Twenty one is an important number in a person’s life as it is the age when one becomes an adult. Twenty one has another important signification that many may not know. It is the number – 21A – of a new article that was to be inserted in the constitution of India. it reads: The State shall provide free and compulsory education to all children of the age of six to fourteen years in such manner as the State may, by law, determine and is subsequent to the 86th amendment voted in 2002 giving every India child the right to education.

5 long years have passed but the central government has not yet notified the Act or enacted the legislation. Activist have been battling the issue

A recent email from an activist group working with municipal schools brought to light many issues that we have been facing in the past 8 years. One of them was the report card issue. Primary school kids from municipal schools never got progress reports and our staff had to fight with school authorities to get results of terminal examinations. Now, thanks to a petition fled in court, issuance of progress reports has become mandatory!

This is a sad reflection of the reality that we live in. Laws exist but are never implemented be it education, child labour or other social issues. I takes a sting operation or a Public Interest Litigation filed by some activist group or NGO to get the judiciary to react and issue appropriate orders.

It seems that one of the biggest stumbling block in the way of progress and development is the non-implementation of various laws, schemes and projects aimed at benefiting the less privileged. And perhaps, it would be in everyone’s interest to ensure that existing schemes are properly enacted.

Xabi and Marie are two simple village folk from a small village of the Basque country in France. They are not young and have homes and families. Marie is a dancer and Xabi a farmer . Some time back I got a very touching email from them which is simply said they were coming to India and wanted to spend some happy moments with our kids.

They arrived a few days back and found their way to us. It was their first visit to India and they felt that they wanted to give a little of their time, their talent and their love to less privileged children before embarking on their discovery of India.

For the past few days they have been teaching dance, and games to our special kids, and our creche children and then make the journey to Khader to spend some time at our women centre. There they play and dance with the kids and have even worked out a business deal in the spirit of fair trade: they would like to take the jewels we make as well as simple clothes that our ladies would stitch back to their village and hope to get us orders.

Xabi and Marie radiate warmth and all our children have taken to them. The reason is that in spite of language and other barriers they have opened their hearts and shared their love in abundance and in the true spirit of giving!

We have been busy getting admissions for the new centre and of course children are a plenty. After asking the names and age of each kid we ask whether they are in school, and the class they are in.

We were astonished at the number of children who said: I am in UKG. Many of them are seven and even older. Now UKG is not a class in municipal and government schools. These children are in small private schools which still have up to 3 years of pre-primary classes even though the education department has reduced them to one!

To many of us an extra school year does not matter as the children get sound foundations but for little girls like the ones in the picture it is a matter of great concern. Normally these girls are withdrawn out of school by 16 as that is when they are often married. If thew were in class I or II they would have a better chance of finishing their schooling and obtaining a certificate.

A quick perusal of their books showed that what they were learning was akin to what is taught in class I or even II in municipal primary schools. The reason why private schools have more classes is evident: extra fees and the reason why poor parents send their wards to such schools is also obvious: better teaching.

Yet we feel that these bright children should get a better chance at finishing their studies so we plan to convene a parents meeting and convince them to get their children admitted to the government school in class II next March. We hope they understand.

Some of you may remember the story of a desperate mother of 8 children who lived on the edge. I guess everyone has her breaking point as last week she just took off abandoning her children. The humiliation and despair had reached the point of no return.

Her children are today left alone, the elder ones having become surrogate parents in the span of an instant. The philandering father occasionally drops in and leaves a few food items.

The younger ones come to our creche and when it is time to go home, they ask in their tiny voices whether they can not just stay back. The situation at home is pathetic: when we last visited the older boy (barely 8) had fallen asleep while the rice boiled and burnt.

Today we will try and work out a solution for thee poor kids who are suffering for no fault of theirs. But no long term solution can be sought without the accord of the father. As a first step we will try and get all the kids to the centre so that they can at least have one hot meal a day and medical care as some of them are sick. Then we will try and find a long term option.

Many questions come to mind each begging for an answer hard to come by. But what stands out is the harsh fact that children often or rather always bear the brunt of mistakes made by adults.

The recent court decision to compress pre-primary classes – aka nursery and KG – into one year seems bewildering. True that they have raised the nursery age to 4 but knowing the pressure a child has to deal with once in class I, one year of preparation seems very insufficient.

