the boy in the red shirt
I would like to share two small almost negligible incidents that happened yesterday.
While showing the project to a visitor we stopped by our tiny Govindpuri primary centre. The room was so tiny that some of us remained outside where a bunch of young lads sat loitering. One of them wearing a bright red shirt seemed to be their leader. I asked him what he did and the answer was almost thrown my way: I just hand around. I persisted in my queries and this was what transpired. This young boy – about 15 or so – had dropped out of school in class V because according to him there was no teaching as teachers did not bother to teach. He then got a job but left it as the pay was not regular, and now he was looking for another one, just any kind of job would do.
Later in the day I went to the Greater Kailash M block market looking for some hairpins and rubber bands, ware usually sold by enterprising young men on the pavement in front of the shops. I, of course, had forgotten about the recent cleaning drive that had ensured the disappearance of all such stalls that had been there for as long as one remembered, sometimes passing from father to sons one had seen grow. The once bustling market looked strangely devoid of its soul. Refusing to give up I walked along around the market, knowing in my heart that I would find the elusive ware I sought. And then, as I was almost about to give up, I saw one of the familiar faces tucked in a shop doorway with a few trinkets on the ground. I approached him and asked him if he had the things I needed. He smiled and asked me to wait a minute and dashed to his car parked across the street and fished out the things I sought. He told me that all stalls had been cleared but he hoped that things would change soon.
I had once written a post about a young boy selling guide books in front of an exam centre and marvelled at the spirit of enterprise displayed by young Indians. It is sad to see that the new sealing and other suddenly discovered laws are hitting at the livelihood of the poor. Young people like the boy in the red shirt who dropped out of school not because of lack of ability or desire but because of abysmal teaching could easily find employment in the very small shops or road eateries that will be soon closed.
I am one to respect laws. But laws have to be applied from day one and not be circumvented for years by shady means and then resurrected to suit newfound interests. One cannot forget that between the two time has elapsed and realities changed.
only a matter a of degree
The recent imbroglio over the issuing of degrees to students of India’s prime medical school is a tragic reminder of the prevailing state of affairs in this country. The drama recently enacted on the streets and in front of cameras had shades of both Kafka and Marx (Groucho of course)!
To any sane mind the one and only requisite for issuance of a degree would and should be successful completion of examinations. Well that is not quite so in a land named India. here this simple administrative formality becomes a complicated saga of ego clashes and almost childlike behaviour. I will not sign the degree if it has the signature of that person says one protagonist, while another quips: the other person will not sign. All this while students who have toiled hard against many odds wait in mute and horrified silence.
Then one the silence becomes deafening they take to the streets, strike and get the media attention which seems to have become one of the only ways to get things done. But it does not prove adequate as ultimately the Courts have to intervene and rap on the knuckles of all concerned. But the stubborn kids will not relent and the final outcome is a burlesque one: two degrees for one person signed by different people.
This is the sad state of affairs in our land where institutions have been hijacked by politicians and bureaucrats; where the judiciary has to be solicited at the drop of a hat to resolve petty problems; where innocents are held to ransom while over sized ego clash in infantile ways.
whose reponsibility is it anyway
Very often in the nightmare that Delhi traffic has become, one can see ambulances flashing their lights and blaring their sirens to no avail. Many times other vehicles could slow down and move aside and give them way but somehow they don’t. The ambulance just has to wait or follow the traffic.
In other countries it is not so. As soon as one hears the sirens of an ambulance, traffic slows down and a way is cleared for the ambulance. I have often wondered why we in India do not do so. Are we inured to the pain of others? Have we become so insensitive that the life of another does not concern us? Or is life so dispensable that one more or one less does not really matter?
Yesterday a little boy died because his ambulance got stuck in a jam. However this was not a traffic jam but one created by workers of two political parties who clashed with each other. No one heard the blaring siren or I guess no one bothered to hear it. No one gave a hoot to the plea of a mother whose child was dying. Finally the little boy reached the hospital too late.
Then do add fuel to the fire, this tragic human incident was used by the two parties as political fodder as they engaged in a blame game that quite honestly made me want to throw up.
One wonders who is actually responsible for this little life ‘s demise and sadly one finds no answer.
The silence is deafening.
feudal atavism
Many incidents of incomprehensible and inhuman rage made the headlines in recent days. On each occasion I held on to my urge to react as I felt that my words would have no or little effect. However the pictures aired yesterday on all leading channels broke my resolve.
It was a story from a small town in Bihar where the mob decided to met out their own brand of justice to a young thief. What was disturbing was the fact that the police played to the gallery and tied the poor boy to a motorcycle and dragged him in full public view. All his was aptly captured on camera by a local journalist. Nobody reached out to help the boy. For those three hours all that holds a society together and protects it – the rule of law – was conveniently forgotten! From being the largest democracy in the world, we had travelled back in time to the middle ages or the roman arenas.
In the recent past there have many incidents that have brought to fore the latent anger and rage that seems to reside in apparently sensible people waiting for the slightest reason to break free. A young school girl is beaten by six teachers for having failed to do her homework. A young boy is beaten to death by his classmates for having soiled a shirt. A man is beaten to death for simply not giving way to a passing motorcyclist.
These are only some of the ugly incidents that have made their way as headline news. The reality was one has to face is that as a society we are giving up the rule of law and resorting to wild west ways. And when law makers or protectors resort to such ways too, then it is the beginning of the end.
One needs to stop and try and analyse the reasons that have led us to this day. And as is oft the case, the sated cliches come to mind: corruption, politicisation of institutions, arrogance of the rich and more of the same. But to this we also need to add frustration, lack of opportunities, impossible aspirations and the lure of riches, not to forget the now jaded caste and creed.
To add to the plethora of baffling realities one wonders why a district official gets suspended for not recognising the Chief Minister’s voice on the phone or why a cop gets suspended for hugging a cinestar convict. In spite of our democratic cloak, are we not atavistically feudal and thus resort to our feudal selves at each provocation.
Think about it.
another miracle
Our lohar friends have always held a special place in our hearts. We have known them for over 7 years and have been impressed by their wise ways and their humane qualities more than once.
In the last few months we saw a sharp decile in the number of children attending pwhy classes. True that many had graduated to secondary school but even then the drop seemed bewildering. We held counselling sessions with both children and their parents, coaxed and cajoled and even chided them. But to no avail.
Then it struck us that maybe 6 years of the same repetitive pattern had taken its toll on their free wandering nomadic spirit. It was time for a change. Our formidable administrative duo of R and S came up with a brilliant idea: evening classes. And boy it worked!
