This painting is one of a set sold by Iride, an Italian artist, to help sustain project why. I have never met Iride and she has never visited project why. She came to know about it through a volunteer who spent a few weeks with us.

Of all the paintings that she sent, this one entitled Donna touched me the most. Somehow it depicted the sum and substance of project why: an eternal quest for answers to all disturbing questions that come our way. The painting in its evocative strokes spells hope and belief. The faceless donna represents to my mind all those still waiting for a better morrow.

Iride is also one of those wonderful souls that have reached to help project why without finding it imperative to check antecedents, balance sheets etc. She was just touched by what she heard and maybe saw through pictures and followed her heart.

Donna also symbolises all the hearts the world over who have reached out and helped us all along. I am often asked, usually by the media, where our funds come from. The answer all expect is some well defined and established entity: an organisation or institution. But that is not the case with project why and I am often at a loss to find the words to explain the source of my funds as they come from the heart something that seems to have become terribly unfamiliar in the world we live in. They ask for numbers but how can I make them understand that a tiny amount or a huge one has the same value when it comes from the heart.

Iride’s painting touched my heart!

You can see some of her other paintings here

In 2006 I had written a post about the total ignorance of most OBC parents about reservations in education. Sometime later I had highlighted he quasi impossibility for genuine cases to get the prized OBC or SC certificate and the absurdity of government forms.

Last week the Supreme Court confirmed reservations for OBCs excluding the creamy layer. Something that seemed acceptable to many but even before copies of the said judgement left the precinct of the Court a hot debate had begun about redefining the creamy layer in order onec again to protect vote banks et al!

The indubitable truth is that without a ‘proper’ definition of the creamy layer few OBCs will reach the portals of higher learning. And the debate will continue endlessly and aimlessly. No one is interested in improving government schools, containing drop out rates to ensure that deserving candidates have a chance to reach the gates of IITs and IIMs, while youngsters like Shiv will find their place in the sun.

A recent article highlights this in no uncertain terms. 90% of India’s children drop out of schools! These are figures of the HRD Ministry. And what becomes clear form this is that the first aim should be to ensure that children cross the boundaries of school. Sadly instead of cleaning up the mess existing in primary education our politicians are now busy redefining the creamy layer as the SC judgement defined the creamy layer or elite as defined in 1993 where the slab was put at annual incomes not exceeding 250 000 Rs.

The exclusion of the creamy layer did satisfy many anti reservationists but does not ensure political benefits and hence the debate will continue and the plight of children 60 years after independence will remain the same.

Saturday in the dead of night a 12 year mentally challenged girl was raped by a neighbour. A day before hat a 6 year old was raped by an acquaintance, and on he same day a 3 year old was raped by a neighbour!

Child abuse is the worst kind of crime that exists. And yet more often than not the accused get away with minor sentences while the child is left with scars that never heal. I have often asked myself what makes a man rape a child. What frustration, sick need, pervert desire makes a man commit this heinous act. It does not seem to be simply a disease as many think as the numbers are too high. There seems to be a rape an hour of not more and statistics show that over 60% are rape of minors and often many such cases go unreported. Even in this case the police registered the FIR hours later. By that time the rapist had fled.

My mind goes back to our Ghaziabad girls, many of whom were mentally challenged and had been sexually abused for years while in the care of a so called ashram. In spite of our best efforts we could not get much done. The abuser is on bail and the girls in some institution or the other where one annot even meet them.

How do we put an end to this? Are we going to allow children to be raped and abused ad infinitum. I guess this is not a vote bank and hence political parties will remain uninterested. But are we as a society doing? And how many times are we going to get away by saying: I hand my head in shame!

When is it going to stop!

What we all forget is that as Herbert Ward said child abuse casts a shadow the length of a life time.

Little Lali is just little over a month old. She was born with a rare medical condition that gave her two eyes, two mouth, one chin and one pair of ears. When you look at her picture she just looks like any child, sleeping without a care in the world.

As soon as news of her birth was heard ritual India woke up once again and heralded the reincarnation of Goddess Durga. And as the news spread religious frenzy was out at its best. And little innocent Lali became the centre of a media blitz and even war. The family started minting money! News channel fought for exclusivity, people offered money, there were even those who wanted a temple built in her name! The world wide web was buzzing about her and all kind of questions were being fired: is she one or two individuals? does she have one or two souls? Only one thing seemed to be clear. Though she seemed to be all right, having two skulls fused together makes surgical intervention impossible.

