulbs and even talked of getting us solar lighting for the classes.

Today he kept his promise and our women centre will soon have solar lighting and we can in the words of the famous song in the musical hair soon sing: let the sun shine in!

Read in order to live said Gustave Flaubert. That was almost two centuries ago and something almost ludicrous in our day and age.

You may wonder why I chose to right a post about books.

It all began when sometime back a dear friend and supporter sought our help and advice on a project whereby 50K books in English needed to find homes in India ( institutions, public libraries, schools, NGOs). For someone addicted to books this was fantastic. Or so it seemed at first.

After the initial excitement and as one sat down to think of the nitty-gritty it did not take long to see that the matter was not as simple as one would have liked. After all were we not a society where books had taken a back seat and lost its battle to the ever invading world of television. Today’s children had scant place for books, barring the school ones, and reading was synonymous to boring, dreary and irksome. The sad reality was that children of today did not read books for pleasure. And if we were to talk about slum kids, then many had never seen books other than those in their school bags. So where would these 50K books lands even if they reached institutions, NGOs etc.. And who in today’s day and age went to public libraries, Come to think about I do not think there is a public library in the vicinity of where I sit!

I belong to a generation where books were oft the only source of entertainment we had. They were our friends and counselors and a garden you carry in your pocket to quote a Chinese proverb. Even today, when I have practically no time, I devour books as I travel from one place to another in the pwhy three wheeler!

Reading is a habit that needs to be revived. And to do so it is necessary to place a book in the hand of a child as early as possible. And yet the reality stares at us large as even the poorest home in a Delhi slum has a TV and cable connection. The battle is unequal but needs to be fought. Was it not Groucho Marx who said: I find television to be very educating. Every time somebody turns on the set, I go into the other room and read a book.

S decided to sell his kidney because life had become unberable after his business failed. It must have been a pondered decision and one that must have taken a lot of grit and determination. What happened next is what heroic tales are made of. When S realised that the person in need of a kidney was poorer than him, he simply donated it without a thought, as if that was the only valid option. In that pure moment of human compassion reason had no role to play; the heart simply took over. There was no time to think of the ifs and buts or of the consequences that might ensue.

In our day and age, where acts of charity are often proportionate to the benefits they accrue – be it tax benefits or public recognition – and have lost all spontaneity and selflessness S stands tall. Cynics may say that ultimately he did get recognition and kudos but the essence of the matter is that when S gifted his kidney, he did not know they would come by and if one reads his story he suffered much indignity before being honoured and applauded.

S’s story stands like a beacon for all those who still believe that in some matters the heart has to take over, something we at pwhy stand by.

The latest sting school. operation turned out lost all its bite when the reporter in question was arrested. I am referring to the case of the school teacher accused of waylaying girls students in Delhi. Though the story had created furore and even rioting when aired, somehow it had not rung true and I had chosen not to comment on it though I often find myself reacting to stories about abuse of children.

Sting operations seem to be the flavour of the times and they have undoubtedly redressed many a tort and brought justice to some. And though one had even been at the origin of Ghaziabad girls operation, the silence that ensues such operation is sometimes too deafening to bear making us wonder as to the role the media can and should play in such cases.

It is true that in the past year of so the media has risen as a watchdog bringing to light many wrongs hitherto hidden. The power of images and the ability to edit and replay them brings stark realities into the very privacy of our homes making us react and one has seen people reaching out to others in gallant ways.

Sting operations have a role to play in waking up the slumbering conscience of a lethargic civil society and that is why one should not allow it to be hijacked to even personal vendettas or suit vested interests. If there are more such fake stings that we run the risk of having restrictive laws slammed on them.

Media has to be extremely cautious and conscious with such operations and not view them as a simple way to up their TRP rates. They also need to follow up and inform their audience on the outcome of each case. Only then can this powerful tool become an agent of change.

I would like to share two small almost negligible incidents that happened yesterday.

While showing the project to a visitor we stopped by our tiny Govindpuri primary centre. The room was so tiny that some of us remained outside where a bunch of young lads sat loitering. One of them wearing a bright red shirt seemed to be their leader. I asked him what he did and the answer was almost thrown my way: I just hand around. I persisted in my queries and this was what transpired. This young boy – about 15 or so – had dropped out of school in class V because according to him there was no teaching as teachers did not bother to teach. He then got a job but left it as the pay was not regular, and now he was looking for another one, just any kind of job would do.

Later in the day I went to the Greater Kailash M block market looking for some hairpins and rubber bands, ware usually sold by enterprising young men on the pavement in front of the shops. I, of course, had forgotten about the recent cleaning drive that had ensured the disappearance of all such stalls that had been there for as long as one remembered, sometimes passing from father to sons one had seen grow. The once bustling market looked strangely devoid of its soul. Refusing to give up I walked along around the market, knowing in my heart that I would find the elusive ware I sought. And then, as I was almost about to give up, I saw one of the familiar faces tucked in a shop doorway with a few trinkets on the ground. I approached him and asked him if he had the things I needed. He smiled and asked me to wait a minute and dashed to his car parked across the street and fished out the things I sought. He told me that all stalls had been cleared but he hoped that things would change soon.