At pwhy we have been running a pre-school unit for over 7 years with children between the age of 1 to 5. Initially the whole class was held in a big room with out desks and chairs and children were taught through play and creative means. However we soon realised that the transition to a government school class I was difficult as the tiny tots found themselves in an alien world when faced with desks, chairs and blackboards. That is why we began our prep class where children are taught pre-primary skills in an informal and easy way.

Informal play schools or groups do not prepare children for what awaits them in schools and one year is too little to prepare for this whole new experience. The module of nursery and KG seemed a good way to slowly break in the child, without having her or him lose its creativity.

The Indian school system is one that puts undue pressure on young minds and the mark based system that ensues promotes unhealthy competition. It is heartwarming to see that pre school education is now being debated in courts, but one hopes that the interest of tender minds remains the centre point of all debate and decisions.

In her bright school uniform and sporting a sparkling smile she looks just line another school girl. However if you look at her again you see her little chest rising at an unnatural pace and realise that she can barely breathe. She has a hole in her heart and was what is know as a blue baby at birth.

Her father drives a rickshaw he does not own and drinks most of what he earns. She has two siblings and after paying the whopping 800 Rs for a tiny room there is not much left to eat. A visit to a nearby private hospital resulted to the family being told that a huge sum of money would be needed to repair the congenital defect. For this little family the road ended.

Soni dropped by pwhy one hot afternoon and somehow we all fell under her spell. Once again the God of small things had wowen his magic as some visitors from another world were also there. The impossible became possible as they decided to help Soni and sponsor her surgery.

There is still a long way to go, but we know that this little girl will have a future.

It was once again time to make the one hour car journey to Utpal’s school for his PTM. And in spite of this being the nth time, the excitement was palpable.

With little Kiran the true blue childhood pal, I had packed the proverbial bag of goodies that contained all that was not allowed: chips, fizzy drinks and chocolates. We set out early and go there just as the clock struck 11 and the gates were opened. As we hurried to the residential block I realised that my heart was beating a little faster.

Utpal dressed in his Sunday clothes waited at the bottom of the stairs for his parents. This time we were six: Kiran, Chanda, Dharmendra and Barbara and Cyril, two volunteers who had decided to come along, not forgetting the old maam’ji! Presentations were made and I was thrilled to hear the confident “fine thank you maa’m” to Barbara’s: how are you? Our little Utpal seemed all grown up as he set out to show his room and cupboard and introduce his Dolly ma’am.

The rest of the day passed in a tizzy. A metro ride, a shared pizza and then the now legendary lunch at the school where Utpal acted as the perfect host. But as the hour of departure approached I could see his tiny face crumble. He snuggled closer to me and said: you will stay awhile, won’t you?

We did, but soon it was time to say our goodbyes, and for the first time I saw Utpal holding on to the tears that were welling up in his eyes. I held on to mine and hugged him a little tighter as I whispered: see you next time.

As we travelled back none of us spoke, not wanting to break the spell Utpal had cast on all of us.

It was almost three years ago that two women of substance set up our Okhla school. The school was set up in a garbage dump for all the right reasons and much of what we set out to do was achieved and somehow we felt that nothing would or could disturb the pattern we had set.

We were in for a rude shock as yesterday we were told that the local politician had dropped by and decreed that our ramshackle structure would be raised to the ground and that a new building would be built that would house a school bearing her name. It was almost as if the clock had turned back 5 years to that wintry day when our tent was destroyed in a Giri Nagar park with promises of another building.

We had come full circle once again.

The first reaction was undoubtedly anger, dismay and hurt. The thought of having to see our neatly organised class space with its mud murals brought to nought seemed outrageous. It seemed as all our efforts were in vain. But as the news seeped in and the initial shock subsided one came to realise that perhaps there was more in this situation that met the eye.

If three years of unabated struggle and dogged determination to carry on our teaching in spite of everything had made a politico want to create a space for children and run a school, then we had achieved the goal pwhy had set for itself: to make the community aware of the importance of education and children.

Many of our early supporters still wonder why we left Giri Nagar and sought other pastures. Our answer is simple: 7 years back Giri Nagar had no structure for children; today it boasts of 4 NGOs that run child related activities making us almost redundant and though our pride took a blow when we were ousted, the greater objective was achieved. I guess the same applies for Okhla if what we have been told is true. If what once was a garbage dump and a haven for drug peddles becomes a school with play grounds for children, we would be fair in giving ourselves a pat on the back.

As for us we will once again find a place where children roam the streets and start all over again.

Prakash is a bonny four month old, a far cry from his elder brother Manoj who came to us almost two years back and reminded me of a garden gnome with his big head and emaciated body.

