I normally am rarely at home during the course of the day and thus am not aware of he comings and goings that dot a normal working day seen from the inside of a home. Yesterday I remained indoors on doctor’s advise and spent most the time in my tiny office which is next to the main entrance of the house and thus closest to the gate.

My hope of getting some serious work done was soon shattered by the door bell that rang at disturbing intervals. Bar the ironing man and the gardener all other interruptions came from a new persona: the courier man.

Soon a little pile of envelopes of all shades and hue littered my usually pristine desk. There were a few bills, a few invitations but the majority of the pile was made of diverse promos and publicity material. Though we are only three in the house, my husband is a member of two prestigious clubs and thus on several mailing lists. From sarees to silverware, from furniture to food, from electronic goods to art exhibitions everyone seemed to consider us a valued customer. And each envelope was glossier than the other and in sizes that would never fit the slit of a mailbox. And if that was not enough, most of the envelopes were packed in high quality transparent plastic lest they get soiled!

Like in most homes, the carefully wrapped messages would soon find their way in the waste, and in city like ours where waste segregation is still an unheard concept, the carefully worded suggestions to valued people who simply add to the burden of a collapsing planet.

Everyone is talking of global warming and the need to act. And one of the simple ways of doing so is my protecting trees and saving paper. Is not time for us as concerned citizens to raise our voices against this flood of publicity that now targets our very homes? I know that many will talk about the numerous jobs that this industry gives and supports. But is it not time to alter perceptions and reinvent things in a more environment friendly way?

In the times of the Internet and the electronic media, there have to be ways of halting the proliferation of publicity material that is suffocating the planet. And if one insists on printed material then one should use only recycled paper. I have often written about my concern on the proliferation of pouches that have hit urban slums and litter the roads and clog drains. Companies who market these are rich enough to invest into developing environment friendly packaging were it made mandatory. But in the game of money making who will bell the cat. And the cat is often within our home and goes by the name of comfort and convenience. It is so much easier to get a plastic bag from the shopkeeper than to carry a cloth one; it is easier to sump all garbage in a plastic bag than to segregate it.

Added to comfort and convenience is another culprit that goes by the name of convention. When we began our work almost 10 years ago and looked around we found that all organisations had beautiful brochures and pamphlets. In our earlier days we did the same but thankfully because of paucity of funds and the ever changing nature of our work we had to put a stop and look for alternatives. Those were the early days of the net and we jumped the bandwagon and created our website that we managed in-house. The rest is history and today even the printer has stopped making his customary sale calls. And today when people ask us for litterature about the project we refer them to the site and the blog and if needed print out one set of the required information.

Be it plastic, paper or water laws alone can never suffice. One has to change mindsets and alter our ways of thinking and be prepared to be called marginal or wacko. When my daughter got married we did not print wedding cards. Barring one person everyone did turn up.

It is time each one of us starts giving up old ways and find new ones. It is not an easy task but it is the only one that will help our children have a future.

Bye bye hot samosas was the the blog I had written some time back when one first heard of the probable banning of all street food in our city. Yesterday the Supreme Court decreed and imposed a ban on all street food.

We often fail to see things unless we have a real reason to. For as long as I remember I have driven past roads in Delhi not quite looking at street food. Lately I have found myself actually doing so and have been amazed by the abundance of what is soon going to disappear: From small road stalls to carts, from samosas to meals via fruits and zingy snacks, the street food culture permeates the very soul of this city! And true to its globalisation efforts we now have Chinese food and burger stalls too! Frankly I cannot begin to imagine the streets without these. It is true that if we look closely at some of these stalls we are compelled to frown at the hygiene standards or the safety norms; however life without them seems a tad sad.

That was nostalgia but the problem does not end there. In my pre project why days street food was that forbidden treat we sought once in a while, but many of us do not realise that for millions in the city it is a lifeline!

At 5 or 10 rupees a plate it is a hot meal for those who do not have families or time to get up and cook. To others it is the sole way of having some fruits or a sweet treat. And to thousands of families it is the much needed income that brings a meal at the end of the day.

It was heartwarming to see that a leading TV channel had launched a campaign to save Delhi’s street food on the lines of earlier campaigns to get justice. And the pictures that were aired were those of humble people who candidly defended their right to a meal.

