And the combat ceased, for want of combatants.
Le Cid (IV, 3).

These words from a play long forgotten sprung to my mind this morning. Live every child put through the French system. Corneille is a must and often the play selected is Le Cid, where a tragic hero finds himself caught between his love and his duty as a result of a series of events outside his control. One is reminded of the doubting Arjuna in the beginning of the Mahabharata.

Both are compelled to follow their duty and fight someone dear. In the case of the French hero, the battle ends as for want of combatants!

I find myself in much in a similar situation where a series of events seem to have snowballed pushing me inside a labyrinth I cannot find the exit of. What makes it worse is that the enemy is invisible but powerful using simple minds as Machiavellian weapons.

Nowhere does the law say that one cannot terminate someone’s service. There must be hordes of people having lost jobs for various reasons, and none of them seem to have been meat for shady Trade Unions as these as well as the labour inspectors are well fed by factory owners and other employers who break every law with impunity.

I find it strange that a tiny organisation, who pays minimum wages as per law, and goes beyond what is expected to be present when people are in need, finds itself accused of vile and reprehensible things at every step. How can we be a danger to anyone, or are politicians and slum lords scared of the awareness we spread?

From providing women, to pocketing funds, I have done it all. I wish I had the wisdom and the ability to laugh it off, but pwhy is a child I have created with love and hardwork, possibly the best things i have done in my life, and I cannot distance myself.

Sometimes I think of locking it up but I know that this is exactly what my detractors want. But when I imagine, even for an instant, pwhy closed I realise that it will mean shattering many dreams, dreams you see in the picture above: young girls will drop out of school, babies will be back on the street, manu will not have any playmates, nasreen will not be able to dance to celebrate Independence day, and young Sunil will have to beat iron all his life.

Many may say: so what, there are millions like them ? My answer is simply, yes but if millions like us took the first step then things may change. Some of my staff, feeling extremely dejected this morning, asked me why were such things happening. I just answered that it was simply a micro reflection of the macro reality of India, and it was imperative to set the micros right so that the macro can change.

Our battle cannot cease, we are its combatants and everyone who has believed and supported us. If it ceases, that it mean that there is no hope for a better tomorrow. The enemy has to be worn down and won over. And if you ask why, then my answer is simple: Manu cannot go back to begging on the streets, his body infested by maggots, Nasreen has to dance at every celebration and Sunil must have a choice in life.

This combat will continue, even it there is only one combatant.

I often wonder who are the present heroes that the children of India can look up to and want to model one’s self on. The ones that are often cited are jaded or otherworldly.

We live in times when all we hear about is violence steeped in the widest variety of sauces. Our so called leaders are busy fulfilling their dubious agendas, or filing their pockets, their bureaucratic acolytes in tow.

People are murdered in crowded rooms but the state prosecutor cannot find a witness as the so called guardians a law are busy perfecting the art of covering up.

When we were young there were many we wanted to emulate: our teachers, often being the first choice. Today students beat up teachers to death in public, and no one stands up for a dead colleague. This is the India we live in, one where everyone runs scared.. or almost every one as when you are about to give up all hope comes by a simple faceless Indian, a barely literate peon who rises above everyone and conquers his fear and does the right thing though he knows that he may lose his life.

Komal Singh Senger a peon in the college where the sordid incident took place did not succumb to fear and came out to tell the truth and identify the culprits. he is of course stunned by the inertia of his senior educated colleagues and says: Because they have lost all integrity. It’s a shame that they continue in this profession, all of them should be shifted out everybody should be shifted out. Everybody from the Principal to the entire college staff who are scared to speak. If they cannot speak out for their own colleague, there is no doubt that no one will protect me either.he goes a step further when refusing monetary sops to buy his silence he adds: Yes, I was offered money. They said they would marry off my daughters and bear the expenses. But I don’t care. They will get married when the time is right. I did not give birth to them thinking that such people would relieve me of my responsibilities. Why should I take money from them?

It is true that he has been given police protection but we all know the strength of two constables in the face of those who are trying to protect the culprits. One can only hope that this true Indian will be protected. It becomes incumbent on all self respecting Indians to ensure his safety. Were anything to happen to him than all that is honourable and good would be lost forever and we would become a land of people ruled by fear.

Sengar is someone that every child should know about as he vindicates the stand that integrity and righteousness does not come with money or power, but lies within everyone irrespective of his origin. he is a man who could not see injustice and stood by what he believed to be right.

We salute Komal Sigh Senger, a true Indian!

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The picture is a little hazy, just like the dreams these kids dare to dream…maybe it is better that way.

These are children celebrating Independence day 2006. It was their decision, their planning and they even invited to local SHO, Mr Khan who always makes it a point to come.
They sang patriotic songs and spoke about freedom and what it meant to them. It is with pride that they hoisted the national tricolour and saluted it, their eyes looking up with hope and barely formulated dreams.

Most of them are OBCs or belong to some reserved category and yet not one of them knows it, let alone what it means and how it can change their lives. Most of them did not even go to school when pwhy decided to clean up a garbage dump and start its work. Today most of them have integrated school and some even topped their class. Suddenly the dreams seem less hazy.. or so they believe with their tiny hearts..