When we came to know that Manoj’s mom mas pregnant again, we set out to chart a road map for her and like many of the programmes started by pwhy, we launched our pregnant mother support programme on the spur of the moment. Our sine qua non requirement was that the programme was open only to mom’s who came our way and were in need of support.

Today when we look at little Prakash sleeping or playing in the lap of his content mother we feel once again vindicated.

One of the biggest asset of pwhy has been its band of volunteers. They have come from every corner of the planet and each one has left his or her mark. This summer we were truly spoilt as we had not one, not two but three superb volunteers: Lucy, Xiong and Firdaush.

At first we were a little worried about how we would manage three volunteers in our tiny project but our concerns were soon allayed as these three young people just adopted us and found their place in a jiffy. It was as if they had always been part of pwhy.

Lucy a young student from Cambridge spent her mornings with our special kids and her afternoons in the newly opened Sanjay colony centre; Xiong from Singapore taught the secondary kids in the morning and then spent his afternoons at our Govindpuri centre and Firdaush brought high levels of energy to our creche and prep kids and some order to our Okhla centre.

What was truly amazing is how these young people adapted to the difficult environment they found themselves in: electricity cuts that made the heat unbearable, the filth of the slum lanes, the sometimes too spicy lunch, the often incomprehensible Hinglish. Nothing could deter their enthusiasm and drive. The seriousness and application with which they approached each task was laudable and praiseworthy.

They came from different worlds and yet seemed so comfortable in ours. Each one brought to pwhy something special, something that will stay forever in intangible and yet precious ways.

The recent spat between a young athlete’s coach and his mother has led to a child’s future being held to ransom. It is true that in Budhia’s case a solution will be found as he he is a media celebrity but the whole issue opens up a disturbing debate.

In an answer to a recent mail a friend wrote: The thought scares me that by providing support, we may also be creating a social monster which gets used to being fed. He was referring to my concern about the future of the children that transit project why or as a mater of fact the future of all children who acquire a mediocre education as that is what the present system has on offer. In its mission statement the lead India campaign states: our municipal schools are not equipped to impart even basic education but stops short of suggesting an alternative.

Seven years ago, when pwhy began, one lived under the illusion that education would open new avenues for children and hence give them a better future. Today if one were to be honest, experience has proved that it is not quite so. No matter how brilliant a slum kid is, he will never the the 90+% required to go to a good college, nor will he acquire the confidence, communication skills and the oomph required in today’s working world. His marks may help him break some barriers but what about those who just scrape through.

The social monster referred to above is just that child, the one who holds a degree or certificate in hand and thus as arrogated itself the right to dream big. The question one is compelled to ask one’s self is whether it is right to impart such education and feel satisfied? Is not one morally bound to think ahead and look for viable options?

The education for all campaign seems to have gone awry. There are schools without children, children with years of schooling and no knowledge. Budgets allocations increase each year but the situation on the ground worsens. Much needs to be done. Imparting a useless education is worse than no education at all.

Maybe there is a monster lurking, one that needs to be slain not fed

Over the past 7 years now, we at project why have been doggedly teaching batch after batch of slum children with a measure of success, if success is to be determined by examinations results. Many have passed out of school and joined the working world, others have selected to pursue academics in some form or the other.

I must confess that for some time we too basked in the glory of our achievement sometimes forgetting to look at the stark realities that stared at us or maybe choosing not to see. But no one can be so inured as to not be outraged when three children open their single lunchbox and find rotten food.

I remember how horrified we were a couple of years back over Preeti’s lunch box, and how it had brought to the fore the plight of disabled children in India. And once again we set out to unravel the mystery of this lunchbox that belonged to three siblings that attend our creche.

A home visit brought to fore the reality of their lives. Eight siblings ranging between the age of 12 and a few months live in a tiny hovel. Their father who own 2 vehicles barely comes home as he spends his money, or most of it, on drink and women, and gives very little to support the family. However he does come home to claim his conjugal right with regularity. The mother manages as best she can and the children are often fed by neighbours. None of the children go to regular school.

This woman typifies many women that live abysmal and lonely lives in Delhi’s slums, away from the comfort and security of their village. They have been brought to practically worship their husbands and defend them with pathetic conviction, as if their lived depended on it. They know nothing of family planning, AIDS let alone women’s rights.

When we asked the mother why she dis not send her elder girls to school the answer was shocking though true to her reality: they only need to learn housework was what she quietly said.

