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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Today is November 29th.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Delhi is slowly limping back to normal after a fortnight of festival and festivities. The air is gradually clearing up and the the crackers blasts are now sporadic though as ear shattering as ever. The roads on the morning after Diwali were a silent but shocking witness of the amount of hard earned money that went up in smoke and din.

There are many reasons assigned to the lore of bursting crackers on Diwali night. It is even said that that this was done to kill insects that abound after the rainy season! But today the smoke they create seems to be killing humans and not insects!

The question we are justified to ask is how does one alter or redefine mores and traditions that have gone out of sync with reality? Or rather who is empowered to do this. Religious heads? Civil society? Enlightened individuals?

Festival times is always one that disturbs me as it is one that makes us aware of the terrible and often lethal stranglehold of religious diktats. And nothing is more disquieting as the poor trying to find ways to acquire costly goodies to propitiate the gods even though their children go hungry. The belief that all hell will come loose if one fails to do so is what seems to guide this irrational behaviour.

Mores and traditions are so deeply ingrained into our lives that no matter what how hard one tries, they are difficult to dislodge. R has been working at pwhy for many years now. His daughter J has been our student since and is now in class X. She is a bright 16 year old who was all set to finish school. Last week her fate was sealed as her family found a suitable match and decided to get her married. As is always the case, her opinion was never sought. The deal was clinched and she remained a mute spectator watching helplessly as all her dreams were shattered one by one. J wanted to be a teacher! And I too stood helpless as my words fell on deaf ears: the adversary was too strong: one voice against an eternity of praxis.

My heart went out to this young girl and I silently petitioned all the gods in heaven to protect this child in years to come. More so as just last week we had to deal with another set of broken dreams. P, one of our young teachers recently married sought our help in resolving her sad plight: her husband now working for a software company and having a new set of friends found her unattractive and not up to the mark. What she wanted was to save her marriage. She like most Indian women, would not even think of leaving him though she is a well educated girl.

Traditions are so deeply embedded in our lives that the very thought of changing them is anathema. People are willing to agree with what you say till it touches their own lives. The way out is not easy, and yet it needs to be found.

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

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

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

The debate is endless.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Days passed…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

V is a beautiful autistic girl. I knew her when she was just a child some 8 years ago when her shrill voice used to echo in my home when she and her parents came visiting. Her repetitive blabber and her endearing ways touched many a heart and I use to call her princess.

Then life took its turn and we lost touch though I often remembered the lovely child.

Yesterday her father called out of the blue and gave us the shocking news that V had a tumour and was to be operated upon this week. What was heart rendering was the love of this father, as he sat and leafed through the yellowed pages of his diary looking for the numbers of all those who at one time or another had touched V’s life. His message was simple: pray for her!

V’a parent’s are extraordinary. Both their children are autistic but they never let that come in the way of their love and pride. A beacon for all parents who have special children.

It has been 8 years since pwhy began and it has been 8 years since I have spent almost every waking moment worrying about funding and devising ways to meet the monthly requirement to keep project why alive.

Right from day one I knew that we had to one day become self sustainable though one did not quite know how this would be achieved. Along the way we tried out a plethora of ideas, each one seeming to be at the some time or the other the right one! We embarked on many ideas from pots and bags to bio diesel plant nurseries via chocolates. But each though successfully implemented never met the required target of sustainability.

And as each idea failed, the saga of funding became more demanding as demands increased each day. It became a real challenge to find the required amount and it was anever ending race that I still run. Some time back, one struck upon the idea of hospitality as a possible sustainability option and though the idea was daunting, it seemed to be one that refused to go away, no matter which way we looked at it.

As luck would have it, a volunteer came by project why last month and was to become a catalyst in our quest for sustainability. Barbara was not only a dynamic volunter but turned out to be the pioneer of social entreprise in the UK. As we got to know each other better and shared thoughts and dreams, she introduced me to the idea of social enterprise and showed me how our idea of planet why fitted within it. It was heartwarming to feel that one was one the right rack and that panet why was actually a social enterprise.

This of course strengthened our resolve to see that planet why becomes a reality.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The baby factory that was exposed in another now famous sting operation looked like a horror movie. Young minor girls from poor states brought to Delhi and then made to produce babies that were then sold! The reason for this is two-fold: the abject poverty on one hand and the draconian adoption laws on the other. This makes a heady cocktail for greedy predators always looking for a quick buck.

The fabricated baby was thus sold for a mere 10 000 Rs. The new parents even got a birth certificate with their names as parents making the deal as perfect as possible. Wonder how much the poor natural mother got after every one had taken its pound of flesh. And wonder what becomes of her after she produced one or x babies.

So many questions come to mind when one hears about this terrible tale. But the ones that linger on are those that touch the girl. Motherhood is sacred to every woman, no matter how poor she is and no one has the right to rob or appropriate itself this experience . The nine months one carries a child in one’s womb establish a bond that is almost visceral. The young girl who set out on a journey of hope could not have imagined in her wildest nightmare that this is the price she would be asked to pay for a better life.

The perpetrators of such a crime should be punished in the most draconian way possible but knowing our legal system that will not be so.