When I see these kids and realise how they trust us, I am at a total loss. The reality that they will grow up to seems bleak if not black! The protection that was so carefully crafted by those who wrote our constitution got hijacked without their knowledge and remodelled to suit other interests by the very people who should have guarded them. These kids will have their dreams shattered one by one at some stage or the other, it is is just a calamity waiting to happen.

As I watched students being doused by water guns in one of the anti quota rallies, I somehow felt that they may not have protested had children like the ones in the picture been the beneficiaries. But to reach that door, they have to walk passed many that still remain shut. The portals of the primary schools, the gates of the secondary one and then the entrance to higher education.

One does not need to be a rocket scientist to see the game Machiavellian game being played. The vested interests will ensure the loyalty of their vote banks while also perpetrating their illiteracy and hence their manipulability and all will be well in independent India where children of lesser gods have no voice.

I wonder what those like Gandhi or even simple people like my mother, who decided not to marry unless her land was free so that her child would not be a slave to the British would say?

Sixty years down the line, Indian children are still slaves: slaves to the greed of others, slaves to hidden agendas and much more. The Right to Education Bill lies unattended, dismissed, sent off to states whereas the bill to raise MPs was passed without a murmur.

That is the state of India, a tale of unkept and hijacked promises

A well rated TV channel has been airing dramatic pictures of instances of child labour, and we all agree that child labour should be banned as it goes against the essence of human dignity.

Then why have I been so disturbed by some of the stories and in particular the one of the little Mania?

This little child has nowhere to go if he stops working at his dhaba. His whole world will crash. His huge deformity will bring endless taunts and without his work he will have no shelter, no food and not even his surrogate family.

There are many many Manias who will suddenly find themselves alone and lost. Mania did want to study but circumstances shattered his dreams and though he has a right to education enshrined in a constitutional amendement, the law executors cannot find the money to make sure it gets to the likes of him.

True child labour should be abolished, but what are you going to replace it with particularly for children who have no homes to go back to, or whose parents can barely feed the siblings that are still there.

My work on the field for the last six years has taught me that things are not quite how they look and making laws without keeping the human factor in mind is more dangerous than the prevalent situation, however abysmal. Kids like mania will roam streets, steal to feed their hunger pangs and then find themselves branded as thiefs or bad elements. The number of working children is staggering, and a month down the line when the ban comes in force they will have nowhere to go.

Has anyone thought of mechanisms to get them back home, if home they have, or to give them a safe shelter and three meals a day; are there schools where they can learn or does the powers that be expect small organisations to do the job while they bask in the glory of having passed a great social law. Organisations like us are constantly trying to survive and prove that we are not crooks. But we also are the ones who open our hearts and meagre resources to anyone who is hurting. But how much can we do?

And who will bell the cats a.k.a the professional, well educated, well connected people who employ so many children in their homes and sometimes treat them in disgraceful and terrible ways while nodding their heads in public places and parties while someone disparages the practice of child domestic servants.

And last of all, has anyone looked into the number of little children just a walk away from where we sit comfortably who are taken out of school to look after their siblings while both parents work, maybe to build that extra room we need?

mybe little mania will find someone after his national TV debut, but what about the other little manias who can barely comprehend what awaits them.

Away from the petty problems that we are facing with misguided staff and our plethora of ‘well-wishers’, little Deepak fights his valiant battle vindicating thereby the raison d’être of project why.

His journey has not been easy. What should have been a simple heart surgery, turned to be, once again because of external adult games, a battle for life. The wrong doings of a quack lead to his heart stopping and his having to be revived, a true code blue, just as in movies! Then a total strike while he was in hospital resulted in an abdominal abscess that took over a month to heal.

he came visiting today, a little disoriented and very tired, but two days from now he will be admitted again and we hope that the much needed surgery will finally happen.

To me this braveheart’s battle is almost the sign from above that i needed to find in me the strength to carry on. I must confess there are moments when one wonders why one tried to do something positive in a world that abhors people who do so. Why does one have to prove at every turn that one is honest, sincere … Even an accused is presumed innocent till proved guilty, but no so in the case of people just trying to make a difference.

I get emails asking me how does one know whether a person is genuine or fake.. and frankly I do not know the answer. But I know that if I give up then there maybe another deepak somewhere who would lose his battle without a fight.

Many moons ago, when we were in our early teens, one of our favourite pastime was to dial random numbers on the phone in the hope of catching some young man and enganging in silly conversations.. This was often done with your best friend in tow and one quickly slammed the reciever down the moment things went a bit out of hand..

Those were the days when phones were still archaic and no one could trace the number.. and often one did not even rememeber it to dial again…

That was in the early sixties

Today we have the situation revisited version 2006.. but much ihas changed. It is not young giggly adolescents who are engaging in this inane game, but women with grown children. This is the direct result of the proliferation of cheap cellphones that have invaded the slums of India, where women married often without their consent at a very young age and propelled into motherhood, are suddenly finding a way to express a seemingly harmless repressed sexuality by dialling numbers and engaging in flirtatious conversations.. but these get out of hand as numbers are recorded and then they come sheepishly seeking help as their being found out would spell disatesr in their conservative homes..