That woman did not have dreams or aspirations, she just had to live or rather survive wondering where the next meal of her children would come from while she clutched the womb that carried her ninth child.

Our decision to close down one of our primary centres may have perplexed some of our friends and well wishers. I must confess that it was not an easy one but the writing was on the wall and we had to stand by our initial mission: that of empowering parents to take charge of the education of their children. So when we realised that most of the children were now attending private tuition’s we knew our task was done and we had to move to another place.

Sanjay Colony was the chosen location. In barely a month there are over 80 children who attend our classes regularly. Yesterday I was given the monthly report of that centre and its content more than validated our decision. More than 50% of the children were well below their class and some who were in class V barely knew the class II curriculum. This shows once again the abysmal state of municipal schools in India’s capital city where children are made to pass from one class to the other irrespective of their knowledge till they reach secondary school where they often drop out.

It is sad to see that nothing is really being done to address the situation and take on remedial measures. It is almost as if no one was really interested in educating the poorest of the poor. This is the reality in a country that is poised to celebrate sixty years of Independence and where education is a constitutional right of each and every child.

A few minutes back an email from a dear friend entitled: the silence is killing dropped by my mailbox.

It is true that it has been over 20 days since I last wrote a post. The reason: a nasty viral flu that got the better of me.

The last three weeks were spent between bouts of high fever and waves of exhaustion as I waited impatiently for the clock to strike four as that is when the girls got back from pwhy with the news of the day.

July has been a hectic month a pwhy with three dynamic young volunteers who have infused their own brand of charm in more ways than one: brand new activities in the special section thanks to Lucy, a dose of vitality at the somewhat slow Okhla centre courtesy Firdaush and new ways of learning at Govindpuri with Xiong.

4pm became the highlight of each day as the girls and the three volunteers sat around me and shared the spoils of the day: young Komal barely 10 months old now holds a pencil, the special kids made a scrumptious fruit salad, the new centre at Sanjay colony has over 70 kids now and so much more.

As I sat every afternoon getting the news of the day, I felt a sense of pride as I saw that pwhy had somewhat come of age and could carry on without my daily presence.

It is always with a tinge of sadness that a parent sees his child walk out of the parental home with confidence and determination. And yet it is something every wishes for its child and strives for.

Seven years ago, when we seeded project why, our dream was to one day see simple illiterate or semi-literate parents understand that education was an inherent part of their children’s future. That is when we set out to show then how and empower them.

It is true that the objective we set for ourselves was to contain drop out rates and enhance the school performance of slum kids, and it is also true that that what we often set forth as a measure of our success, but the dream loomed in our minds and we surreptitiously worked towards it, something forgetting that its fulfillment would mean our having to move away. And being human, we somehow found hard to accept that reality, and hence turned a blind eye to many glaring hints.

But how long could we ignore the writing on the wall? The number of kids in our Tilak Khand centre was lessening and many children now stated proudly that they had extra tuition classes ( some often give by our ex-students), and the setting up of 3 NGOs in a place where once not so long ago there was none, said it all. Our dream had come true gently but without any doubt. It was time to move to greener pastures or in our case to another slum where children and parents needed us.

Sanjay Colony was the chosen location and the availability of a small two floor jhuggi made the transition almost immediate. The new centre opened on July 5th and in just one day there were already 40 children!

Somehow we felt all grown up!

This is not a painting or a touched up photograph. It is s snapshot of our ‘class in a box’ – a.k.a as our manav kalyan creche – and was taken by a visiting friend.

What makes this class so special is that it is the initiative of two barely literate slum housewives who decided to keep this class going even when we moved out of the area. As it is a little far away from our normal beat we tend to neglect it a bit but both Seema and Sarita run it with extreme efficiency.

Most of the decorations are made with recycled objects (such as toffee wrappers) and the little ones are even taught yoga. Though this may seem common place in ‘our world’, it is remarkable as Seema on her own initiative joined some craft and other courses to gain new skills.

A true story of empowerment and one that vindicates what we stand for.

“Trying to save ecosystems has more to do with changing egosystems.” said Don Rittner

Last week a visitor from Europe shared his dilemma about choosing a new car. His main concern was carbon emissions and thus his choice a small car though he was a person who could afford the biggest on the market.

Yesterday night as we drove back from a late dinner, we were fishtailed by a speeding sports spewing smoke. The driver was obviously showing off his vehicle as he broke every rule in the book.