From 5 to 7pm our little blue tent is filled to the brim with little heads, both boys and girls, and the once unruly and rowdy lot have turned into a bunch of serious students. Sometimes it takes just a tiny to change to achieve miracles.
the three wise volunteers of pwhy
One of the biggest asset of pwhy has been its band of volunteers. They have come from every corner of the planet and each one has left his or her mark. This summer we were truly spoilt as we had not one, not two but three superb volunteers: Lucy, Xiong and Firdaush.
At first we were a little worried about how we would manage three volunteers in our tiny project but our concerns were soon allayed as these three young people just adopted us and found their place in a jiffy. It was as if they had always been part of pwhy.
Lucy a young student from Cambridge spent her mornings with our special kids and her afternoons in the newly opened Sanjay colony centre; Xiong from Singapore taught the secondary kids in the morning and then spent his afternoons at our Govindpuri centre and Firdaush brought high levels of energy to our creche and prep kids and some order to our Okhla centre.
What was truly amazing is how these young people adapted to the difficult environment they found themselves in: electricity cuts that made the heat unbearable, the filth of the slum lanes, the sometimes too spicy lunch, the often incomprehensible Hinglish. Nothing could deter their enthusiasm and drive. The seriousness and application with which they approached each task was laudable and praiseworthy.
They came from different worlds and yet seemed so comfortable in ours. Each one brought to pwhy something special, something that will stay forever in intangible and yet precious ways.
slain not fed
The recent spat between a young athlete’s coach and his mother has led to a child’s future being held to ransom. It is true that in Budhia’s case a solution will be found as he he is a media celebrity but the whole issue opens up a disturbing debate.
In an answer to a recent mail a friend wrote: The thought scares me that by providing support, we may also be creating a social monster which gets used to being fed. He was referring to my concern about the future of the children that transit project why or as a mater of fact the future of all children who acquire a mediocre education as that is what the present system has on offer. In its mission statement the lead India campaign states: our municipal schools are not equipped to impart even basic education but stops short of suggesting an alternative.
Seven years ago, when pwhy began, one lived under the illusion that education would open new avenues for children and hence give them a better future. Today if one were to be honest, experience has proved that it is not quite so. No matter how brilliant a slum kid is, he will never the the 90+% required to go to a good college, nor will he acquire the confidence, communication skills and the oomph required in today’s working world. His marks may help him break some barriers but what about those who just scrape through.
The social monster referred to above is just that child, the one who holds a degree or certificate in hand and thus as arrogated itself the right to dream big. The question one is compelled to ask one’s self is whether it is right to impart such education and feel satisfied? Is not one morally bound to think ahead and look for viable options?
The education for all campaign seems to have gone awry. There are schools without children, children with years of schooling and no knowledge. Budgets allocations increase each year but the situation on the ground worsens. Much needs to be done. Imparting a useless education is worse than no education at all.
Maybe there is a monster lurking, one that needs to be slain not fed
the neutrality syndrome
Yesterday India celebrated its 61st independence day amidst much fanfare and media hype. Once again promises were made from the rampart of the historic Red Fort and huge allocations were pledged to education and agriculture. Newspapers dutifully listed all achievements and reading them would have made any one proud. Staggering figures seemed to pervade all sectors of growth as India seemed poised to become a super power.
And yet was it not barely a week ago that a TV channel gave us the startling revelation that over 32 000 primary schools across the country did not have a single student? This sums up much of what is happening in our land. Brave and even laudable programmes and projects get launched but never reach the beneficiary. Somewhere down the line they get hijacked by vested interests.
A leading newspaper has launched a new campaign called LEAD where the operative word is DO! It is a well planned media blitz with all the right ingredients including a string of celebs and will in all probability bring its creators what they aspire for till the next campaign but somehow it seems to have hit the nail on its head.
We seem to have become a nation of non-doers. In response to an email sent on I day, a friend wrote back: Whenever I tell someone to save paper or adopt vegetarian way of life – the response is neutral or negative but hardly enthusiastic.
In a land so deeply divided between the have and have nots, the rich and the poor, the urban and the rural those of us who have the ability to make a difference have lost our enthusiasm and withdrawn ourselves in the comfort of neutrality. We seem to be waiting for the other to do! And this passing on the task goes down the line till there is no other left.
We will become truly independent only when each one of us shakes off this neutrality and acts, when we accept our part of responsibility in each things that is wrong and asks questions; when we finally accept to stand up and leave that mythical armchair. That day India will be truly independent.
number nine..
Over the past 7 years now, we at project why have been doggedly teaching batch after batch of slum children with a measure of success, if success is to be determined by examinations results. Many have passed out of school and joined the working world, others have selected to pursue academics in some form or the other.
I must confess that for some time we too basked in the glory of our achievement sometimes forgetting to look at the stark realities that stared at us or maybe choosing not to see. But no one can be so inured as to not be outraged when three children open their single lunchbox and find rotten food.
I remember how horrified we were a couple of years back over Preeti’s lunch box, and how it had brought to the fore the plight of disabled children in India. And once again we set out to unravel the mystery of this lunchbox that belonged to three siblings that attend our creche.
A home visit brought to fore the reality of their lives. Eight siblings ranging between the age of 12 and a few months live in a tiny hovel. Their father who own 2 vehicles barely comes home as he spends his money, or most of it, on drink and women, and gives very little to support the family. However he does come home to claim his conjugal right with regularity. The mother manages as best she can and the children are often fed by neighbours. None of the children go to regular school.
This woman typifies many women that live abysmal and lonely lives in Delhi’s slums, away from the comfort and security of their village. They have been brought to practically worship their husbands and defend them with pathetic conviction, as if their lived depended on it. They know nothing of family planning, AIDS let alone women’s rights.
When we asked the mother why she dis not send her elder girls to school the answer was shocking though true to her reality: they only need to learn housework was what she quietly said.
That woman did not have dreams or aspirations, she just had to live or rather survive wondering where the next meal of her children would come from while she clutched the womb that carried her ninth child.
back home
Little mehajabi is back home after a successful open heart surgery. For the first time in her tiny life she sleeps soundly, her breathing normal. Soon she will be returning to where she came from and resume the simple life her parents live in the confines of a madrassa.
What her life will be no one knows but she lives today because two simple and illiterate parents refused to give up on her even though she was a girl and the youngest of 5 siblings. They refused to give up on her even though the costs of her recovery were daunting for a family that earned a pittance. In a country where the girl child is often treated with contempt, the determination of this family to save mehajabi is laudable and needs to be applauded.
One wishes there were more parents like them.
reality hurts…
“Goodness is the only investment that never fails.” said Henry David Thoreau and till very recent times I felt that way. Look with your heart, a maxim borrowed from the Little Prince is one I followed with conviction and I guess that is also why a project aimed at imparting education found itself mending hearts along the way.