For those who want more information on Lali a search on Google is ample. This post is not intended to throw light or sensationalize Lali’s story. There is enough of that. I simply want to highlight some issues which seem to have taken a back seat amidst all this frenzy.

In India we have just ended the 9 days of worship to Durga, the Prime Goddess. This happens twice a year. People fast, go to temples, and make offerings and on the last day worship little girls. Almost three years back I had written about this very ritual in a post entitle: Why am I being worshiped today?

To be born a girl in India is not bed of roses. What awaits you is a akin to a game of Russian roulette. The number of girls killed before they are born is chilling and the policies that the Government comes up with are zany and amidst all this our little girl child simply survives.

But let us get back to Lali. One God knows how long this little endearing little soul will survive. Her plight reminds me of that of circus freaks of the XIXth century or the Elephant Man so beautifully portrayed in a sensitive David Lynch film. As a friend said maybe little Lali with two brains has exceptional qualities and intelligence. But would these ever be honed and allowed to bloom. The way things stand in India she will never attend a school, or be allowed to live the normal life of a child. Her odd appearance will always stand in the way of every step she takes. How long with the family so willing to accept her now, will continue to do so? How long with the press so eager to get their exclusivity continue to consider her TRP worthy? How long will the people flock to her home to worship her a throw few coins her way? How soon will she be forgotten? How soon will she become another medical case to experiment on? How soon will someone decide that she is not a Goddess but a demon? I have already heard such whispers.

My heart goes out to little Lali who looks so innocent and unaware of what is going on around her and wonder what plan God has for her. My heart goes out to Lali as I sit wondering what one can do to make her life simply normal.

Sadly I cannot at this moment see any solution.

Haves versus Have Nots – what is the solution? Do we have the courage to look the problem in the eye and commit time, money and energy to really think about it and solve it one step at a time? Or will be just safely jump to either extreme of ignorance/arrogance on one hand or deep, unrealistic sympathy on the other????

This was the comment posted by a friend in response to my post out in the open. This after some interesting comments we exchanged. Some of the comments were harsh I must confess, particularly when I read them the first time. But I have since long curbed my instinctive urge to react immediately and take time to read things over and over again. And then one sees things in another light altogether and this helps makes to one again make one of the now innumerable course corrections needed.

Two comments struck particularly hard.

If I was to extend your sympathy equally to all mankind a lot of human crime could be justified... I sat a long time wondering whether this could be true. Right from the outset of pwhy our effort has been towards attempting to empower people to stand on their own feet and take charge of their lives. That is why we chose to give jobs to local people, mostly unqualified, tried to hone the skills they had and show them that they could rise above their present station in life. Today over 40 people have been able to do so and not only that have been able to perform exceedingly well. My class IX drop outs are today primary teachers who ensure that all children under their care pass their examinations year after year! And our dream is to try and instill in our students the desire to go back to their place of origin with new skills and expertise and share it with others. My harangue against the wall was in no way a justification of people illegally occupying land, but against those who have allowed it to go on for decades to garner ever increasing vote banks; against those who have looked away for a the few pennies dropped in their bottomless pockets!

As far as extending sympathy equally to all mankind, that is an impossibility for any human and I am not supernal. I fully agree with that people are not born equal as my friend puts it, but at the same time all Indians are protected by a single Constitution that does give them some fundamental rights!

The other comment that struck me was: There is no doubt that India cannot be a decent, forget great country, if its children and its impoverished are not given help to rise above their limitations and earn a dignified living but allowing them to illegally occupy public property is NOT a solution…it is the kind of wishful thinking we need to avoid so we come up with more realistic, sustainable, solid answers…

This is exactly what I have been harping about for 9 years. And sadly those who are meant up to find the realistic, sustainable, solid answers have failed totally. It seems that no one has the courage to look the problem in the eye and commit time, money and energy to really think about it and solve it one step at a time?

This is evident in string of supposed solutions proffered with obsessive regularity by the law makers: a wall to solve a habitat problem, the have a girl leave her to us to solve female infanticide, designer uniforms to solve the abysmal state of government education ans so on. It is time that we as civil society reacted and made our voices heard. Just being armchair philosophers and not even moving out of it to exercise our franchise will perpetrate the state of votes for a pouch of hooch and governments that will continue their hidden and wily agendas.