One comes to their rescue but one is aware of the time bomb that is ticking away as this is happening in a society which has no pity or mercy for women.

we read about farmers committing suicide because of their inability to pay back their loans.. we read about children taking their tender lives because they cannot meet the required standards some insensitive system created..

i have been watching in silent horror another monster lurking and waiting patiently for its pound of flesh and to borrow the title of a jefferson airplane song, let us call it: plastic fantastic lover.

or simply the credit card…

The multinationals were quick to see the immense potential of the other India and thus we have pouches of every imaginable product: from shampoos, to detergent, to shaving foam, to tomato ketchup.. never mind the load on the environment..

Then came the credit card which till date is often used for purchases such as motorbikes, or other r items.. but the day is not far when the simple folk realise that they can purchase everything with the swipe of a card: food, clothes, and other consummables. Whreas bank can recover bikes and TVs, disaster will hit when people find themselves in a debt stranglehold… and the ensuing infernal spiral..

The local moneylender does charge the outrageous 10% a month, but often after 2 to 3 years, once he has recovered his principal and a fair amount of interest, he forgets about you and goes looking for other fish.. but the plastic fantastic lover is heartless, merciless and will chase you till the end..

One is helpless.. maybe that is the price to pay in the new economic scenario we have embraced, but what a price

For some time no I have been getting messages, some veiled, some quite direct, some even harsh about what would happen to pwhy where I to die.. let me set everyone ones mind at rest by saying that it is something i myself have been thinking of..

It is true that I have carried pwhy on my shoulders from that time the idea took seed in my mind. many reasons guided my decision and I will clarify some of them in later posts.

pwhy was is my child, one that I conceived, carried and gave birth to, and like any child it gave him moments of pure joy and deep despair. Today it has grown and I can feel the rebellion in the eyes and ways of many who are rearing to do it they way.. As every parent suffering from acute bouts of over protectiveness I have tried to hold on, but now time has come to let the nestling fly, though I can foresee many falls..

pwhy has a sound team capable of handling all administrative day-to-day activities and learning projects and even muster new teams and set up new field projects. they have enough acumen based on the maxim of rani – majboori ka naam mahatma gandhi – to find spaces no one would think of.

The enormous problem is of course the one of taking over the funding saga as till date it was entirely based on my ability to communicate on the net, something they have not yet learnt. So they now have to evolve their own ways of finding revenue sources and they have been brainstorming about it: they are excellent party and wedding planners, and the team has a rich pool of skills they can ‘sell’. I am not venturing into this operation as in the past all my ideas failed, because they were executed but not internalised.

Like a good parent, the kind I advise others to be and find difficult to go along with, I watch from the wings, turning my tongue seven times in my mouth before venturing a word, or I just make myself scarce.. Like every fledgling they will have to fall before they learn to fly.. but that is the only way..

On the flip side, we now do have a building so we are no more on the road and I will make sufficient provisions in my personal will to ensure that it is maintained and if nothing else, is run as shelter for the likes of manu and many others… that would be the worst case scenario..

But my impassioned appeal to all those who are wondering ‘what next’, is that pwhy belongs to everyone who has helped it till now and even if my mails and blogs are not there, the incredible team that made it all possible is there and all of you can take on the torch from my now tired hands….

I do not why I am reminded of Brecht’s Mother Courage as I sit today my head filled with unanswered questions the day after the loss of a human life no one really mourned. Why does Brecht’s play written in nazi germany and set in the seventeenth century, ring so true today. I read it many years ago when I still belived that life was beautiful and hope existed and I could not quite feel one with Brecht’s cynical talk about the inconvenience of dignity, the efficacy of taking (as opposed to giving or, what’s more foolish, waiting for someone to give), and the worth and/or worthlessness of human life, and the faith you might still have in human nature is challenged at every turn.

Why is it then that six years down the pwhy line it all makes so much sense.. I am too headed the Mother Courage way, albeit for different reasons, and going to be left pulling an empty cart off an empty stage after having tried and lost all..

You may wonder why I feel this way.. and I guess all of you deserve answers before it is too late. Those who stood by me without faltering because you were too few, those who waited too long as they thought there were others, those who waited for me to prove my worthiness, those who could not shed their cynicism, and those who thrive on writing epitaphs and statistics.

Any process involving change is a long one set with many obstacles and though these are not unsurmountable, they often take time.. that is something many did not understand.. to succeed in getting people to shed old ways many roads have to be tried and only a few may work out, that too many could not accept… age old traditions are so deep seated that they have to be carried like dead wood no matter how galling, that too was not comprehended and the list is endless…

That the change has to come about in a world that tends to look more and more like the one out Brecht is known to portray seems absurd but is true: personal egos clash and children die unattended at the doorsteps of hospitals, children are duped away from the right path by promises of quick returns and those trying to make a difference are sneered upon and cast aside.