That Delhi is bursting at its seams because of the daily influx of migrants is a reality that no one can overlook, but can one deny the fact that this has happened with the tacit approval of those in power. Swelling vote banks, new causes to defend were all part of a hubristic game and no one saw the writing on the wall.

As numbers grew so did the support network: food stalls, street barbers, cobblers, cycle repair shops et al. And greed broke all bounds: the greed of the politicians who wanted more voters, the greed of the administration who saw more sources of dubious income, the greed of the people who found new shortcuts to earning. Till the day when someone saw red and petitioned the courts.

I cannot but begin to imagine how the new law will be brought into force keeping in mind the host of people that it will affect: livelihood of some, sustenance of the other and above all extra income of yet another. The scenario is quite frightening as no real option seems to have been put in place. The ban on street food will swell the ranks of the unemployed and increase lawlessness. Or will it be a cat and mouse game that will benefit the greedy law enforcers as the fact that street food is available in the remotest recesses of the city makes it easy to move into a grey mode.

All this is yet to be seen, the large issue remains that once again it is the poor that is hit. We will still find ways to fulfill our nostalgic urges as in all likelihood, traditional street food will find new moorings. What will disappear is the hot lunch option that sustains a multitude of people who toil hard in this city and make it a better place for us.

Children sometimes say the most astonishing things. Many times it takes you a while to decipher the words as they often assume that you know what they are thinking and deliver the rest in what can best the best riddle..

Kiran and I were riding in the three wheeler when she suddenly said: Pamika -read shamika my daughter – pablic main thi naa.. which can be translated as: Shamika was in public, wasn’t she? Then as she saw my bemused face she added: School, kaun se school main thi.. which school was she in?
I mumbled : French school and pat came the next sentence: who pablic hai na.

That is when the penny dropped and I could say Eureka!

What little Kiran mean was asking was whether Shamika studied in a public school as compared to a government school. To her there were just two kinds of schools: the public ones like the one she went to, and the to municipal or government ones.

Her parents and her favourite aunt had gone to the later. But the whole family decided to make a huge effort and get her admitted in a public school to give her the best start possible. Her admission has its own share of drama that she witnessed as nothing can be hidden in the tiny homes. Kiran processed the information in her own way and then came up with her perplexing query as she reviewed every one she knew.

The above incident can lead to many debates but what stays in my mind is the vulnerability of a child ‘s mind as it handles information it receives. What one must not forget is that such maters remained ingrained for a long time.

Sunday 13 May was an special day at project why. A Right to Information meeting was held at our Okhla centre. Santosh and Priyanka tow RTI activists from Parivartan and Kabir, came all the wau from east Delhi to explain how this Act could make a diference in the lives of humble Indian citizens. The meet had been organised by Amit and our community awareness team.

It was a hot sultry day and at first attendance was scarce as many believed that the meeting was dubious reasons ranging. A little prompting from Pushpa and Manju our Okhla centre teachers and numerous trips by kids to their home did the trick and soon some parents and bystanders arrived. As the meeting began more people joined in. Santosh and Priyanka introduced the RTI in simple terms replete with case studies and slowly the motley crowded got interested and started sharing their stories. The main theme was ration cards and ration availability, something that seemed to touch everyone. A palpable excitement pervaded the atmosphere as simple people slowly realised that they too had a voice, and one that could be heard.

Slowly people started to raise their own issues ranging from admission in schools to the precarious nature of their habitat and our RTI activists showed them how even such issues could be addressed through RTI.

The seed had been sown. And though there were a few discordant notes namely voiced by some drunken men, the general mood was one of optimism and hope. But we cannot rest o our laurels, this is just the embryonic beginning of what can be an incredible journey. We will help file some applications this week itself as the proof of the pudding is in the eating. Simple souls have short memories and the wretchedness of their lives may soon obliterate this fleeting moment of hope.

It is our duty to do so.

Global warming is hitting our planet faster than we can imagine. The Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change released its latest report: “Climate Change 2007: Impacts, Adaptation and Vulnerability,” in Brussels, 6 April 2007 and the findings are alarming and urging everyone to act.