India’s problems cannot be solved by a flick of a magic wand. It also needs all approaches and between extreme arrogance and unrealistic sympathy lies a middle path that tries to extend positive help and also attempts at trying to shake people out of the state of inertia they have allowed themselves to sink in.

In a land when Bhakti and Karma are both ways to reach the sublime, I guess our approach is also valid.

Once upon a time there was a young man named Manu. The Gods had not been kind to him as he was sent to earth almost 40 years ago with a fractured mind and a wobbly body. His mom like all moms did tend to this odd child with care and love and he spend his early years in security.

But the Gods intervened again and took his mother away. Manu was left to the care of two small sisters who did show him some compassion. But as all young boys he too wanted to discover the world and venture out of the four walls of his tiny dark hovel.

True the sun was bright, the winds soothing and the roads full of new things waiting to be stumbled upon. But Manu did not know that he did not look like others as he crawled on his useless legs and did not understand that beyond the sun, the wind and all natures bounty existed people who were never kind to anyone who did not look like them. But Manu’s spirit was indomitable and he set out to find out what life was.

Soon his sisters got married and the little love that could heal the day’s scorn disappeared. In its place came a daunting sister-in-law whose bards were worse than those he had to bear with. The one safe walls became threatening and Manu started spending his night roaming the streets. His drunk dad had no time for him. His clothes got tattered, his hair unruly, and is body infested with wounds. Kids threw stones at him just to hear him scream, car drivers revelled in scaring him and sometimes hit him.

Sometimes a kind soul would hurl abuses at the family and Manu was given a bath and his head was shaved. Poeple fed him as you would an animal, if we got too hungry he would rummage through garbage dumps. People would shun him. His sister in law would send him to beg at the local temple and promptly appropriate the few coins that would be in his torn pocket. Everyone would commiserate on is miserable plight and wish him to die wondering what sin he must have committed for such a life.

But he soldiered on, weathering all storms, spending nights in the bitter cold, lying alone after a severe epileptic fit, dehydrated under the scorching sun, bearing all abuse and not giving up life as if he knew that it was not yet over and that something would happen the next day. God ways are mysterious and he had a plan for him. Manu the seemingly useless, pathetic, forsaken soul had his own mission, one that still needed to be unravelled and though he could not express it, he knew he had to carry on.

Then one day someone came his way and stopped. In his eyes and the beginning of a smile she saw what she was looking for and felt that this was a blessed moment for both of them. In her mind flashed an image: Manu in his own home, having his own bed and living a life of dignity and hope. But the road to that dream was to be a long one. And all along the way many lives would be transformed. Manu’s life changed slowly. And though he was safe during the day, his nights were still spent roaming lonely streets.

Soon he had friends just like him who reached out to him. Warm meals came his way as well as a daily bath. He learnt to dance, to sing, to learn basic skills. He went for outings and birthday parties and even the movies. But the final destination seemed still a chimera. Then some time back the idea of foster care home emerged and it was with incomprehensible fervour that all worked towards its creation.

Two days back Manu had his home. A soft bed, a TV, roomies, caretakers who became pals. Everyone wondered how he would react to this new life so different from the one he had lived for years. But all fears were set aside as he spent his first night sleeping like a baby after having watched TV and eaten a warm meal. Yesterday evening Manu even took charge of his home as he ordered the evening meal of potatoes and rotis, his favourite treat and even asked to call Shamika and tell her what he had done. Like all fairy tales, this one too must end with: and he lived happily forever!

I must confess that after that telephone call, both Shamika and I wept like babies!

This picture is very special. It is a snapshot of the first breakfast shared by the inmates of our foster care programme. But is is much more than that. It is the inalienable proof that everything is possible provided you are truly committed to see it happen.

Who would have believed that someone who had lived like a beggar for years, rejected by his own family, shunned by society could one day sleep in a comfortable bed and share a meal with friends and pals.

And there is more who would have thought that a bunch of kids born with almost everything against them could one day aspire to reach any destination they chose to. This is not a moment to be proud of but a moment to be grateful for as what we are witnessing is nothing short of a miracle and miracle are not made by humans, they are of the realm of the celestial.

But miracles are fragile and heavenly beings testy. The onus rests on us to ensure that the miracle does not go awry. If it were to happen than the magic could never be recreated; huge cracks would remain and the future of innocent souls would be jeopardized.