You carry on for a while because some still believe, because some still trust, because you see hope in the eyes of a child, because you see pride in the eyes of those you love.. and then those very people become more demanding, intransigent at times, unaware of the weight you carry and then the cruel blow as oblivious that you are almost there, they chose to abandon you… just like that.. saying words that do the one thing that is irreversible: kill your spirit..

It takes everything you have, what you have learnt from your experience, from your elders and peers, from your achievemements and failures, from every smile you gave and every tear you shed, to muster the courage to carry on pulling the cart till the end of the show..

If little deepak lives today it is because a bunch of doctors fought for him as if he was one of their own when his heart stopped beating, and brought him back to life. They did not have to do it: he was not their son, they were not going to earn a huge amount of money from his family or get an international award. They were just doing what they were taught by their teacher and mentor, emulating what they had seen.

Today their mentor has been humiliated and cast aside because of some petty and spiteful reason and dismissed from office. Bewildered, confused, taken a back, his team have done the only thing they could: stopped work. They above all know that many innocent will suffer, and among them little Deepak, the very child for whom hey fought, but then what else can they do to make themselves heard.

In some lands they could have worn black bands, in others registered their protest in more dignified ways but here they know no one will hear. Strange that this land that prides itself of being civilised is the one that somehow has turned deaf to all that is good and has learnt to just look at the bad. No one is perfect and we have perfected the art of looking at the bad and obliterating the good, no matter what the proportions.

The mentor in question is the one who made it possible for little Deepak whose father is a daily wage labourer to have an open heart surgery, something that only the rich could have a few years ago. pwhy is a silent witness to this fact as Deepak is our 7th poor heart on the block. But that has been forgotten. The mentor in question is the one that chose to be operated by one of his student when he needed an open heart surgery and who on the eight day after his surgery, when the likes of you and me are still tottering around, walked to the OT and operated upon a patient, not a VVIP as we know of, but his kind of VVIP a nameless Indian.

yesterday night, little deepak who is the perfect ambassador of thenameless Indian may have spent a difficult night, but he bore it bravely so that all that is good is not sacrificed to the altar of greed and apathy.

After why, what – that is the question.. almost a Shakespearian one..

Six years down the line we have successfully proved that with a little effort and local resources, drop out rates can be contained and children can pass their Boards. True that we have some students who cross the 70 and even 80 % line, but they are the exception; most of them hover around 50 and some even dip lower..

This is the time of the year when the famed or ill famed cut off marks are out. One stares with despair at the 92 and 93 % marks you need to enter a good college and wonders where does that leave children of lesser gods..

Evening colleges, correspondence courses, open universities… Most again leaving the students idle for part of the day, bearing the brunt of parental pressure urging them to work..

This has been disturbing us as school education in India is totally devoid of technical options. In many countries, weaker students are urged to take a technical stream that ensures that they leave school with a certificate and a skill. In France there is even a stream called bac en alternance where the student spends three days in school and the other three learning a trade: working as a sales person in a shop, training in a kitchen, working with a carpenter and so on…

After much thought we have decided to start evening and week end classes in plumbing, electrical works, air conditioning repair, computer repair, carpentry, tailoring, accupressure and naturopathy, beautician etc using local talent. If we are able to do so we would even think of launching – call pwhy – whereby we would offer these skills in a well organised way to friends and others.

Another option that we plan to start, and one where our special section can also play an important role is providing packed lunches and diners to offices and young people living alone. This would also provide work to handicapped people with tricycles as they would be able to deliver them and thereby earn a dignified living.

These are but a few options we have thought of, the mainstay being that children would acquire a skill that would come handy in their lives. We are looking for other ideas, but given our past errors, when we jumped and made things and did not find outlets, we only want to launch a new idea if there is a market to support it.

One must realise that a simple education is not enough; we are duty bound to give our children the required skills to be able to survive..

The myth of government jobs has to be destroyed, and children taught that nothing comes easy.. But if you have the will then the way is there as young Sanjiv has proved. He chose to learn yoga, accupressure, shiatsu and other massage and many alternative forms of healing while doing his studies (week end classes at Gandhi smriti) even if his peer group made fun of him and today earns a whopping 7 to 8 K and has a motorcycle. He is learning English with us and we hope to get him clients from the expat community.. Sanjiv did much more than survive just because he chose to walk an unknown path that a kind soul showed him with his head held high..

Can we convince others to do the same becomes the next existential question.

When the aviator missed his Little Prince in St Exupery’s beautiful fable, he looked at the sky searching for a star… when he missed his laugh he thought of bells ringing..

Two weeks from now little mr p will walk out of my door to a new life in his new school.. and a new future just what I wanted, just what we all worked for so hard..

I must confess that though I have been making all the right noises and saying the right words, the ones everyone expects, written all the appropriate thank you’s and bless you’s, deep in my heart all is not quite well.. as is obvious by the fact that I have been hiding the list the school has given and that needs to be purchased as if delaying buying the little socks and hankies would make the two weeks seem longer, or by my erractic work pattern, or my tiptoeing in the dark room and watching popples sleep..