And that is also why one did not shy of helping N when she was in need, no matter what the need was. Imagine my surprise when I came to know that a humane act was so grossly misconstrued by some that it led to recriminations and even show cause notices and possible dismissal for N. I must confess that such a reaction from seemingly educated people came not only as a shock, but also as a rude reality check that left me dumbfounded.
No matter which way I tried to look at the matter, I could not find any element of logic to warrant such action and reaction. I shared my dilemma with many friends and one of them wrote these words: I think a lot of people equate kindness (and following your heart) as a weakness. So many people live self-centered lives that they can’t imagine doing something for someone else without expecting some sort of reward or payment (even though kindness has its own rewards).
Maybe he is right and such people exist but I stil find it difficult to comprehend the totally unwarranted blow that has fallen on one who has suffered enough.
And quite frankly if following your heart is a weakness, then I hope I remain weak as long as I live.
reality bites
Our decision to close down one of our primary centres may have perplexed some of our friends and well wishers. I must confess that it was not an easy one but the writing was on the wall and we had to stand by our initial mission: that of empowering parents to take charge of the education of their children. So when we realised that most of the children were now attending private tuition’s we knew our task was done and we had to move to another place.
Sanjay Colony was the chosen location. In barely a month there are over 80 children who attend our classes regularly. Yesterday I was given the monthly report of that centre and its content more than validated our decision. More than 50% of the children were well below their class and some who were in class V barely knew the class II curriculum. This shows once again the abysmal state of municipal schools in India’s capital city where children are made to pass from one class to the other irrespective of their knowledge till they reach secondary school where they often drop out.
It is sad to see that nothing is really being done to address the situation and take on remedial measures. It is almost as if no one was really interested in educating the poorest of the poor. This is the reality in a country that is poised to celebrate sixty years of Independence and where education is a constitutional right of each and every child.
cameos of another life..
Recent days have seen a plethora of disturbing images flashed across our TV screens: a 17 year old boy gets beaten to death by his teacher for not sitting properly; 5 disabled men consume poison in public as they lose their source of livelihood; a one day old baby is found in a garbage dump with multiple stab wounds, to name but a few.
These make good copy and TRP rates for the media. They appear for a day or so and then are replaced by other images as the show must go on. In most cases they entail a few shocked reactions are then are forgotten.
However if one chose to ponder a while, one realised that each incident carries within it a disturbing reality that shows the endemic problems that exist in our society and are often the rule rather than the exception. They are cameos of the everyday life of millions of invisible Indians and reflect the plight of poverty, government apathy and many other ailments that plague our society.
It is true that the media reports them for their own purposed but that does not absolve us of the right to take note and react in an appropriate and humane manner.
equal in justice
The sentencing of Sanjay Dutt yesterday once again renewed one’s faith in the rule of law. As the court drama enfolded on TV channels one did tend to feel a surge of sympathy for the actor who has endeared himself in recent times as the genial Munabhai and quite frankly one did hope that he would get the probation he sought.
But as the first words of the judgement were heard one realised that in the ultimate analysis justice needs to prevail and the rule of law has to be respected. What Sanjay Dutt did was indeed a very serious offence and could not be overlooked. Imagine if the same had been done by an ordinary citizen: the very people who were busy trying to find loopholes for SD would have been the first ones to nod their approval to maximum punishment for the culprit.
One has to admire the judge who rose above all emotion and sentimentality and pronounced a just sentence, one that will send the right message to all those who may want to take the law in their hands.
Fame of any kind, or power or money cannot give people the licence to do as they please. It is important for each one of us to know that ultimately the law will catch up with anyone who dares take it in his own hand.
reinventing ourselves
In a previous post, I had related how tings had changed in pwhy calling for a realignment of our forces and the need to reinvent ourselves. As fate would have it, I fell sick soon after writing that post and was forced to remain away from pwhy for almost three weeks.
Seems like this forced absence was god sent as it cleared all doubts I may have still had about the ability of pwhy to run without my presence. It ran probably better than I could have imagined! My efficient team handled every situation with efficiency be it the presence of three volunteers or site visits over and above the day-to-day running of each of the 12 centres. If there were any crisis, these were resolved without my ever getting to know about them.
As I tiptoed back into pwhy, I realised that it had finally come of age. Everyone seemed confident and the place ran with clockwork precision. I was briefed about some of the decisions taken in my absence and was pleased to see that sound solutions had been found. Staff had been relocated in some instances to meet new requirements and new activities had been launched with the help of our volunteers. I was also informed of the outcome of a day long workshop where they staff had shared their experiences and come up with new and better options. Time tables were being reset and streamlined. The new centre that had 40 kids when I left now boasted of 80! A better place had been found in Govindpuri and the shifting scheduled for this week. Come to think of it I almost felt de trop!
It did seem too good to be true and one could have been tempted to sit back and bask in this new found sense of achievement at least for some time. But how could one forget the reality that loomed large albeit faraway. The day was not far when many slums would be relocated and the necessity to ensure continuity needed to be addressed. One had to start working on possible options to meet the situation as and when it arose and that I guess is what one will have to start working on.
It is true that pwhy and its 12 centres can run on their own but that is only possible as long as required funds are available and even if individual centres continue to function even if they are shifted to new places, pwhy’s existence depends on its ability to create a long term sustainability project.
The one we have thought of is planet why but it requires a huge initial investment. We do hope to be able to one day see this dream come true.
a tale of survival in India at 60
Yesterday morning Mehajabi came by project why with her mom. Today she will be going to the hospital and if all goes well, should be admitted for her open heart surgery.
It has been a long journey for this little girl and her family. She was born a year ago in the well protected world of a madrassa where her father eked out a living as a helper in the kitchen. Her mother and four siblings lived in the precinct of this place of learning. Her older siblings even attended classes. Life would have continued placidly had little Mehajabi been hale and hearty. But that was not the case as from her early days the little girl seemed in poor health. The local doctors could not do much and even the doctors of close by towns advised a visit to Delhi. The family had no choice but to pack up their life and come to the big and uncaring city.
Mehajabi was diagnosed with a congenital heart defect needing expensive surgery and the little family waited for a miracle. The father took on work as a daily wage labourer and the mother carried on surviving, while praying for the life of her last born.
This week, in all probabilities, Mehajabi’s heart will be fixed and a new life will begin for her. As I watched the almost picture perfect mother and child, I wondered what lay in store for them. I listened to mariam, Mehajabi’s mom, as she shared her life plans with candid simplicity. They had plans to return to the madrassa and its sheltered life as soon as Mehajabi would be well. There they would resume the life they had left on hold. The father would continue helping in the kicthen and she would bring up her children within those walls for years to come.