A tall order its is. One where each one of us has to learn to rise above our own limitations, our egos, our individual ideas our likes and dislikes and work towards the commitment we have accepted with our eyes open and willingly. The situation is complex as most of these kids have heavy pasts and atavistic instincts that belong to a world where options are few and pitfalls many. Our challenge is to prepare them for a world where choices are limitless and rewarding.

Each one of us would love to spoil them, smother with love and care but that would be counterproductive and would not help them make the tough transition they have to make. And above all we all need to speak in the same language and respect the same rules as nothing is a better teacher than example.

This programme came our way not by choice but due to a series of unforeseen circumstances. But today it is a reality and gone are the times when we could still debate its validity or rationale. At best we can decide to close it once these little kids are in a boarding school and we find another similar option for Manu and Champa! But these little souls have to get our very best as towards them we have a life long commitment.

The Supreme Court yesterday upheld the reservation of 27% for OBC’s in higher institutions of learning with certain conditions. For once all political parties hailed the verdict. Not surprising as elections are around the corner and OBC’s form a large chunk of the electorate. And not surprising that debates have begun about the stipulated conditions: the creamy layer that has been excluded is now up for revision to protect vested interests!

I have often written about the reservation issue and to my mind the situation sadly remains unchanged on the ground. I am not for or against reservation I just want every child to get his or her place in the sun.

The reservation issue will never die unless we take steps to end it and find ways that will help deprived children step into a better world. The plight of children in today’s India is a lamentable an no one seems to be interested in doing anything for the very children who are supposed to reach the portals of high learning one day thanks to the very judgement pronounced yesterday. They are actually being shut behind shameful walls as they seem to disturb those sitting on the other side of the till recently an invisible wall. What we are witnessing is a further way of dividing an already fractured society. The real issues seem to be forgotten as each one is striving to save his own place in the sun.

In the light of all this the last shred of doubt about the validity and rationale of our new programme ,that still has not found a name to define its essence, vanishes once for all. It is not complex and unrealisable laws that will allow children from deprived homes to break the circle of hopelessness in which they are locked but simple and brave attempts like these. It is we renewed hope and determination that we take the first step towards changing four tiny lives.

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

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

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

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

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

Welcome back Preeti!

I have waged a war against teaching shops and as often pleaded for well run common neighborhood schools. I have watched over the years the desperate of parents rich or poor to get their children admitted in schools and have raged against the proliferation of private schools in poor neighborhoods that maybe a tad better than government schools but are still a far cry from education should be.

However once again my lofty ideas and ideals were given a rude shock when I read an article in a daily about the imminent closure of 1000 unrecognised schools, many in the very lanes we work in that cater to what is know as EWS – economic weaker sections -. The article presents both sides of the coin. Whereas the petitioner says Cramming students into a small space in dangerous environments and offering a sub-standard education are what we are fighting against. What about child rights? an activist retorts education in a substandard classroom is better than no education at all. Inflicting regularisation will deprive students of even basic education, homes in slums are not safe, and we are not expecting them to become doctors or lawyers.”

Where will students go when the schools close down?” adds another voice. “It can’t be denied that these schools fill a gap the government’s failing to meet”. The simplistic solution proffered is that the kids will be adjusted in government run schools.

Some years back, when I was still a neophyte and still starry eyed and naive,I would have whopped with joy at the news of teaching shops being closed as at that time I too felt that the conditions of some of these schools were abysmal and intolerable. In those days I had not yet discovered the reality of government run schools! But as years went by my lofty ideas were rudely shaken as the reality of such schools. became apparent: children in class IV unable to read or write, no toilets, no desks, no teachers only one constant – corporal punishment. AS we slowly began our after school support – teaching as well as confidence building – the same children considered useless began not only passing but getting better marks. How can I forget the young girl who came after failing class VII thrice and went on to secure the 11th position in Delhi in class XII!

True that some of the teaching shops that are facing closure are run in dreadful conditions, and many are undoubtedly money making operations, but they do take in children of migrant populations who do not have any official documents to prove their identity, thus giving these children a go at education.

Last week I was appalled to find out that a woman who comes to our women centre had put her 3 children in a private school at the cost of over 800 rs a month though her family is extremely poor. I came to know that he reason for doing so was that the kids born in a remote village did not have a birth certificate and thus has been refused admission in the local municipal school. She did not know that a simple affidavit would have solved the issue.