I must also confess that each time he says Maa’mji and comes struting into my office I have been far more indulgent in spite of the many raised eyebrows around me using my position as elder shamlessly.. silly behavior I know but when was love logical.

I have also spent long moments going back on the past three years since I first lay my eyes on this little chap and trying to understand the bond. It is so easy to find reasons to explain why you love someone and when it is little mr p, then they are there on a platter, but I think there are some hidden reasons that only you know and those are the real ones.

So you understand how a tiny fellow has shown you the way many a times when your steps faltered, has helped you find in yourself things you did not know you possessed, even if it is simply stopping your early wails each time you burnt your little finger..

Yes he has taught me many things: courage, uncondional love, stoical acceptance of humiliation and hurt, remarkable ability to adapt to new situations.. albeit adults ones.. but also brought into my life his warm hugs, his special maa’mji, his beautiful smile and above all his demanding love which beckons me and makes me the one he knows is there even if no one is.

But love means to know when your presence becomes hampering, when you need to tiptoe away as life waits with open arms and many dreams to follow.. So two weeks from now I will let mr p walk out of the door into the light..

kids are quite amazing.. mr p wore his Hanuman mask and had us in peals of laughter as we kept telling him to smile and he kept obliging under his mask not realising that no one could see his face..

we finally did tell him to remove it and the dazzling smile was revealed!

Keep smiling little Hanuman

This morning as I entered my office the light on my cellphone was flashing indicating a message in my inbox. I rarely use this facility and normally what awaits me on the screen is some promo or the other. I opened the message – not a promo this time – and read the beautiful words sent by a lovely young woman I recently met. It said:

I stared at the words for a long time letting their meaning sink in, and realising how true they were. The words written were in no way a message of resignation but one of hope. How many times have I not sat waiting for what many call miracles, till I realised that it was for me to make it happen, and then somheow things happened: the right words appeared on the screen as my fingers tapped the keys, the long forgotten name sprung back in one’s memory or the right option was sought..

One is but human and somehow one forgets that the greatest gift anyone can give you is the realisation that nothing comes by begging, but by believing in yourself and in your ability to get it, no matter how many hurdles you need to overcome.

Excuse me saying this, but why don’t you sell this house.. imagine how many heart surgeries it would sponsor..
This is what a project why supporter and now friend said when he dropped on a Sunday to finally put a face to something he had till date known through the words I write.. One again I was faced with what I now call my moments of truth..

The obvious answer was that this ‘house’ was not quite mine as it was in custody for my children.. but the question perturbed me for a while as it was almost existential in nature and pertained to the very spirit of project why…

Even if the hosue was mine to do away with, did this act fall within the ambit of what pwhy set out to be.. A tough question I must confess as the answer could easily be miconstrued as an easy way out of an essential dilemna..

After much thought and soul searching, I realised that the answer would still be ‘no’, and that for many reasons. No matter how many open heart surgeries it could sponsor, it would be still a limited number and once depleted one woudl still find one’s self where one is today. But there was a deeper rationale to my refusal and that was that such action would against the very essnce of pwhy which aims at levelling and easing out differences and placing everyone on a common platform on the one end, and working out modes of functioning that can be replicated by one and all..

The aim is not giving up or liquidating an asset however big, but heping create assets, albeit tiny, for all.. leave alone the false sense of megalomania such an action would entail.. and above all one must not forget that charity – for want of a better word – has to be coupled with humility to retain any meaning… so begging bowl it is for now and always

This morning I began the mail I sent to many friends and supporters with the words: here I am, begging bowl in hand.. and many answered with the words: please do not use phrases like begging bowl..

Most of the mails I write when I seek help are instinctive.. true that I have never used the word begging earlier … it was time for a bit of soul searching..

To beg means to ask for something earnestly and humbly says the dictionary.. quite true as gone are the days of anger and resentment when no help came.. now there is only gratitude for even the tiniest coin that drops by, as with it comes the love and care of a human heart, the precious moment spared to write a cheque or fill an on line form..

As I searched some more I remembered the Zen monk’s begging bowl: each day the monk would go out into the world with his empty bowl, and whatever was placed in his bowl by kind strangers would be his nourishment for the day. Nourishment can take more than one meaning and I realised that maybe I was like the Zen monk and my bowl got me so much: a heart fixed, a tear wiped, a child’s smile, a mother’s prayer answered, children remaining in school, a roof on someone’s head…

As I look with moist eyes at the picture above and see Manu in a classroom, intent in learning the new excercise and little Sapna looking up at him, my mind goes back to the Manu begging on the street and being fed like an animal and Sapna not able to hold her head, let alone stand on her own… and lok at them today… and all this has been made possible because so many of you dropped a bit of your heart in my begging bowl..

As long as I asked for a contribution in impersonal ways and resented the fact that it was not forthcoming nothing changed.. it is only when I was able to shed my misplaced arrogance and pride and humbly beg with my heart that my bowl filled slowly and miracles happened around me..

It is a very precious bowl I hold out as hidden in its depth is the key to a new heart, a new life, and many tomorrows filled with joy..