It is evident from the above that whereas our European friend has a deep concern for the environment, our young home lad has a long way to go. This is a sad reflection on education as and awareness as the young sports car driver was definitely from a good home.

We have been trying at pwhy to sensitize staff and children on environment issues and we even held a staff workshop on global warming, in the hope that they in turn will take on the issue in their respective classes. And the idea bore fruit as yesterday a day-long programme was held in our secondary section with debates and a painting competition.

The day was spent sharing and exchanging information and trying to find out what children living in slums could do as when one browses sites on global warming most of the remedial measures do not apply to kids in slums. Awareness is needed but is in no way sufficient. One has to give children concrete steps that they can follow. This is not an easy task as we are here faced with people who have come to cities to access new and modern amenities and are loathe to give them up.

And herein lies the challenge. The first step is undoubtedly to show them how critical matters have become and how the sheer numbers in India make it vital for us to act. The battle is far from won but it has begun.

When Kiran got admitted in an upmarket pubic school.. it was a dream come true for her family and for all those who love her. Admission woes were soon forgotten as she set of in her sparkling uniform to conquer a new world.

It would be a big challenge to see her through but her brave little family was determined to ensure that this lovely child would get the best, even if it meant a lot of sacrifices and many hurdles.

The first one came sooner than we expected. As summer holidays began and we perused the dreaded holiday homework sheets we stumbled on one that stumped us all. The class I one child was supposed to bake a cake and immortalise the event in a set of pictures that were to be pasted on the sheet.

Now cakes have percolated down to the poorest of homes in slums in the from of b’day cakes bought at the local bakery, or the packaged version available in local grocery stores but baking a cake is still an uncharted territory. Kiran’s home does not have an oven and anyway her family’s culinary expertise does not extend to baking.

On the other hand not doing the homework would entail consequences none of us would want. Hence the cake was baked in my home and the task fulfilled leaving us to wonder when and in what form would the next hurdle appear in what now seemed to be a surprise obstacle race.

This post could read as a fun one, but if one stopped and took time to think, the incident highlights once again the invisible, unmentionable and yet ever present divide that exists in our country.

I remember times when some part of the homework of my girls could not be completed for some reason or the other and how one confidently circumvented the issue with the teachers. It was easily done as both protagonists belonged to the same side of the fence. However in Kiran’s case, saying that she did not have an oven at home would be almost akin to branding her with her red hot iron.

I am sure that teacher who drafted the homework included this item as a fun project and for as long as different kinds of schools exist in our land such things will occur. It is only when we look at all the children of India in the same manner that we will be able to resolve the issue…

Don’t believe in miracles – depend on them said Laurence J Peter and that is what we have been doing for seven years now. If you need to know whether miracles exist or not,just read on.

Manu who you see in the picture used to roam the streets dishevelled, uncared for and sneered by all. Today he sits with a huge smile holding the weaving frame for his pal Shalini who is learning to make rag rugs. Manu has a peer group and even friends. He laughs and gets angry just like all of us and is slowly learning to live.

Nicola is back home with a brand new hip and a huge smile. In spite of everything being against her, she never lost hope and today she is set to make up for lost time by healing others.

Utpal’s journey from a boiling pan to a boarding school is nothing short of a miracle and as he spends his last summer holiday moments with his mom , he knows that they both have beaten all odds.

In a few weeks Mehajabi will join the rank of the 11 other kids who now have a brand new heart.

Bu these are not the only miracles that came our way. There are more. All the kids who passed their examinations with obsessive regularity; the handful of special bacchas who spend a few hours a day laughing, dancing and above all learning; young Rinky locked in her silent world who now has a job in a beauty parlour; Farzana who had failed twice and whose parents were almost at the brink of stopping her studies and who is now a class XII graduate; our motley bunch of ‘teachers’ who proved everyone wrong by doing a great job.

However all this could not have happened without the miracle of the incredible web of friends from all over the world and all walks of life who stood by, believed in us and reached out without fail each time we needed them.

Yes, project why is an endless string of miracles big and small that have dotted our lives for the past seven years and we do depend on them.

Friends often gently remind me to talk about project why particularly when tend to digress on larger issues or as was the case lately, wander into deep introspection.

Maybe the mere fact that I can indulge in the above proves that all is well at project why. But still I guess many of you may want to know more.