I looked at little Mehajabi as she sat on her mother’s lap and wondered what her life would be like. Would she too be married at a young age and live a life akin to her mother’s or would she be able to break free. The question is almost redundant. The options for little Mehajabi and millions of little girls like her are few. The shackles of the society they live in will not allow them to go far.
At times like this, I feel utterly helpless. What can one do to change things and give little girls like Mehajabi a brighter tomorrow and a right to live and not just survive?
the silence is killing
A few minutes back an email from a dear friend entitled: the silence is killing dropped by my mailbox.
It is true that it has been over 20 days since I last wrote a post. The reason: a nasty viral flu that got the better of me.
The last three weeks were spent between bouts of high fever and waves of exhaustion as I waited impatiently for the clock to strike four as that is when the girls got back from pwhy with the news of the day.
July has been a hectic month a pwhy with three dynamic young volunteers who have infused their own brand of charm in more ways than one: brand new activities in the special section thanks to Lucy, a dose of vitality at the somewhat slow Okhla centre courtesy Firdaush and new ways of learning at Govindpuri with Xiong.
4pm became the highlight of each day as the girls and the three volunteers sat around me and shared the spoils of the day: young Komal barely 10 months old now holds a pencil, the special kids made a scrumptious fruit salad, the new centre at Sanjay colony has over 70 kids now and so much more.
As I sat every afternoon getting the news of the day, I felt a sense of pride as I saw that pwhy had somewhat come of age and could carry on without my daily presence.
all grown up
It is always with a tinge of sadness that a parent sees his child walk out of the parental home with confidence and determination. And yet it is something every wishes for its child and strives for.
Seven years ago, when we seeded project why, our dream was to one day see simple illiterate or semi-literate parents understand that education was an inherent part of their children’s future. That is when we set out to show then how and empower them.
It is true that the objective we set for ourselves was to contain drop out rates and enhance the school performance of slum kids, and it is also true that that what we often set forth as a measure of our success, but the dream loomed in our minds and we surreptitiously worked towards it, something forgetting that its fulfillment would mean our having to move away. And being human, we somehow found hard to accept that reality, and hence turned a blind eye to many glaring hints.
But how long could we ignore the writing on the wall? The number of kids in our Tilak Khand centre was lessening and many children now stated proudly that they had extra tuition classes ( some often give by our ex-students), and the setting up of 3 NGOs in a place where once not so long ago there was none, said it all. Our dream had come true gently but without any doubt. It was time to move to greener pastures or in our case to another slum where children and parents needed us.
Sanjay Colony was the chosen location and the availability of a small two floor jhuggi made the transition almost immediate. The new centre opened on July 5th and in just one day there were already 40 children!
Somehow we felt all grown up!
midway mysteries
I am now convinced that all activities of project why seem to be ordained in some way. At every step that led us from barely 50 kids to over 500 in 7 short years via open heart surgeries and more, we felt guided by some invisible spirit. To the unordained and oft cynical outsider we may have seemed harebrained as we took on problems larger than us with cocky confidence and empty pockets.
And yet no matter how huge or daunting the issue, solutions and answers have always appeared making the words miracle and angels almost common place in project why parlance. Our virtual begging bowl crafted in a moment of despair had stood us through many a crises and is still going strong and has somewhat proved far more reliable than complex forms and formalities. The reason I guess is that it has always been held out by hands that have a heart.
As we set out on a larger dream a bit out of league for us at it requires time and planning and garnering a huge amount of funds, a two-pronged crisis hit us and needed a solution. Our woman of substance now back home after her surgery needed to be shifted out of her tiny room and our little mr p’s mom needed a safe haven, as 15 months of being locked up were taking their toll and she was yearning for a semblance of homecoming. Well we just put two and two together and decided to find a three room set which would somehow be a midway place till planet why became a reality.
For this no huge amounts were needed so the virtual begging bowl carrying its new message was set out and as always an Angel passed by. So we now have our midway refuge that can take care of any urgent crisis and also be a learning experience for us till the day another miracle makes planet why a reality.
picture perfect
This is not a painting or a touched up photograph. It is s snapshot of our ‘class in a box’ – a.k.a as our manav kalyan creche – and was taken by a visiting friend.
What makes this class so special is that it is the initiative of two barely literate slum housewives who decided to keep this class going even when we moved out of the area. As it is a little far away from our normal beat we tend to neglect it a bit but both Seema and Sarita run it with extreme efficiency.
Most of the decorations are made with recycled objects (such as toffee wrappers) and the little ones are even taught yoga. Though this may seem common place in ‘our world’, it is remarkable as Seema on her own initiative joined some craft and other courses to gain new skills.
A true story of empowerment and one that vindicates what we stand for.
changing egosystems..
“Trying to save ecosystems has more to do with changing egosystems.” said Don Rittner
Last week a visitor from Europe shared his dilemma about choosing a new car. His main concern was carbon emissions and thus his choice a small car though he was a person who could afford the biggest on the market.
Yesterday night as we drove back from a late dinner, we were fishtailed by a speeding sports spewing smoke. The driver was obviously showing off his vehicle as he broke every rule in the book.
It is evident from the above that whereas our European friend has a deep concern for the environment, our young home lad has a long way to go. This is a sad reflection on education as and awareness as the young sports car driver was definitely from a good home.
We have been trying at pwhy to sensitize staff and children on environment issues and we even held a staff workshop on global warming, in the hope that they in turn will take on the issue in their respective classes. And the idea bore fruit as yesterday a day-long programme was held in our secondary section with debates and a painting competition.
The day was spent sharing and exchanging information and trying to find out what children living in slums could do as when one browses sites on global warming most of the remedial measures do not apply to kids in slums. Awareness is needed but is in no way sufficient. One has to give children concrete steps that they can follow. This is not an easy task as we are here faced with people who have come to cities to access new and modern amenities and are loathe to give them up.
And herein lies the challenge. The first step is undoubtedly to show them how critical matters have become and how the sheer numbers in India make it vital for us to act. The battle is far from won but it has begun.
bake a cake
When Kiran got admitted in an upmarket pubic school.. it was a dream come true for her family and for all those who love her. Admission woes were soon forgotten as she set of in her sparkling uniform to conquer a new world.
It would be a big challenge to see her through but her brave little family was determined to ensure that this lovely child would get the best, even if it meant a lot of sacrifices and many hurdles.