If the 10 000 schools are shut I wonder where the children will go. Municipal and government schools are already overcrowded and anyway barely function. Once again we are face with a court order population of that does not take into consideration the reality on the ground. Walls around slums do not solve the habitat problem, closure of schools does not solve the education problem. The government has to start looking at running proper schools that can cater to the growing polulation of Delhi or find ways of reversing migration by improving conditions in the place of origin of such people.

When we began pwhy, we were not aware of the conditions of schools. We had wanted to create a space for children where they could come after school and spend constructive time. Today our main task is to ensure that they pass their examinations and do not drop out. Like everything else in India it seems that the poor have been let down, forgotten, marginalised. Yet they are n intrinsic part of society and protected by the same Constitution. It is time we started bridging the gap between the two Indias.

In April 2005 a young Pinky got married against her parents wishes. Like many young girls she had fallen in love and love as we all know is blind! The marriage was celebrated by her fiance’s family in a temple in the presence of some friends.

Pinky had a serious fall accidentally in September 2005 after a domestic quarrel and seriously injured her backbone. She was advised complete bed rest but did not follow medical advise and conceived a few months later and gave birth to a little boy in December 2006. Her husband continued his violent beatings Her husband had a history of violence and fits of rage, something the young girl did not know. In September 2005 after a domestic notwithstanding her medical condition, pregnancy or motherhood. Over time Pinky developed a defective spinal condition and a hunchback and is in constant pain. A corrective surgery could help her regain her health but her family is too poor for the whopping 70 K required.

Despite the protection offered by her unmarried sisters in law, the man continues to harass his wife and sisters and mentally torments them. Under the influence of alcohol he beats his wife and attacks the sisters when they try and protect her. he also threatened to kill her.

This is Pinky’s story. But is also the story of many women across India, women who suffer in silence and often die without a murmur being heard. There are laws meant to protect them but often they are unaware of these or worse the law keepers become predators and society is always ready to blame them.

We would like to help Pinky regain her health and have the operation she so badly needs to bring up her child. We have also filed a complaint with the help of our lawyer and hope we can beat the system. But this is just one case and one solution. It is time something was done to truly protect hapless and helpless women.

Do what you can, with what you have, where you are.
These words said many years ago by Theodore Roosevelt sprung to my mind as I got the news yesterday that once again all the pwhy children had passed their examinations and been promoted to the next class.

I felt myself swell with pride. They had done it again these incredible kids that every one had given up on: their parents, their school teachers and society itself. Many had come to us as failures. In some cases we had to fight with parents wanting them to stop their studies. In other cases they has been branded as useless and gone cases. But for us every child can succeed, you only have to discover the right way.

Do what you can, with what you have, where you are. My kids did just that! They do not have much. In some cases their homes are dark hovels, in others noisy rooms with no place to study. Our classes or what goes by that name are anything between a hot cramped room, a reclaimed garbage dump, a inclement terrace. Yet they are all infused with a spirit no one can beat. The determination of the children, the perseverance of the teachers and the passion of pwhy make a heady cocktail that can only spell success.

But the euphoria was short lived. Pwhy is a tiny island of hope in a terrifying sea where children get the rawest of deals. Not a day goes by without some news item that proves this point. Yesterday a child gets his face scarred for eating a biscuit, a class VIII student hangs himself because his results are not up to the mark. Politicians proffer empty words while the killer of a young girl remain faceless. A child lies unconscious after being being thrashed by his school principal. And the list goes on…

Abuse against children continues in spite of the media blitz, of the empty reassurance of politicians and administrators, in spite of the endless laws aimed at protecting them. When will all this end? Have we all lost our conscience and heart? Have we as civil society abdicated our right to be?

Will someone answer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Among the very serious questions fielded at me yesterday was the oft stated one about who would take over pwhy. Till date the question was asked by all and sundry buy yesterday it was raised by someone I hold in high esteem ans hence required an honest and well thought answer.

For a long time I have know that this is one issue that had to be addressed and resolved. The question of sustainability has kept me awake many a night and has troubled be many a times. It is very early that we realised that the crux of the matter lay in our ability to become sustainable and free of constantly having to sing for our supper each and every day. True that for project why to live on beyond my days on this planet two essential things were required: a committed team who would see with their heart to do the work on the field and an entity to provide the elusive supper!