Just when you sit back and think that you have done your bit, and maybe can take a break , someone decides otherwise and a tiny broken heart lands softly on your planet. One look at the trusting eyes and innocent face and your mind is already racing.

Deepak is 7 months old and requires open heart surgery. Though his face is plump his tiny body is proof of how difficult the simple task of breathing is for this child. The scribbled now familiar green card of the All India Institute lies in front of you..

70 000 rs with the added 4000 for the angiograpy.. how can little deepak’s daily wage labourer father ever put that money together.. and you ask yourself which one of the thousands of prayers his mom must have whispered, did he hear!

One has to stop and I think at the reality we often do not see. One the one hand India is shining and more and more of our countryPals are making it on the world’s richest men list.. Five start medical facilities now attract a new form of tourism. But no effort is being made towards medical care for the poor.

A TV network recently showed an old educated couple begging in the streets of Mumbay. The dignified old lady wore a placard around her neck saying she had lost her eyesight, breast and home to cancer and needs help.

Looking at those pictures I felt so small and inadequate and wondered where had we gone wrong in building our nation.. True that after the programme, help poured in and the couple is now comfortable. But many questions remained unanswered.. is it only after a story of human tragedy is aired on TV that people open their hearts and feel a sense of responsibility..? does our charitable side needs external prompts to awaken..?

In our 7 years of up market begging one has had to accept the sad reality that individual heart wrenching cases do get heeded, whereas long term and preventive projects are difficult to sell.. the person willing to come forward in individual cases, tiptoes away when asked for help in our every day work..

A flash of intuition or some hidden instinct pushed me to set up a community driven grass root project, and in our 7th year running and in spite of the innumerable setbacks and looming temptations, the tug is still very much there. No magical wand is going to create a perfect social system no matter how committed an administration we have. The magical wand lies in our ability to awaken the charitable side that lies dormant in each one of us, so that a network of support is created at the micro level and takes care of its own – the poor, the handicapped, the old, the sick – and ultimately this is the network that will create the bridge between national programmes and the end user.

How, is the question, and my answer remains the same: the one rupee a day model, where the one rupee could be translated as free space, time, skills and resources.. If each of our outreach programmes could be handled by the local community, we would see a quantum leap in the number of children helped..

I have always held that India’s solutions lie in addressing simultaneously the macro and the micro level till the day the meet and synergise.

Will that day dawn in our life span, I do not know, but in the spirit of what has been said, one has to continue with conviction in what one feels is right.

Deepak needs a new heart that is today’s challenge, tomorrow’s is to ensure that we are still around for all the other Jyotis and Deepaks in waiting!

Wonder what a mundane potato chip and a prayer to God have in common..

Yesterday I had a fall as the old knee gave in resulting in a badly bruised ankle.. An ice pack and bandage later I hobbled to where Utpal was playing.. he stopped and looked at me with a quizzical face.. Upon hearing what had happened he got up and went to a fetch his pack of potato chips and with a serious face took one out and told me to eat it as it would take the hurt away.. then he declared that he would pray to bhagwan to make it all well and turned his little face up, shut his eyes and folding his hands he sent his simple petition to the heavens..

I cannot find the words to express the multitude of emotions that filled me as i watched this little fellow pray.. The room was for that moment in time filled with palpable much energy and divine light..

His prayer finished, little Utpal went back to his toys leaving us all overwhelmed by the power of what had happened..

Needless to say my pain was gone..

God listens to children.. maybe we should too

Once again the dreaded happened: two young children of india took their lives away in the land capital city because they failed their Boards examinations.

This has been happening with obsessive regularity and yet no one had don anything to put an end to this..

Wonder what goes into the head of a child that makes him take this extreme irreversible step
Is failing in a set of questions in a limited number of subjects – some so inane and useless to life – tantamount to failing in life itself.. is our society so perverse as to judge a human life in whether it knows how to add, or remembers some statistic or the other.. is it the parents who put undue pressure, the peer group or the inadequate opportunities our society gives its members that make a child who has barely taken a few step in life take this momentous decision..

Imagine the sense of despair that the child must feel at that moment..

It is not the child who has failed but we adults who have made the norms of success so narrow and bigoted that they cannot account for those who are otherwise endowed.. Who knows the child who took her life may have turned out to be a musician, an artist or maybe just a good human being, something so rare that we have forgotten its relevance..

I work with people who by our standards are failures as they have never passed an ‘examination’ in their entire lives and yet when one looks at them, one can see that they stand far above what we call successes, maybe not in material terms but in what makes a human being worthy of that name. Mothers who never give up, women who carry on their station in life in circumstances that would make us give up a thousand times, men who toil so that their children can have a better tomorrow, people who may have nothing but are generous to a fault..

What makes my blood run cold is that every year, as if on cue, one or more children take their lives after failing in a school examination and we do nothing barring a few chuckles of sympathy. One child dying for in this way should be enough to make us stand up and do something.. There is something terribly wrong in this numbers game which is foul in more ways than one..