Recent magazines and newspapers have started highlighting the issue with regularity and publishing lists of what can be done. Many websites have come into existence each trying to make us understand the gravity of the situation and suggest remedial actions. Yet there seems to be no urgency in the matter be it on the national level or the individual one. The number of cars and bikes are increasing in quantum leaps, trees are being felled with renewed alacrity, the sales of incandescent bulbs is as healthy as ever and quite frankly none of us seem to care.

Plastic is being used with impunity and water wasted with abandon. In slums with the advent of credit cards and easy loans, there has been an increase in the number of motorcycles that young people use even to go to the next block and rev with glee to impress. The panni or plastic bag is to be seen everywhere from hand to choked drains, and plastic pouches litter the streets flaunting the names of the biggest MNCs. From washing soap, to detergent, to shaving foam, to ketchup, to chewing tobacco, to coffee, to jam, to shampoo every brand has its packaging for the poor.

A recent informal survey showed that each slum dwelling used an average of 10 to 15 pouches a day. We tried over the years to raise awareness on environmental issues but too not much avail. Perhaps we did not do it convincingly enough. One of our projects entitled once is not enough lost momentum. Maybe we ourselves did not see the writing on the wall.

Two years back we even launched a sustainability programme based on raising awareness on bio-diesel. In 2003 – 2004 we gathered one ton of seeds from the pongamia trees that proliferate in Delhi and milled about 300 liters of SVO the crude form of bio-diesel. We organised a meet to introduce slum migrants to this new fuel. Unfortunately because of lack of resources this project had to stop. Today each year, tons of plum pongamia seeds replete with oil are swept away and then burnt by the local municipality sweepers.

I guess we too did not persue the matter with the required passion. However recent events have once again made us face reality and revive all our past efforts. A workshop on global warming and related maters was held with the staff and an action plan drawn. It was decided to revive once is not enough, a simple project that asks each one of us to find one more use of any thing they are about to discard. It could be paper, a plastic bag, a bottle, a box.. The idea is to delay its landing in the garbage dump.

The Okhla children held a rally against plastic and went to many slum clusters explaining how its inordinate use could harm our environment. Teachers are now talking to the children about global warming and how we can help in arresting it.

It is not an easy task as most of the things we need to fight against are the the very ones that spell success and achievement in the lives of the urban poor. Others are the ones hat brig ease and comfort in our lives. But we will carry on as best we can as no education can be complete unless it teaches what is relevant to our day and times.

This is long journey, one we hope will lead to the day when our students will turn into young adults who walk three blocks rather than take a bike ride. We also hope that the day will come when MNCs will look into eco-friendly pouches and the pongamia seeds that go waste every year will yield their liquid gold.

There is a new blog about the comings and goings of project why. Khabar why ki was launched some time back hesitantly by our incomparable duo Shamika and Rani. After a slow beginning it as now taken off in style.

Khabar why ki is a blog in roman Hindi and shares in a candid way the daily events that occur at project why. It offers a different view as it comes almost from the horse’s mouth. I hope many of you will drop and encourage this new enterprise.

This morning a neighbour of Mehajabi came by. Actually he was the man who had first brought her to us. He had come to collect the precious receipts that would ensure that the child was operated. After collecting the two pieces of paper and listening to the instructions, he lingered on for a while, hesitant to say what he wanted to.

I asked him what the mater was and he said shoved some medical papers in my hand and mumbled some inaudible words. This is his story..

Two years ago he lived in a village in Bihar where he eked a living as a daily wage labourer. He has a tiny plot of land and a little house. Life would have carried on were it not for his wife’s sudden loss of hearing. Local medical facilities being non-existent, he decided to come to Delhi in the hope of getting his wife cured. In Delhi he rented a tiny hovel and started his life as a daily wage labourer in earnest. He also set out get his wife treated but soon discovered that each day spent at the government hospital was one without work and the treatment was taking forever as he was sent from pillar to post.

After some time the comings and goings got the better of the little family as there were four children that needed to be carted each time and the loss of income was too much to bear. The wife too took on a job and life went on. But the ear ailment worsened. The wife’s employer decided to ‘help’ and sent the wife to a local specialist. She paid part of the treatment but then left for another city. The wife was ‘operated’ upon and given a huge prescription of expensive medicines. Part of the doctor’s bill still needed to be paid and the man borrowed and paid the same. But no money was left for the medication and the wife never went back to the doctor.