The first one came sooner than we expected. As summer holidays began and we perused the dreaded holiday homework sheets we stumbled on one that stumped us all. The class I one child was supposed to bake a cake and immortalise the event in a set of pictures that were to be pasted on the sheet.
Now cakes have percolated down to the poorest of homes in slums in the from of b’day cakes bought at the local bakery, or the packaged version available in local grocery stores but baking a cake is still an uncharted territory. Kiran’s home does not have an oven and anyway her family’s culinary expertise does not extend to baking.
On the other hand not doing the homework would entail consequences none of us would want. Hence the cake was baked in my home and the task fulfilled leaving us to wonder when and in what form would the next hurdle appear in what now seemed to be a surprise obstacle race.
This post could read as a fun one, but if one stopped and took time to think, the incident highlights once again the invisible, unmentionable and yet ever present divide that exists in our country.
I remember times when some part of the homework of my girls could not be completed for some reason or the other and how one confidently circumvented the issue with the teachers. It was easily done as both protagonists belonged to the same side of the fence. However in Kiran’s case, saying that she did not have an oven at home would be almost akin to branding her with her red hot iron.
I am sure that teacher who drafted the homework included this item as a fun project and for as long as different kinds of schools exist in our land such things will occur. It is only when we look at all the children of India in the same manner that we will be able to resolve the issue…
depend on them…
Don’t believe in miracles – depend on them said Laurence J Peter and that is what we have been doing for seven years now. If you need to know whether miracles exist or not,just read on.
Manu who you see in the picture used to roam the streets dishevelled, uncared for and sneered by all. Today he sits with a huge smile holding the weaving frame for his pal Shalini who is learning to make rag rugs. Manu has a peer group and even friends. He laughs and gets angry just like all of us and is slowly learning to live.
Nicola is back home with a brand new hip and a huge smile. In spite of everything being against her, she never lost hope and today she is set to make up for lost time by healing others.
Utpal’s journey from a boiling pan to a boarding school is nothing short of a miracle and as he spends his last summer holiday moments with his mom , he knows that they both have beaten all odds.
In a few weeks Mehajabi will join the rank of the 11 other kids who now have a brand new heart.
Bu these are not the only miracles that came our way. There are more. All the kids who passed their examinations with obsessive regularity; the handful of special bacchas who spend a few hours a day laughing, dancing and above all learning; young Rinky locked in her silent world who now has a job in a beauty parlour; Farzana who had failed twice and whose parents were almost at the brink of stopping her studies and who is now a class XII graduate; our motley bunch of ‘teachers’ who proved everyone wrong by doing a great job.
However all this could not have happened without the miracle of the incredible web of friends from all over the world and all walks of life who stood by, believed in us and reached out without fail each time we needed them.
Yes, project why is an endless string of miracles big and small that have dotted our lives for the past seven years and we do depend on them.
a different QOTD
The recent plight of HIV+ve children has been making headlines. Denied school, then readmitted, then targeted. As usual once again it is good copy for the media and we have picture of the little souls with their faces blurred but ever so recognisable flashed on the screens with obsessive regularity. And the now trendy QOTDs (read question of the day) pertain to this issue: should HIV+ve kids be denied schools? and more of the same.
This heart wrenching incident brings many matters to the fore. The problem of these children does not seem to stem from the authorities but from parents of other children and their misconceptions and fears. The stigma attached to AIDS is mind boggling as we ourselves have experiences at pwhy. When we initiated awareness classes on AIDS, some parents stopped their children from coming to the centre and accused us of being immoral! People from all walks of life seem to associate HIV to loose morals and obliterate the many other causes.
Campaigns have failed to highlight real issues such as its multiple causes and its transmission. hence all HIV+ve patients are denied basic humane behaviour and sensitivity. I recently visited a patient who had contracted the virus through an ill-fated transfusion and was admitted to a hospital. I was shocked to see that rather than have a small sign or code to indicate her status, a huge placard bearing the words BIO HAZARD was hung on her bedpost reminding one of the yellow stars of the Nazi days. What could have been done discreetly was unfortunately done in the most uncaring way.
To the question should kids be denied school the answer has to sadly be yes as long as the environment is not conducive to their presence; yes as long as their status is branded to one and all; yes as long as they are not accepted wholeheartedly for placing them in the midst of a polemic can be destructive.
The QOTDs on this issue should have been addressed to each one of us as in a simple: would you accept to have an HIV+ve kid in your environment?
Wonder what the answer would be then?
just another day at project why
Friends often gently remind me to talk about project why particularly when tend to digress on larger issues or as was the case lately, wander into deep introspection.
Maybe the mere fact that I can indulge in the above proves that all is well at project why. But still I guess many of you may want to know more.
The picture of Anurag and Umesh says it all as it conveys better than any word I could find how pwhy is. Comfortable, at peace, happy, content, cosy, snug are some of the words that come to mind. The cool rains that broke the unbearable heat spell brought some unexpected and wondrous images like this autistic child and his cerebral palsy pal taking a break and maybe dreaming impossible dreams.
Children are slowly coming back from their summer holidays. Classes are going on as usual but I have been told that a play is also being rehearsed though what it is is a mystery. The new prep class is a joy to watch as little toddlers are now learning to sit at a table and work. The special kids are busy making paper bags and mats, and weaving rag rugs. The bigger classes are often seen playing chess or carom.
Two weeks from now school will reopen and the pressure of studies will once again be felt, but till then everyone is happy taking things easy.
and there is always tomorrow.
Courage, it would seem, is nothing less than the power to overcome danger, misfortune, fear, injustice, while continuing to affirm inwardly that life with all its sorrows is good; that everything is meaningful even if in a sense beyond our understanding; and that there is always tomorrow. Dorothy Thompson
I have been locked in silence for a few days. A rare occurrence for me as I always seem to err on the other side, always the one to find the word, action, reaction to any situation whatever it may be.
As I pick up my virtual pen to ultimately break this muteness I find myself diminished in more ways than one. Gone is the bravado and cockiness, the ease with which one took on every cause to espouse, the fire to fight for seemingly lost causes and in its place the inevitable almost existential question: who am I and what gives me the right to do what I do?
The last seven years were filled with a sense of achievement – no matter how minute – a feeling of pride as children passed exams, hearts got fixed, women got empowered, and we grew from 20 to 100 and then to over 500! There were even moments when hubris took over albeit for the tiniest of moments and one’s human side stood exposed as one carefully filed press cuttings with a feeling of satisfaction. One had arrived or so one thought.
However life or God or whoever else it is that holds the trump card always intervenes before you wander to far and this is what happened at a time when I felt almost invincible as we worked towards N’s operation. A simple barely murmured sentence by this extraordinary woman as we sat counting numbers dealt me a blow I am still reeling over. She simply said: had I not had the past I had, I would not have been able to be who I am today.