The former was easily done. The later was easier said than done. The fund sustainability issue went through many trials and failures till slowly a nebulous idea emerged that of planet why and unlike others each time one thought of it the image became clearer and clearer. Today planet why is but a few hurdles away and it will come to be for all the right reasons.

So when once again the question about who would take over pwhy came my way again, I realised that it would simply be planet why. Strange? But do bear with me for a while. Unlike pwhy that needs to be fed every day, planet why has within it the ability to make its own supper and also provide many suppers to other pwhy activities thus becoming the lifeline of pwhy a task till now done by one single individual and thus making pwhy look extremely fragile and vulnerable.

But that is not all. Unlike other possible sustainability options, planet why is imbued with the spirit of pwhy. It is just not a commercial activity, but one that offers a haven to many lost souls, one that provides training and work possibilities to pwhy alumni, one that enables us to expand our activities and reach out to new children and empower new communities. But above all it is one that has immense potential of growth and thus becomes a constant challenge to those who will steer it and who will then hold their destiny in their won hands.

What better inheritor could I have found?

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

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

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

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

It was indeed a very special day.

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

And that too for more reasons than one!

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

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

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

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

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

Yesterday a ex-volunteer dropped by. He had spent a month a year back doing his internship with us. Since he has obtained his degree from a foreign university and secured a prized job in a high profile NGO. He is part of the fund raising team of that organisation.

The NGO is question is steered by a celebrity and hence has a fair amount of celebrities associated to it. It somehow seems politically correct in today’s day and age to be associated to a charity. Charities now are businesses or a bizMess, something I discovered many moons ago. It is not a matter of doing something for someone, but to be seen doing something for someone.

My one rupee a day programme failed because of a lack of understanding or was it simply because I did not find a celebrity to champion it? Anyway it was just a battle lost, the war is still on.

Coming back to the different funding options shared by our friend, I must confess that each one seemed inadequate and totally out of sync with the spirit of pwhy that I value and defend. Some were too onerous, others unprincipled. I was loathe to spend donor’s money on PR blitz or similar issues. And did they really ensure long term sustainability or were just once again short term options needing to be reinvented each year at abysmal cost.

That was not the pwhy way. We would continue our virtual and new tech begging till we found the right option: one that would dovetail into our work and enable it to grow and prosper. One that would include all those who are the heart and soul of pwhy.

I am now convinced more than ever that planet why has to happen. It is the only way to ensure that it is the pwhy team and beneficiaries themselves who steer their fund raising once the planet why is a reality. It thus becomes their fight their responsibility and their challenge and their achievement.

So help me God!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

share some of the birthday mood here

Is it wrong to help those who are in need of others assistance? was the heart wrenching question a little girl asked softly in a mail that dropped in my inbox.

Natasha and her little family had read the article about pwhy that had appeared in a Singapore paper almost two years ago. They wrote wonderful words of support and set out to collect books for us the children and sent them to us. Then, as it often happens, there was no contact.

Then came a mail from the little girl now 11. I reproduced it as it was written:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mea culpa!

It is time to look ahead … easier said than done particularly at a time when our vision has been clouded by recent events, and our dreams obscured by the weight of unforeseen worries. I am reminded of the words of Florence Scovel Shinn: Every great work, every big accomplishment, has been brought into manifestation through holding to the vision, and often just before the big achievement, comes apparent failure and discouragement.

It is imperative and essential that we at project why hold on to our vision even if at this particular moment in time things, to say the least, look bleak. It would be easy to throw up our hands and be satisfied to muddle on as best we can. I presume this would be an acceptable option if all we were thinking of was just our limited selves. But that is not the case. Any failing on our part will jeopardize too many dreams.

It is time to look ahead.

We are faced with the daunting task of ensuring that our day-to-day work goes on unhindered and at the same time garner resources for our new dream. In other words we need to raise a substantial or rather astronomical amount of funds and our track record is to say the least rather pitiful. True we are a good hand-to-mouth organisation and have always met our needs thanks to great friends and well wishers. However this will not do to meet what lies ahead.

The past few days have been spent brainstorming. The challenge: find new ways of fund raising, ways that would go beyond crisis management and would not depend on one individual. Ideas are being debated passionately and we await the results with bated breath.