This was two weeks ago, and the man was at his wit’s end as infection had set in, the landlord not been paid and the family in danger of being homeless. He had come to ask for help.

A quick glance at the medical papers he carried showed that they did not even state what kind of surgery had been performed. We took him to our local doctor who referred him to a ENT specialist and we will try and ensure that she gets treated.

There must be many like this family who come to the city and get caught in an infernal spiral. They leave their roots and home to seek better medical help but soon find themselves worse they were in a inhospitable big city that is ready to devour them. As they try to survive, they sink deeper into debt. Some turn to alcohol, others gamble, and still others take their frustration out on their helpless families.

Welcome to the world of medical tourism of another kind.

How to sustain project why is a question that has been haunting me for some time now, I guess time waits for no one and the writing is on the wall! It is a question many have raised, some gently others even brutally. I must confess that I spend many hours thinking about valid options and reviewing past mistakes.

The list of ideas that did not work is daunting: we made candles, jewels, painted T shirts, pots and more of the same and sold them at charity bazaars. We gathered pongamia seeds from he numerous trees around, milled oil and made soaps; we made eco-friendly shopping bags; we even made chocolates but soon saw that none of these could ever bring us the funds required to run pwhy.

And as each idea failed, lessons were learnt. It became clear that we could not match the competition. Moreover the complex legislations related to some products like soaps and food items were wrought with red tape. And finally marketing any product required huge investment. The final blow was the sealing laws that put an end to any small business idea we may have had.

We had to find a minimum or no investment and high return option. That is when I stumbled upon the idea of the one -rupee-a day option. It seemed such a doable one as one thought that it would not be difficult to convince people to part with such a tiny sum. One become bold enough to believe that even the community would part with that tiny amount. But reality struck soon enough as one laboured on. People did not come forward. Or those who did, just did it once and forgot. And yet like you hold on to a special child, this option never left me though it did not bring the desired result.

Slowly planet why came to seed. And yet it again looked doable provided one found the funds to set it up. Many have warmed up to the idea but the investment is huge.

As I write these words I am reminded of the lyrics of a Neil Diamond song:

I’ve looked at life from both sides now
From win and lose and still somehow
It’s life’s illusions I recall.
I really don’t know life at all.

Somehow the sustainability options of planet why are two sides of a spectrum: either we find a huge number of people and ask them to part with a tiny amout of money over a long period of time, or we find a huge amout of money and create our own way of finding money.

Tht is the dilemena one faces!

Was it only a year ago that I wrote about my worst fears in a post I entitled plastic fantastic lover. I have been watching in helpless horror the gleaming bikes and big cars that landed in the darkest lanes of the slums around us, courtesy a pyramid sales company promising an El Dorado t any one who joined them. I have watched with extreme sadness young people falling prey one after the other to this hoax, many leaving their studies midway, many our very own students. I have screamed myself hoarse trying to guard them from the pitfalls I could see. I have prayed hard for them to fall before it is too late. But the enemy was too formidable and the lollies to attractive.

Day after day more bikes, more cars, more white shirts and blank pants, more frenzy, more euphoria. The voices of reason were silenced and many even gloated at all that had been achieved.

I just sat silent wondering when the pyramid would crash, I sat silent asking myself how did one pick the pieces of broken dreams and shattered hope, how did one clean up after the storm has passed. My worst case scenario was huge debts leading to despair. And though the idea had seeded in my mind, nothing could prepare me for the news I heard this morning: one of the young kids had taken is own life this morning as he could not face the creditors knocking at his door and had no one to turn to for help. He was twenty one.

And as the story unfolded, all apprehensions and fears stood validated. Many young boys and girls were faced with huge debts. The dreams of early days now lay jaded. The careless freedom had taken its toll as many girls lost their way in a world they could not master. Some of the ring leaders were faced with lawsuits and had gone in hiding. Reality had caught up with these misguided children who had no one to turn to.