I cannot begin to express the sense of immense let down I feel, when an illiterate parent comes beaming from ear to ear with his child’s school results wanting to share the joy of the child having passed. A glance at the report card where no number exceeds 33 and the words grace marks jump at you, are sufficient to prove the worthlessness of this piece of paper where the word PASS stares at you. You know the child will ultimately go the same way as his parents, as the certificate gathers dust and fritters with age..

What is this pass fail ka khel and can someone change the rules?

Ram Pyari, Nanhe’s mom had told us that she was off to the village for a few days with Nanhe. We thought nothing of it, though we wondered why she had chosen the hottest month to do so..

Yesterday we were taken aback when she came back and told us that actually she had taken nanhe to Narayan Seva Samsthan’s specialised hospital in Udaipur for his leg surgery.. I remembered her telling me a while back that she had registered at the polio camp held by the Sri Sumathinath Jain Navyuvak Mandal in Delhi last year. At that time we were worried about nanhe’s general condition and I had not given much heed to what she was saying..

Seeing Nanhe back with his smile and a cast on his leg led me to stop what I was doing and savour a very rare moment.. here was a mom saddled by destiny with 3 disabled children, a woman who had lost her husband and who fed her tiny family by selling cucumbers in the day and boiled eggs near the local watering hole at night, a mother who had never given up on her child, no matter how ill or debilitated he was.. one who had found the options possible by herself and left not stone unturned to see her last born walk, even for a short time..

Ram Pyari is a rare woman, one who takes on life with a smile not matter how bad it is, who never gives up and knows that miracles happen when you want them to, and above all that they happen when you have the courage to walk alone.. and a smile like nanhe’s to light the way..

When I come across women like Ram Pyrai, I feel tiny…

remember nandini, the spunky bright village girl.. the one whose heart could not be repaired and whose dreams are in our custody, the class V student who as an infectious smile and an admirable desire to learn.. well she amazed us once again..

nandini wants to be a doctor and wants it bad.. this young girl of 10 was already in class V and doing well when she had to leave school and come to Delhi to tend to her heart.. when the ordeal was over and she was given a go home signal, she came to me and asked me if I would help her study.. I told her that she should go back and send me a detailed break up with supporting documents and a bank account number..

I was delighted when I got a neat enveloppe with a beautifully written letter, bills and other receipts as well as a photocopy of a post office account in her name. The cost details are available at this page and we hope that we will be able to raise the funds needed.

At a time when one is always complaining about the conditions of education in india, it is important to place on record the fact that this little school in a small towm in much maligned Bihar, is imparting the kind of education one would like to see elsewhere in India.

We hope nandini becomes a doctor, we have no doubt she will be a caring one.

A friend and supporter sent a mail with these words: “Are you dreaming to hopefully build a concrete school in the area for such kids one day..”.

This is a question that has come our way many a times… and that is why I thought that it needed to be adressed and answered as best as possible.

Yes, we dream and we dream big.. and we have also sometimes wished for a building, particularly when the heat is unbearable or the rain floods our ad hoc space, or the cold turns us all blue and we have to jump before starting class.. and it is also true that we have now got a small building where our babies and special kids are housed and safe.. but that is where we stop..

When pwhy began, we always saw it as something the community could replicate and that is why we drew our human resources from within even if it meant that we fell out of the net of a myriad funding agencies as we had untrained teachers.. that is also why in the six years of our existence we have taught in reclaimed pig styes and garbage dumps, on the road side, between houses, in airless jhuggis and open parks.. erecting classrooms in a jiffy when we were pushed around and bulldozed, wearing down our detractors. Bamboo poles and plastic sheets were all that was needed.. the idea being to show that to teach children one needed the will to do so, the rest was there if one looked for it.. it also meant that no matter where slums were relocated, classroom activities could be recreated without problems as all resources were right there..

Yes we dream but our dream is to be able to reach out to as many children as possible, and on the way give more jobs to people who have none.. and thus our magic formula remains the same: 2 shifts = 50 x 2 kid + 2 teachers @ 10K per month and it is a succesful one as proved by the school results. There are over 1.7 million kids who run the risk of dropping out.. and that is what should remain our objective if we are to be true to our mission… so the answer is no we do not dream of a building.. we do not have the time to as at every moment children are growing and mising the one chance they may still have…

So when the heat gets unberable, as it was today, we just hold on to our dream and then somehow a cool wind blows our woes away

You think you have seen it all and that you are immune to heart wrenching situations.. well beware that is not the way life is..

Utpal has now been a resident of my home fro over 2 weeks, he adjusted like a fish in water and laughs, plays, eats, sleeps and plays.. true you wonder what goes on in his little heart.. but you ensure not to mention certain words.. like mummy.. and keep your fingers crossed.. even though you try not to, you indulge him a little, and get amazed at his resilience and spirit..

So nothing prepared me for the words Utpal said to an unknown shopkeeper as he looked at some toys – meri mummy nahin hai – I do not have a mother.

My heart missed a beat, I wanted to hug him and say soothingv words, but I watched him with moist eyes respecting the dignity of the moment.. resolving with renewed determination to give him back a mummy healed, and one he can be proud of..