I had once written a post about a young boy selling guide books in front of an exam centre and marvelled at the spirit of enterprise displayed by young Indians. It is sad to see that the new sealing and other suddenly discovered laws are hitting at the livelihood of the poor. Young people like the boy in the red shirt who dropped out of school not because of lack of ability or desire but because of abysmal teaching could easily find employment in the very small shops or road eateries that will be soon closed.

I am one to respect laws. But laws have to be applied from day one and not be circumvented for years by shady means and then resurrected to suit newfound interests. One cannot forget that between the two time has elapsed and realities changed.

The recent imbroglio over the issuing of degrees to students of India’s prime medical school is a tragic reminder of the prevailing state of affairs in this country. The drama recently enacted on the streets and in front of cameras had shades of both Kafka and Marx (Groucho of course)!

To any sane mind the one and only requisite for issuance of a degree would and should be successful completion of examinations. Well that is not quite so in a land named India. here this simple administrative formality becomes a complicated saga of ego clashes and almost childlike behaviour. I will not sign the degree if it has the signature of that person says one protagonist, while another quips: the other person will not sign. All this while students who have toiled hard against many odds wait in mute and horrified silence.

Then one the silence becomes deafening they take to the streets, strike and get the media attention which seems to have become one of the only ways to get things done. But it does not prove adequate as ultimately the Courts have to intervene and rap on the knuckles of all concerned. But the stubborn kids will not relent and the final outcome is a burlesque one: two degrees for one person signed by different people.

This is the sad state of affairs in our land where institutions have been hijacked by politicians and bureaucrats; where the judiciary has to be solicited at the drop of a hat to resolve petty problems; where innocents are held to ransom while over sized ego clash in infantile ways.

Very often in the nightmare that Delhi traffic has become, one can see ambulances flashing their lights and blaring their sirens to no avail. Many times other vehicles could slow down and move aside and give them way but somehow they don’t. The ambulance just has to wait or follow the traffic.

In other countries it is not so. As soon as one hears the sirens of an ambulance, traffic slows down and a way is cleared for the ambulance. I have often wondered why we in India do not do so. Are we inured to the pain of others? Have we become so insensitive that the life of another does not concern us? Or is life so dispensable that one more or one less does not really matter?

Yesterday a little boy died because his ambulance got stuck in a jam. However this was not a traffic jam but one created by workers of two political parties who clashed with each other. No one heard the blaring siren or I guess no one bothered to hear it. No one gave a hoot to the plea of a mother whose child was dying. Finally the little boy reached the hospital too late.
Then do add fuel to the fire, this tragic human incident was used by the two parties as political fodder as they engaged in a blame game that quite honestly made me want to throw up.

One wonders who is actually responsible for this little life ‘s demise and sadly one finds no answer.

The silence is deafening.

Many incidents of incomprehensible and inhuman rage made the headlines in recent days. On each occasion I held on to my urge to react as I felt that my words would have no or little effect. However the pictures aired yesterday on all leading channels broke my resolve.

It was a story from a small town in Bihar where the mob decided to met out their own brand of justice to a young thief. What was disturbing was the fact that the police played to the gallery and tied the poor boy to a motorcycle and dragged him in full public view. All his was aptly captured on camera by a local journalist. Nobody reached out to help the boy. For those three hours all that holds a society together and protects it – the rule of law – was conveniently forgotten! From being the largest democracy in the world, we had travelled back in time to the middle ages or the roman arenas.

In the recent past there have many incidents that have brought to fore the latent anger and rage that seems to reside in apparently sensible people waiting for the slightest reason to break free. A young school girl is beaten by six teachers for having failed to do her homework. A young boy is beaten to death by his classmates for having soiled a shirt. A man is beaten to death for simply not giving way to a passing motorcyclist.

These are only some of the ugly incidents that have made their way as headline news. The reality was one has to face is that as a society we are giving up the rule of law and resorting to wild west ways. And when law makers or protectors resort to such ways too, then it is the beginning of the end.

One needs to stop and try and analyse the reasons that have led us to this day. And as is oft the case, the sated cliches come to mind: corruption, politicisation of institutions, arrogance of the rich and more of the same. But to this we also need to add frustration, lack of opportunities, impossible aspirations and the lure of riches, not to forget the now jaded caste and creed.

To add to the plethora of baffling realities one wonders why a district official gets suspended for not recognising the Chief Minister’s voice on the phone or why a cop gets suspended for hugging a cinestar convict. In spite of our democratic cloak, are we not atavistically feudal and thus resort to our feudal selves at each provocation.

Think about it.