These are words many of us have said or thought or even believe. But when your past begins with the worst case of abuse at an age when you should be playing with dolls and in a split moment the stage was set for a life where everything would be defiled: her childhood, her dreams, her mind, her spirit, her soul: in a word her future. To bear the pain came the drugs, the alcohol and the defiance of all the rules as, are these not made for those who have the luxury of a normal life where childhood grows into adolescence and matures to adulthood.
Those were her dark years where danger, misfortune , fear, injustice played their destructive game and as is often the case in such situations temerity ruled. Everything is sacrificed with impudence or so one feels. But somewhere a little voice tells you to hold on and a flickering light beckons you to reach out. It is that very glimmer that led N out of her dark labyrinth into a pool of luminous light that not only dispelled her darkness but became a beacon for others to follow and makes a barely literate woman say with pride: I would not have been what I am today.
For N is. In a world where people are happy being shadows or clones, she stands out as an example of hope, a vindication of all those who believe that nothing or no one is hopeless or beyond redemption. But above all N puts into to question the very foundation of those like me, who feel smug in the tiny roles they have chosen for themselves.
Today, when I look back at my existence and particularly at the last seven years I often hold as my best, I see nothing much to write home about or be proud of. It just seems one did what one had to keeping in mind the abundance of privileges one was dealt with all along. N brought into my life a different perspective altogether and a new meaning to the word tomorrow. It becomes imperative for me, to redefine that tomorrow and strive towards it with renewed hope.
Remembering mom.
She left seventeen years ago. Every year on this day I remember her; write a few words, light a lamp, place a garland on her picture, sit quietly in her favourite spot in the garden or make her favourite dish. Then everything is put back into some corner of one’s memory till the next occasion.
On the other hand my more flamboyant father became the one whose memory was celebrated in my work and she as usual took the back seat. I discovered a diary last year and that discovery was a defining moment of my existence. It shattered many images I had held on to. It raised many questions, the most important one being whether I had vindicated my mother’s sacrifice.
My answer was a letter to a dead mother.
I do not know why I chose this day to share this? It could be a sense of guilt towards one I owed so much to, and yet chose to forsake. It could also be because for the past few days I have come across many women fighting for their survival and dignity just as Kamala did.
Last year my friend Abhi decided to immortalise part of Kamala’s life in a short film entitled remembering mother, but I still remained locked in silence. But last week when I spent a morning with the women of Sahara House in their Miracle Maids programme something snapped inside. As I watched this motley bunch of ex addicts struggling to learn the ways of the world as they set out to set tables and memorise complex recipes, my mind went back to the small town girl who became and ambassador’s wife, beating all odds.
The unbearable heat of that refurbished shed where this handful of ladies toiled made me decide to get them a cooler on this special day in the hope that the breeze it blows carries with it the love and blessings of an incredible woman I called mama!
a woman of substance
A few days back an acquaintance who is a jet setting honcho of a huge MNC was house hunting. He finally zeroed on a flat in an up up market district of our capital city. The rent a whopping 550 000 rs a month! Mind you it is not a bungalow, just a second floor in a building! Needless to say the rent is being paid by the company.
This afternoon N insisted on showing me her home. This is the place she is coming back to a few days after her hip joint replacement to recuperate. It is the tiniest of room in a tiny lane of a small middle class colony, with a sordid bathroom and a poky kitchen. She shares the room with a friend and once you lay out two mattresses on the floor there is no place to sleep. Yet it is her home, one she proudly shows. There is a TV, photographs on the wall, and little knickknacks which give it a welcoming appearance. She pays 2000 rs for it, a large chunk of her small salary!
N’s story is one heart wrenching and one you would only think happens in the minds of fiction or script writers. But is also a story of hope as she has proved to one and all that one can survive the worst nightmare and came out of winner.
At an age when others still play with dolls she was abused and then came a spiralling descent to hell which for her was a heady cocktail of alcohol, drugs, and abuse of unimaginable proportion. Yet she came out of it a winner as she took on the task of helping her soul sisters follow her lead.
When she talks of her past, she does it without bitterness or anger, without acrimony or rancour; she has accepted it as a part of herself and one she had made peace with. She simply picked up the broken pieces of her life and wove them into a new life where hope and faith are the call of the day.
Her smile is infectious and her joie de vivre contagious. It is as if she has to make up for lost time and fill her life only light and joy. Looking at her you would not believe the pain she is and that she need a hip replacement that will cost the earth. She is just knows she has to get back on her feet as there is still so much to be done. She has left it to all God’s angels and just carries on. And somehow I know the angels will appear in all shades and hues as when it is comes to a woman like N it just cannot be otherwise.
The morning I spent with her was one the most beautiful I have ever known as it renewed my faith in all that is good and kind. It also made me once again believe in the fact that no life is too wretched to give up on. As we shared a simple meal cooked by another woman whose childhood was usurped by predators under the watchful of eye of our personal angel Mr P, I felt at peace after a long time.
And when we finally stopped by that tiny little room, it somehow felt like the biggest castle as it was overflowing with dreams and aspirations waiting to be fulfilled.
the heat is on
The heat is on. The weather girl predicted a whopping 45 degrees with a sweat factor of 27% making it feel like 48 degrees. The sensible thing would be to stay at home, away from the sun and the scalding wind. True that is an option for some of us, provided the electricity does not play truant.
Why do you stay open, ask many friends. It would be easy to close for the summer and take off to some hill station, but we know that if we did, children would suffer as home for many of them is a tiny shack with a tin roof, and the streets too hot to be a playground in the heat of the summer.
So we brave the heat and soldier on. Fans and coolers help a little. We also ensure that children are not dehydrated and we know we are on the right track as classes are as full as ever. It is true that some of our classrooms are no better than shacks, like the one in the picture, but somehow the joy of being together makes up for the thatch roof and electricity cuts.
The life of a slum child in the peak of summer is hell. School holidays means having nowhere to go. Homes are overcrowded and torrid. Tempers run high and there is no place to escape. No parks, no open spaces, no shaded play grounds.
The scorching heat brings to light an array of questions, some of them without answers alas! Fr st and foremost is the issue of urban habitat for the poor. How can we call ourselves a free nation when we have not been able to give basic amenities to a large chunk of our population. Urban slums are bereft of any planning, and teeming with disasters waiting to happen. Naked electricity wires run like monstrous webs, each a potential fire hazard that would engulf everything in a split second. Garbage stench and flies abound, and homes – or what goes by the name – are hell holes. Yet most of the people who live there are people we know: our electrician or plumber, our vegetable vendor, our daily maid, the lad who cycles in the heat to bring us the grocery item we have forgotten.. simple souls who make our air conditioned lives a tad better and who are also people protected by the same laws and supposed to enjoy the same rights as us.