I decided to take a trip down memory lane and review our past efforts, as to many, we may look like an organisation that never pondered on the issue of long time funding. I had almost forgotten our cloth bags, our chocolates, our soap, our jewels and all else, all sacrificed to a variety of alters. I had even forgotten the passion with which I had tried, sadly in vain, to push my one rupee-a-day-dream, one that sat on our site for along time but found few takers. I remember how elated I felt when after receiving an award, I had hoped that this may perhaps bring the dream closer, but soon realised that people had moved on to greener pastures. And yet how could one give up. New ways had to be found, new battles won. We had to become sustainable. And slowly planet why was conceived as perhaps the way to solve an issue that had been disturbing us for a long time….

The trip down memory lane was an eye opener. We are still faced with the challenge of ensuring that project why lives on. That is it is freed from the shackles of being dependent on one or a set of individuals. The one rupee option is one side of the coin, planet why the other.

I was recently given John Wood’s book that outlines the long term vision of Room to Read. I pondered over it a long tome after turning the last page. Would it be possible for us to come up with a similar funding pattern. Sadly no! Unlike RtR we do not have tangible options that can be replicated by quantum leaps. Buildings that can bear names. And though we are in a land that boasts of perhaps one of the largest number of rich people, we are still in our infancy when it comes to parting with a few pennies for a less fortunate soul. My mind goes back to the day or rather night when we needed money for one of our broken hearts. I was at a party hosted by a ‘friend’ and where most of the guests were ‘rich’. Still naive and unworldly, I interrupted the revelry and asked all present to part with whatever they had in their wallets to save this child. Needless to say no one came forward.

Yes we have been blessed by the number of kind hearted people the world over who have always come forward when we have sought their help and they are the ones who have made pwhy the vibrant and beautiful reality it is. But we also know that this funding model is fragile and would not withstand the test of time.

Looking ahead, what still stands in my mind as a possible way out is our planet why vision, no matter how battered it may look at this moment. It is one that can take care of our tiny yet critical responsibilities while allowing us to continue our work. It is one that can allow Manu and Champa to grow old with dignity and surrounded by love, one that can shelter any child or women in need. Our work in many ways remains intangible. No extra buildings to bear testimony of the coin received and yet for us it is invaluable.

I would be thrilled if someone could show me a way to the yet elusive but needed option to secure our morrows. I am still looking

Little Pooja’s demise has stirred up a host of questions, all seeking answers and most sadly finding none. Once again what perturbed me the most was the total absence of dignity in dealing with the mortal remains of a child particularly in a land where rituals seem to rule life’s every moment. Yet when it comes to a child, they become disturbingly absent.

Everyone has a right to live and die with dignity and yet dignity is something we are so reluctant to give to another as if the very act of giving required its share of arrogance.

Somerset Maugham said: It is not wealth one asks for, but just enough to preserve one’s dignity, to work unhampered, to be generous, frank and independent. Pooja’s death was a poignant reminder of the catch word we all seem to forget: dignity. I too find myself in the wrong. Was it not the total lack of dignity in Manu’s life that moved me enough to set up pwhy? And is it not dignity that is the real albeit intuitive motivation for planet why? When and why did dignity get sacrificed at the alter of sustainability and other supposedly more commercially viable notions? Another why that needs to be answered.

Little Pooja’s death brought back to life with deafening silence the real reason of planet why: a place where anyone can preserve his or her dignity be it a Manu or a Pooja.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Life is made up, not of great sacrifices or duties, but of little things, in which smiles, and kindnesses, and small obligations, given habitually, are what win and preserve the heart and secure comfort” Humphrey Davy

The hectic and almost manic activity that seemed to have pervaded pwhy in the past weeks, may have led some to believe that we had lost sight of who and what we really are. Our normally placid ways were hijacked, albeit for a moment, by a dream that seemed within reach. Yet life went on a pwhy as it always does and nothing had really changed. Our heart was still in the right place and our eyes wide open.

Little Pooja who at this moment is battling for life in a hospital is one of our students at Okhla. She was just one of many: a happy child that came to class with touching regularity. A few days back she fell sick. Her mother took her to the local doctor but to no avail. She went from bad to worse.