The picture of Anurag and Umesh says it all as it conveys better than any word I could find how pwhy is. Comfortable, at peace, happy, content, cosy, snug are some of the words that come to mind. The cool rains that broke the unbearable heat spell brought some unexpected and wondrous images like this autistic child and his cerebral palsy pal taking a break and maybe dreaming impossible dreams.

Children are slowly coming back from their summer holidays. Classes are going on as usual but I have been told that a play is also being rehearsed though what it is is a mystery. The new prep class is a joy to watch as little toddlers are now learning to sit at a table and work. The special kids are busy making paper bags and mats, and weaving rag rugs. The bigger classes are often seen playing chess or carom.

Two weeks from now school will reopen and the pressure of studies will once again be felt, but till then everyone is happy taking things easy.

She left seventeen years ago. Every year on this day I remember her; write a few words, light a lamp, place a garland on her picture, sit quietly in her favourite spot in the garden or make her favourite dish. Then everything is put back into some corner of one’s memory till the next occasion.

On the other hand my more flamboyant father became the one whose memory was celebrated in my work and she as usual took the back seat. I discovered a diary last year and that discovery was a defining moment of my existence. It shattered many images I had held on to. It raised many questions, the most important one being whether I had vindicated my mother’s sacrifice.
My answer was a letter to a dead mother.

I do not know why I chose this day to share this? It could be a sense of guilt towards one I owed so much to, and yet chose to forsake. It could also be because for the past few days I have come across many women fighting for their survival and dignity just as Kamala did.

Last year my friend Abhi decided to immortalise part of Kamala’s life in a short film entitled remembering mother, but I still remained locked in silence. But last week when I spent a morning with the women of Sahara House in their Miracle Maids programme something snapped inside. As I watched this motley bunch of ex addicts struggling to learn the ways of the world as they set out to set tables and memorise complex recipes, my mind went back to the small town girl who became and ambassador’s wife, beating all odds.

The unbearable heat of that refurbished shed where this handful of ladies toiled made me decide to get them a cooler on this special day in the hope that the breeze it blows carries with it the love and blessings of an incredible woman I called mama!

We have a new class. It is one we had to create by force majeure. Though we ourselves believe that children should not be made to study at too tender and age, sometimes noblesse oblige and you have to bow to the rule of the day.

So much to our sorrow we had to take the decision to structure our early education programme and bring in some serious work. Class I in India requires children to know have a fair amount of oral and written skills: alphabets in 2 languages – English and Hindi -, counting to 100, spelling of numbers 1 to 10 and even three letter words. Quite a handful for little kids who are barely five.

We also felt that as many of our children would be going to government run schools, it would be an asset for them to have a solid base that would be taught to them with love and patience. It was time also to graduate from the easy going atmosphere and sitting on the ground, to the first desk and chair.

We were lucky to get a little room just opposite our centre and classes began in earnest this morning under the supervision of Vinita and Pushpa a new teacher who lives next door. The first day, like all first days was a little daunting and confusing but our little preppies did us proud as they always do!

The arrival of Pritpal is a real milestone for the special section of project why. Pritpal is an occupational therapist and will work with the children every morning. This will be a quantum leap for many kids and is bound to help them have a better future.

My thoughts travel back to the day when Sylvia, a special educator, landed one winter morning in early 2001 at our doorstep. With her were 5 mentally and physically challenged kids who had lost the school they went to. It did not take us a minute to realise that we had to do something for the. That is how our special section began, on the road side, with a handful of kids and a tons of hope.

When I see that section today, I am filled with pride as it is by far our best class. We have gone a long way since that cold morning when we had nothing but our determination and faith and of course the unconditional love of these kids.

Today our special section is vibrant; it is the place I chose to go to when I feel a little blue, a little lost, a tad defeated. But all clouds are lifted as I hear the good mornings ma’am and see the smiles of each and every one urging to come and sit by them, or eager to show a new task achieved. If it is lunchtime then each one shares a bit of their lunch, even Anurag who never parts with any of his tiffin. But I am privileged, am I not?

Sometimes it is singing time, or dancing time, or jumping on the trampoline time, and all join in, even those who cannot hear or can barely walk. I have never seen such synergies, such joy and such positive energy. What is truly incredible is that this motley crew of 20 each with their own handicap never judges the other, but accepts her or him unconditionally.

They are family in the true sense of the world. It does no matter if they belong to different castes, or creed or socio-economic backgrounds. They all know what it is to be different and have borne that pain. It binds them in an incredible web of love and lust for life. This is there turf and they protect it. Those who cannot understand are not welcome. That is the only rule they have.