Every morning, as we enter our centre we are met with sleepy and tired little eyes. For the past few days many of the creche and special kids have just slept through their day, vindicating our resolve to remain open come what may.
There is of course the larger issue: that of global warming and environment. But in the wake of what we see, one wonders whether anyone is really interested in solving any issue that does not bring with it money, power, votes….
the preppies
We have a new class. It is one we had to create by force majeure. Though we ourselves believe that children should not be made to study at too tender and age, sometimes noblesse oblige and you have to bow to the rule of the day.
So much to our sorrow we had to take the decision to structure our early education programme and bring in some serious work. Class I in India requires children to know have a fair amount of oral and written skills: alphabets in 2 languages – English and Hindi -, counting to 100, spelling of numbers 1 to 10 and even three letter words. Quite a handful for little kids who are barely five.
We also felt that as many of our children would be going to government run schools, it would be an asset for them to have a solid base that would be taught to them with love and patience. It was time also to graduate from the easy going atmosphere and sitting on the ground, to the first desk and chair.
We were lucky to get a little room just opposite our centre and classes began in earnest this morning under the supervision of Vinita and Pushpa a new teacher who lives next door. The first day, like all first days was a little daunting and confusing but our little preppies did us proud as they always do!
a milestone for project why
The arrival of Pritpal is a real milestone for the special section of project why. Pritpal is an occupational therapist and will work with the children every morning. This will be a quantum leap for many kids and is bound to help them have a better future.
My thoughts travel back to the day when Sylvia, a special educator, landed one winter morning in early 2001 at our doorstep. With her were 5 mentally and physically challenged kids who had lost the school they went to. It did not take us a minute to realise that we had to do something for the. That is how our special section began, on the road side, with a handful of kids and a tons of hope.
When I see that section today, I am filled with pride as it is by far our best class. We have gone a long way since that cold morning when we had nothing but our determination and faith and of course the unconditional love of these kids.
Today our special section is vibrant; it is the place I chose to go to when I feel a little blue, a little lost, a tad defeated. But all clouds are lifted as I hear the good mornings ma’am and see the smiles of each and every one urging to come and sit by them, or eager to show a new task achieved. If it is lunchtime then each one shares a bit of their lunch, even Anurag who never parts with any of his tiffin. But I am privileged, am I not?
Sometimes it is singing time, or dancing time, or jumping on the trampoline time, and all join in, even those who cannot hear or can barely walk. I have never seen such synergies, such joy and such positive energy. What is truly incredible is that this motley crew of 20 each with their own handicap never judges the other, but accepts her or him unconditionally.
They are family in the true sense of the world. It does no matter if they belong to different castes, or creed or socio-economic backgrounds. They all know what it is to be different and have borne that pain. It binds them in an incredible web of love and lust for life. This is there turf and they protect it. Those who cannot understand are not welcome. That is the only rule they have.
a salvo from the heart
We all love positive stroking; come to think about it, it is something we need. We have had our share but often it is more lip service than a salvo from the heart.
Usha is a special educator from Jan Madhyam an organisation we network with and has been coming to Project Why for many months now. She works with the children, teaching then a host of new activities and somehow has become one of us.
Last week during lunch time the usually quiet and unobtrusive Usha decided to fire a salvo from her heart. She simply said: your organisation is one of the few that works with its heart.
I do not why, but these simply words were the most rewarding appreciation we have ever got!
reservation imbroglio- whose in whose out
Tuesday morning some French friends set out from our home to board a train to Rajasthan. They were on a three week holiday and were hoping to be able to visit as many places as possible. As they were leaving, I told them rather casually to get in touch in case there was any problem. It was almost a redundant statement as so many friends had boarded trains to Rajastan and come back safely their eyes and mind filled with lifelong memories.
Imagine my astonishment when a few hours a later I got a panicked call informing me that their train had been stuck for hours and asking me what was happening and above all what were they to do. having been at work all day, I had not seen the news and did not know what had hit them. I just told them to hold on and that i would get back to them shortly.
I quickly turned the TV and was assailed by images of buses burning amidst a sea of people and tried to figure out what had happened. Slowly reality sunk in as I realised that once again the hydra headed monster of reservation has struck in a new way.
The friends have altered their holiday plans and set out for the hills but for the last few days I have been watching in stunned silence the horrific drama that is unfolding in front of our eyes. This is the reservation nightmare revisited but in another avatar altogether. Here it is not a question of the upper caste resisting an increase in reservation. What we are witnessing is far more insidious and dangerous as it defeats the very essence of what reservation is meant to stand for.
What was meant to be an affirmative action to help those who had been let down by society for generations, what was meant to be a help for the underprivileged sections has now turned out to be a battle to save one’s spoils. The Gujjar community is seeking scheduled tribe status, something that can be defended as this is a backward community of herdsmen. What is scaring is that over and above the political issue, resistance to this is not from upper castes but from another ST section, namely the Meena who are apparently the only recognised Tribals in Rajasthan. One does not have to be a rocket scientist to see that all this is a far cry from affirmative action for the underprivileged. A new entrant entails having to share the spoils which include government jobs, political assignments, etc..
One would have thought that brethren were to be supported and helped but that is not the case as reservation is no more viewed as a time bound support to the have nots to ensure their mainstreaming, but as an easy way of getting favours and once again the monster of reservation has proved to be stronger than the administrative machinery as it is replete with causes to espouse for many hungry politicos.
How this will end I do not know. The confrontation has turned into a caste struggle that is turning ugly and a vindication of the fear that of the polarisation and fragmentation of our already fragile social fabric and a proof of the failure of the reservation policy as it has been imagined by its authors.
a few of my favourite things
Last week a TV crew came to project why. They spent two days capturing the shots they wanted and driving us literally up the wall. When it was over, the producer handed me a form tat he said needed to be filled. It began like all data sheets with queries about name, dob etc.. but then were a host of questions asking for one’s favourite things.
At age 55+ it seems a little inane to have to answer favourite actor, food, actress, movie colour, dress and God knows what else, so I simply followed the lead of my excited young colleagues. True there was a time when I did have a list of favourite things, but stilettos gave way to floaters as style was sacrifices at the alter of comfort! However one question caught my eye: what is your favourite book?
This one was for me, my true turf, as books had been my friends, solace, companions and mentors right from my early days. At first glance, it seemed an easy question as was I not the ones who lived and breathed books. I still remember how deeply moved I had been by Francois Truffaut’s stunning film Fahrenheit 451 where the possibility of a world without books entered by adolescent mind.