My mind went back to the innumerable posts I had written about my fears. My mind went back to some hate mails I got where young people lauded the work of MLM. I kept some of them and paste one here as it was sent to me without editing :

myself ebizzer amit
ebiz.com (p) ltd
The power of right decision
ebiz become the best network marketing company of the world by touching millions of people around the world by essential komputer eduction, quality produts and service at vrey reasonble and offardable costs, to help them achieve financial freedom.

I have nothing to say as these words spek for themselves. I just hope and pray that no other life will have to be lost.

I had heard the story of the the one-eyed child who lived in a small village and was the butt of cruel jokes and a sad laughing stock. His mother climbed a rocky hill on her knees to reach a shrine where it was said miracles happened. Sometime later her child lost his other eye and turned blind. At first she was unable to understand what had happened till slowly she realised that people had stopped making fun of her child and were often seen helping him and being kind to him.

This story has many explanations and many lessons to be learnt. But it came to my mind as I battled a real life situation today. We have been trying to find alternatives for Babli and Jeetu. Whereas many know Babli’s story, Jeetu belongs to times before one actually became a blogger. He lost his Mom when he was still a tiny baby. Now almost 8 he is tended for by a father who barley eeks a living. The father, like so many others, drinks and becomes abusive and violent. Last week he was seen threatening his son with a tyre that he was about to hurl on him when one of our staff members intervened.

Babli and Jeetu have parents but just in name as in either case these parents have scant time for their progeny. We were hoping to send them to karammarg but were told that a recent decision of their Board was to only take orphans.

Babli and Jeetu are not exceptions. There are many like them who though having parents live a life of abject neglect. They are left to their own devices. Jeetu does not even go to school in spite of all our efforts. Babli is a surrogate mother to her family. Her father even makes take care of the tobacco and cigarette cart he has while he is busy gambling. One year after her heart surgery she has not grown an inch or put on a pound. Having parents who do not care is worse than being orphaned as orphans are quite often taken care of by relatives and treated with kindness.

Jeetu and Babli are muck like the one eyed child, their lives worse than that of the child with no parents. Their homes situation is so hopeless that it becomes impossible to help them in situ. Their only hope is that their family – or what goes by that name – accepts to give them a better chance.

Sometimes decisions are taken in a hurry, one can only hope that they are not irreversible. It is the plight of children like them that made us seed planet why. If not for all the children at least for those who drop by our way.

Some of you may remember the very special gift I had sought this year for my b’day. Yesterday was unwrapping time as team project why gathered for a day long workshop and everyone read their essays ( for want of a better word). I must confess that I was really thrilled as everyone, even those who were illiterate had made the effort to produce a page.

When I began the workshop by asking each one to read what they had written I was met with a volley of giggles, exclamations and no ways! But I held on and soon everyone settled and one by one they read what they had written. Some in barely audible voices, some with theatrical aplomb, and some amidst giggles. I wish i had done this exercise before as those few paragraphs were a deep insight into each and everyone. Having known most of them for many years now, I could validate much of what I had till then just felt intuitively.

They had been asked to write about how the years in pwhy had transformed them, it at all, and why should anyone one ‘love’ them. Some felt is necessary to eulogise pwhy and ma’am. Others were bold enough to state that they should be loved for this or that reason. Some went back to their school days and their relationship with their own teachers. There were even one or two who delivered a passionate speech on the state of the country.

There were however some heartwarming and even poignant common threads: new found self confidence, ability to talk to foreigners, realisation that they could achieve what once seemed impossible. All in all it was a great experience and one that met my secret agenda: that of getting each one of them to take on the running of their own centre. I explained to them that i wanted each one of them to feel responsible for the work they were doing, to make its budget, to list its assets, to maintain daily accounts and above all to state its relevance.

There were raised eyebrows, incredulous looks and much whispering. But step one had been taken towards a change in roles and I knew that this was a great moment for all of us at pwhy.

(to be continued….)

Our new budget for 2007 – 2008 is on line. Normally a budget is not something you blog on. However project why has reached a stage where in a case of force majeure it has become necessary to review and reinvent.