Mom’s are precious and you can only have one.. that is what Utpal teaches me everyday!

we have moved.. to a tiny rickety building, in gali no 3 of the very congested govindpuri area.. away from the larger spaces we had, but we have moved to our own .. the building will house our early education programme and our special a kids in two large rooms on 2 floors.. and though there may be no open spaces and other niceties somehow the kids knew instinctively that the space was ours..

on the top floor, under an asbestos (!) roof is the tiny office, one that ensures that you do not stay in and sink into a comfort zone.. the open space in front has been covered by some straw mats, and potted plants give it a special flavour.. so luch time is almost picnic time.. never mind the heat

news spaces and new rules: no cleaning staff, everyone is responsible for his own space and so on day one istelf kids and teachers were busy cleaning and setting things right..

ouside the door there is a tiny street bustling with activity and with much to discover and learn about.. so many expeditions are being planned and everyone is excited..

happy times at project why!

It was brain gym time for teamPwhy, as Sareylom held a day long workshop for our staff! Plates and flags were flung in the air amidst laughter and fun. This was the first workshop where all the staff participated..

The aim was to help individuals integrate body and mind through movement and to improve concentration, memory, reading, writing, organizing, listening, physical coordination, and more… it is all done through series of ludic excercises of deceptive simplicity.. it is only when you get down to them that each participant’s strengths and weaknesses come to light.. so the one that seems so connected and poised is at a loss when plates have to be turned in ways that would faze the best dervish.. and the quiet barely litereate creche worker impresses everyone by her dexterity..

It is for the first time that all pwhy staff competed with each other in a game of equals.. quite an experience.. particularly as the men where often the ones finding simple coordination excercises harder than rocket science..

When the idea of this workshop was mooted, I was a little apprehensive at the outcome, but all my doubts vanished as I heard the peals of laughter coming from the room… I simply tiptoed away

We will soon be moving.. from a comfortable 6 room flat to a motley medley of space. Many are a little perplexed about this change.. but it was necessary as we were slowly sinking into the comfort zone syndrome a.k.a according to me as the government job disorder.. a psychological ailment as debilitating as any of the known ones.

A strange and insidious affliction as you do not even know how and when it hits you and no one is safe from it. Hard working people leave their homes in villages to seek better pastures and the fabled government job in cities.. they soon get the bug as even if they do not get the ‘naukri‘ they acquire the syndrome. They look for employment that will ensure a secure salary and no or minimal work. They soon learn the ropes and the way to unions and courts.. On the way they lose their ability to work and above all think independently.

The safe surroundings of the seven rooms, insulated from the world outside were slowly but surely leading to us acquiring the dreaded urban bug… it was evident in the different attitudes of those still teaching in hardship conditions and those sinking in comfort zones.. so it was time to act.

Come the ides of April and our team will be shaken out of this unhealthy torpor and back to challenging spaces. Some like the special section and the babies will be housed in a small building and the primary sections will move to open spaces close to the homes of the kids… makes more sense that way..

We hope to rekindle the fire that makes pwhy what it is.. and will see that we do not sink into comfort zones again.

This may just seem a fun picture to many, but for me it is much more.. if you look with your heart..

This is our very special section.. one that has been crafted with love and patience with little souls no one wanted, let alone believed in..

Two years back little Sapna (extreme right) could not even hold her head up, today she walks talk and is full of mischief just like any other kid, Tampa now smiles her terrible ordeal a fading memory, Ruchi’s cerebral ataxia is now diagnosed and every offert wil be made to delay further damage, Anuraag can find a space where no one pushes him around and where he can cook to his hearts content, the impossible trio neha-rinky-shaheeda – spent fun filled hours practicing their newfound skills as make up artists on their pals, Munna is uttering his first words and Lucky a very new member of the family has found friends and this beautiful symphony of life is performed under masetro nanhe whose baton is his smile!

These special children are proof that life is worth living no matter what odds you face, that life is worth celebrating no matter how dismal seems.. simply because you are alive..

“He who has a strong enough why“, said Nietzsche ” can bear almost any how“. I must be blessed, having project why!

Life would stop if we stopped asking questions and seeking answers.. I guess that is why people often grow bitter in their twilight years.. there are no more why’s in our lives as everyone is seeking their own and you desperately find cracks to fill, and get msiesrable when you find there are none, so you create them and hence the infernal spiral..

You need to find a big enough why to borrow Nietzsche words, one that will fill your life and make it worth living.. with each why comes a challenge that needs a solution that you must seek. On the way you make mistakes but then you learn and set out again..

The last six years have been a wondrous journey on planet why, a journey of discovery but also a journey of inner growth.. a journey of learning where the teacher is the smile of a child people have given up on, or the will of a mother who refuses to give up!

Ramu brought his report card this morning with a beaming smile.. i remember him saying that he would stand first and he did!

Ramu lives in a cramped shack and has no place to study.. he often has to look after his siblings – babli and arzoo – as his mom comes home late.. and yet he did us all proud.

I think this reportt card needs to be shared.. as it shows how far we can reach with very little.. and vindicates the pwhy way

well done ramu