So the question what is your favourite book was one I had to answer myself. easier said than done as I sat pencil in hand trying to recall the innumerable number of books that I had read over the years and finding the one that could truly deserve the attribute of favourite!
My mind rapidly scanned the books I had always professed liking, but each somehow fell short of something. They seemed more to have been in tune with a particular moment of my existence but paled beyond that reality. What I sought was the book that had withstood the vagaries of a lifetime; the one that gave the same intense pleasure each time one opened it; the one that always had the ability to answer the query of the moment no matter what it could be; the one that could soothe frayed nerves and make you believe that life was worth living even in your darkest hour; the one that had never left your bookshelf!
My mind travelled back and forth as many titles came to mind, but only one could answer all the aforesaid questions as well as those not yet formulated as yes there was such a book in my life: The Little Prince by Antoine de St Exupery, a book that had entered my life when I was twelve and that still sits comfortably on my bookshelf.
To many and by the looks of it, The little Prince is a children’s book, and I must confess that when I first read it, it did not quite compete with the adventure books that were hot favourites of mine. But I found myself attracted to it in an almost intuitive way and as years passed I often picked up and read bits of it at times when I was confused, sad or lonely.
The Little Prince is a mesmerising book as it seems to address to each one of us and any given time in our lives. It is a quaint philosophical fable written way back in the 1940’s but one that retains its freshness as we meet its diverse protagonists: the businessman counting useless stars, or tippler who drinks because he is ashamed of his drinking.
And as you get lost in this world you realise the futility of many things your held as important and the importance of those you overlooked. You are gently taught of the danger of losing your ability to question what you cannot comprehend or what you find absurd. And gently you are led to the one secret that holds true in life and extols you to learn to look with you heart.
In hindsight I now see how deeply this tiny book has helped me and guided me in life and deserves to be my favourite book!
happy b’day girl
When she came to us a few months back we did not know whether she would make it. her tiny and frail body, her almost cerulean hue, her huge sparkling eyes made a quaint and disturbing picture.
Her near brush with death made scared us no end, but soon miracles occurred as she had her much needed surgery. And suddenly her zest for life took over as she rushed to make up for lost months: a new tooth, a bigger smile, a few ounces here and there and new antics each time she came by.
This morning she arrived again clutching a box of sweet. It was her first birthday, one she almost missed!
happy b’day girl!
.. better than all the rest
You’ re simply the best we sang with as much energy as Tina Turner as the 12 girls of our class XII batch cleared their Boards with panache. Yes this year the project why class XII was an all girls batch. A matter of pride for us but also a true reflection of an existing social reality. parents spend more on boys and hence most are given private tuition. The girls are just sent to project why!
Today we can see the next line of the song – better than all the rest – as the X Boards results are out and once again our 11 boys and 11 girls have passed too!
I have now words to express what I feel though this day as dawned 7 times for us. Yet each time I feel as overwhelmed and somehow a tad sad as there are many children who have the ability but lack the tiny little bit of help they need.
I just wish we could do more…
the length of a lifetime
The story of little M should send chills down every self respecting human being’s spine. The question remains: Does it? Or have we become so inured to crime against children, particularly small children, that we turn our hearts away.
Can any society that calls itself civilised allow such incidents to happen, let alone happen with license, particularly when the child in question is poor. And if they do happen can one allow the perpetrators to roam scot-free as we lose ourselves in legal imbroglios.
M or the Nithari children or even the Ghaziabad girls were one may say exceptions, but child abuse if often much more insidious. There has been lot of talk of child abuse in recent days. A recent study shows some chilling facts as to the extent of this crime that seems to be mostly perpetrated within the supposedly safe boundaries of the home.
Child abuse is by far the most heinous crime and one of the reasons why it is practised with impunity is because in most cases no one is ready to believe the child who has the courage to break the tacit code of silence. Instead of sharing the pain and alleviating it, adults are quick to rap the child on the knuckles and push her or him back to realm of the very silence she or he dared break, and thus to the hell of more abuse.
The reason for the post is two fold. One stems out of a recent incident at project why when a child shared a personal experience. The experience was difficult to word and as always with children it came out in a garbled whisper. Thankfully the teacher she shared it was sensitive and understanding and decided to come to me for advise. We soon learnt of the abuse this child had been subjected to and were glad she had broken the deafening silence she had lived in all those years. The first step towards healing had been taken.
But, and that is the second reason for this post, this is rarely the case as children rarely find a sympathetic ear when they decide to come out with the truth. A ten year old had been subjected to inappropriate fondling by someone she held in trust. The child had the courage to inform her mother hoping that at least she would believe her and act. But in spite of education and well worldliness the mother adopted the cowardly middle path and though the child was never abused again she had to live with her perpetrator for many long years.
That is the problem with child abuse as it is mostly committed by someone within the family, and often someone with authority. Breaking the silence means destroying the social balance and shattering the comfortable life one leads. It means taking sides and standing up for the child against all. It means risking to lose everything one has and somehow society has rarely stood for the victim. The hesitant and hurting child is often silenced or at best provided some half-baked protection and made to continue living under the same roof as the abuser.
Something is terribly wrong: a little child who has been abused and hurt has to pick rags for a living when what she needs is healing and love, another child is made to live long years within the same walls as her abuser because the social balance cannot be disturbed.
And even when perpetrators are caught then justice is elusive. Who knows where the Ghaziabad girls are or whether the Nithari children will really get justice, or whether little M’s abuser will pay for his heinous crime. And these are just the few cases that got reported but every day there are children who are being abused and who need to be heard.
It is for us as a society to take up the cudgels and fight this crime. What is terrible is that it is often the victim and her family who are ostracized by the very society they live in. C is 14 year old and she is a student of project why. Just like M she was raped by a neighbour at the age of 4 and suffered severe injuries that needed corrective surgery. Her abuser did some time in jail and is now free but young C still bears the stigma of that rape and is shunned by all.
Yes something is terribly wrong and we cannot look away because in the words of Herbert Ward child abuse casts a shadow the length of a life time
You’re simply the best
Once again our kids have done us proud. All 12 project why students have cleared their class XII Boards and some with distinction. What makes this bunch different to all others is that many come from poor homes and have studied against many odds. Some were even considered failures when they first came to us and in some cases we had to convince parents to allow the kids to continue their studies.
But today all is forgotten, and a palpable feeling of joy filled the classroom as the results were declared. The credit goes to Naresh our senior secondary teacher whose dedication and unwavering faith in his students motivated them to give their very best.
It is time to celebrate