The Damocles sword of the now (in)famous sealing laws hangs on our head. The not so elusive year 2010 is just round the corner and it would be foolish to think that slums will remain where they are. On the other hand the promise of building flats for slum dwellers in situ is at best only for a chosen few, if not a another political sop. The likelihood of slums being once again pushed to the edge of the city seems more like a reality waiting to happen.

Thinking that project why could remain as it is for years to come is unwise. The sensible option is to start planning for the future while keeping within the spirit of project why.

We now have 10 working modules in 7 locations. Our first step would be to empower the staff in each of these 10 module to take on their management. Hence we have asked them to prepare individual budgets and maintain daily accounts. We know that we will have to hold their hand for some time but in the ultimate analysis they will one day be able to handle their work independently and thus run their programmes in whatever location they find themwelves in. Pwhy then becomes the validating organisation that would seek funds. It would also have a training and monitoring role.

On the other hand we still have some children and adults that would need us on a lifelong basis. These are not those we sought but those that landed in our existence. Planet why is what we have considered as a viable option as it would also enable us to raise on our funds in the future. This is also a imperative as we cannot expect funders to support us for ever.

Budget 2006 includes a new programme that we have called community outreach. This was done as it was felt that education alone could not bring about the kind of change we dreamt of. Awareness on issues like RTI and environment (water, plastic menace etc) are important factors that need to be taught to both parents and children. Moreover the need for health and hygiene awareness needs also to be addressed. We are happy to share that after 7 gruelling years we have finally been accepted by the community and approached by local doctors and other community leaders for joint programmes. This is a major breakthrough in our effort to bridge the gap between various sections of the community. Moreove this programe will also try and address various social issues that plague the community.

2007 looks like being a year of transformation and remodeling. We are awre that it will throw up many new challenges but we hope to meet them with success.

Remember Babli? Yes the one whose heart was fixed with success but life was not. The little girl who wanted to be a police? Seems she needs us again as she of all the 12 children who have had heart surgeries is the one who has not grown an inch or put on a pound.

Babli is as neglected as she was before and though she does now go to school, she often misses pwhy on a pretext or another. The spirited little girl of yesterday is slowly turning into a listless child. We have tried for months now to counsel her parents but to no avail. Her father seems too busy playing cards and her mother too busy clocking overtime at the factory she works in.

What cannot forget the bright eyes filled with huge dreams that use to meet ours when she was in hospital, almost as if she knew that the operation was her way to transforming her life. As time passed on and she got better, the dreams seemed to fly away. I wonder if she too slowly realised that she was now confined into the well scripted role of an elder sibling.

It was time to act again. After much deliberation we have decided to convince her parents to send her to karam marg where she can go to school, play in the open with other children and make up for lost time.

We hope that her parents will agree.

It took a shocking story to get the Government to look into the matter of burial sites for little children in India’s capital city. Politicians ignore Nithari in the run up to the state elections in Uttar Pradesh, as the families of the dead children are simple migrants and hence do not have votes. The Ghaziabad Girls are lost in administrative and judicial quagmire. Children are beaten in schools. The drop out rates are mind boggling. Child labour is rampant. Orphanages are cramped and unsafe.

Something is terribly wrong…

We are talking about the millions of children in free India, the third or fourth generation after Independence. We are talking about children who see the day of light in a democracy that professes to give them a host of fundamental rights: from education to shelter, from freedom of speech to freedom of faith. And yet a cursory glance and the plight of many of them is enough to prove that each right has been denied, usurped or hijacked.

It is not that we have done things wrong. A passing glance at the multitude of child related programmes is sufficient to see that children have occupied a place of pride in our planning, and on paper many of the proposed projects are excellent.

Let us just talk of the ICDS (Integrated Child Development Scheme) to substantiate our point. This programme was conceived and launched in 1975. Its objectives were as follows:

1. to improve the nutritional and health status of pre-school children in the age-group of 0-6 years;
2. to lay the foundation of proper psychological development of the child;
3. to reduce the incidence of mortality, morbidity, malnutrition and school drop-out;
4. to achieve effective coordination of policy and implementation amongst the various departments to promote child development; and
5. to enhance the capability of the mother to look after the normal health and nutritional needs of the child through proper nutrition and health education.