Pooja’s mom is not her real mother. She was abandoned by her birth mother who wanted to make her life with another man. Her natural father is an addict gambler and womaniser. A rag picker woman gave her shelter and ‘adopted’ her but her extreme poverty comes in the way of her heart of gold. We took Pooja to the hospital where we were told hat she needed to be transfused. Two of our teachers promptly offered to donate blood. As I write these words, Pooja is fighting to live, surrounded by new friends and well wishers.

One cannot but wonder what lies in store for littlePooja. The plight of the girl child in this land is know to all. Where they given the choice, would little girls accept to come into this world? It is bad enough to be a girl but one that is deprived of the protection of a real family and condemned to poverty the future has little to offer. Pooja may come out of this ordeal, but may others await her.

Many have been critical of the approach we have adopted at pwhy as it does defeat logic. yet if we were to start all over, I know we would do it in exactly the same way. We may not have answers to all the problems that plague our society but we are not in the business of changing the world. We simply try to the best of our ability to solve the ones that come our way.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As I downloaded the day’s pictures I came across this one. It is our own little Kiran having lunch at pwhy on one of her rare days off from school. Kiran is special to us as she was born just when pwhy began. She grew with us and became an integral part of our lives.

She is an exceptional child in more ways than one and has often delighted us with her own brand of logic: bet it her own type of English or her little pearls of wisdom.

Kiran spent the first years of her life either being carried around practically where ever I went, or as she grew older in the special section which she somehow preferred to the creche! Slowly but surely an incredible bond was created between this little girl and the kids in the special section notwithstanding their age. Kiran is now in school but her ties with her pals have gone stronger. She spends all her off days and holidays with them and often turns teacher for the day!

Kiran goes to an upmarket school now as her humble family feels that it will open new doors for her. She is slowly learning about the unfortunate divides that exist in our society and expresses them in her own candid ways, and deals with them with a little help from us. But Kiran has never felt the need to alienate one life for the other. She is equally at easy with the kids in her street as she is with her school pals and finds time for her buddies too. She flits comfortably from loud Hindi slang, to barely audible English to sign language when communicating with her hearing impaired friends.

The above post is my answer to a doubt recently voiced about the wisdom of a new project we have launched at the behest of a well wisher. Sadly these apprehensions stem out from the attitude of potential donors, something I had foreseen and expressed at a time when things were still being debated. Helping children break social barriers is anathema to many. What is pitiful is that no one will accept this reality. The blame will be squarely put on the tiny shoulders of the potential beneficiary with supercilious ease.

I am not endowed with the gift of divination and cannot see into the future. Yet I am reasonably certain that Kiran and any other child who is given a chance, will be an asset and not a liability to society. It is also true that all children given the same chance may not turn out to be exceptional. Unless we give a reasonable chance to this project, we will never know what truly happens.

New ideas, specially those that rock the boat never find takers. Yet they are the ones that bring about the change we all want to see and somehow once again in the life of pwhy we find ourselves faced with a new challenge we know we have to take on with courage and determination.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The baffling judgement pronounced by a local court yesterday reinforced once again the vulnerability of children in India. A little girl allegedly raped by her own father was sent back to live with him as the man was acquitted because the key witnesses (her mother and sister) turned hostile.

At the time of the rape she was 4, today she is 7. I cannot begin to think what goes on in her tiny mind and am at a loss to picture the consequences that this will have on her tomorrows. This tender soul has been raped not only by her father but by all those she could trust, her mother, her sister and above all the entire system ostensibly created to protect her: society with all its trimmings: police, legal system and what not.

What is galling and frightening are the words pronounced by the judge: The acquittal in this case is painful as a blossoming child is alleged to have been ravished by her own father. But unfortunately her mother and sister turned hostile. But what is disturbing apart from the acquittal is the fact that the victim may have to live under the same roof and in the same hands of the accused.

Is justice blind to this point?

Even if one was to play Devil’s Advocate there is not much one could proffer. The mother was vulnerable in a society that is ruthless to one who dares go against her husband. The sister had no option but say what she was told to. The mother alone could not have brought up the children alone. The judge had to go by the book and so on.

And in all this the little child was forgotten and had no one to stand by her and protect her. My mind goes back to one of our students who had been raped by a neighbour when she was 4. The man was caught, did a stint in jail and came out an resumed his life. The girl grew up and became a teenager but her past followed her: she was branded a bad girl and no one talked or played with her as she had once had been raped, never mind if she was barely 4 at the time.

My heart goes out to this little child whose childhood has been ravished and who stands helpless and alone.