What a great programme. Had it worked all other child related programmes should have worked too! But the reality is quite different. In 2007 – 32 years after the programme was launched – an ICDS creche in India’s capital city often runs from a space the rent of which cannot exceed Rs 500! In actual terms this means a tiny airless room devoid of what is deemed essential as per the programme: running water, toilet facilities, open space for children to play.

The state of municipal schools is another reflection of the place children have in free India. After sixty years many schools in our capital still do not have proper buildings, let alone other facilities! There are some exceptions, but these are often dependent on the commitment of a handful of honest individuals.

On the other hand, politicians are busy framing reservation policies to higher institutions of learning and the ensuing debates make us wonder who these places in he sun are for. Certainly not for the potential drop out. Somehow no one seems to be bothered about the state of primary education, though poor parents are slowly seeing the writing on the wall and are now often seen sending their children to private institutions that are now mushrooming in our city and are often of poor quality. Yes in India at sixty we have the private school for the poor with names like SK convent, Mother Sundari English Medium School etc, and they come at a heavy price!

My detractors will be quick to point that it is allright to criticise but what about possible solutions. Many do come to mind but what stands out is the necessity of bridging the gap between the rich and the poor, of striking a balance, of reaching out and doig our ‘bit’! What is needed is to raise awareness. What is needed is to stop for an instant and ask oneself a simple question: where are we going? What is needed is to understand that the plight of the other India will one day affect us in more ways than one.

How can a city not have proper habitat for the poor within it? One cannot just wish them away and hope they will remain invisible. How can a city have schools that do not run, privatising them is again not a solution, they have to be strengthened and improved. The judiciary or the media should not have to intervene each time things go wrong.

Ultimately it all comes down to striking a proper balance between our rights and our duties as citizens, something we seem to have conveniently forgotten.

How many more generations of children will have to be born and become adults before we realise this!

The verdict is out in the municipal election. The party in power was routed, or almost as most of Delhi, or let us say the 43 odd % who went out to vote seemed to blame the party in power for all their woes ranging from the sealing drive to the lack of civic amenities.

Our municipal ward saw an interesting contest reflecting once again the maturity of the voter. The fight was between two candidates: one the person in power for two terms and the other a rebel of sorts backed financially by the one ‘who did not get the ticket’ or in terms of symbols the fight was between the hand and the engine!

The engine was carefully selected and belonged to Bihar as a vast majority of the slum dwellers – the normal hand vote bank – are from that state. An aggressive campaign ensued where every ploy in the book was used: cajoling, bribing, threatening… you name it, they did it.

Our well seasoned voters excelled themselves in paying lip service and partaking of all goodies offered but never failed to mention that Mr engine had always been against the poor, the slum dweller, the street vendor and had many a time voiced that dislike in no uncertain terms.

On the other hand they remembered Mr hand who in spite of everything was always there for them. Come election day and they excersised their right to vote with intelligence and brought Mr hand back even when most of the city did not. For them it was a municipal election and hence they wanted a person who would help them. It was not a time to back caste, creed or even a larger ideology.

Grapes went sour for Mr engine who fumed, ranted and raved. But to no avail. Many had come to me with a smug smile and shared that they hand voted for Mr hand in spite of what they had been saying, as ultimately it was their decision and their right.

The municipal elections are over.. They were less noisy and almost poster free but candidates did make their presence felt in novel ways: loads of street ambulations that looked like marriage parties where the well garlanded candidates paraded as grooms (never mind the gray hair and pot bellies) led by a rowdy group of hired supporters and drum beats. Their eager henchmen preceded them rapidly shoving garlands in the hands of by standers asking them to do the needful as the hero of the moment crosses their way.

What was different this time was the staggering number of independent candidates with amusing election symbols: over and above the well known hand, lotus ad elephant we had an aeroplane, a cup-saucer, a candle, a house, an locomotive, a banana, a mango, a book, a broom and more. Notwithstanding the use of EVMs, the supporters shouted: put your stamp on ..

The multiplicity of candidates and the well known time laxity in our land made many parties come face to face in the tiny lanes and often lead to arguments and fist fights, in one case even gunfire!

I was happy to see that even simple people found this aggressive and bombastic electioneering an insult to their intelligence. They just played on.. knowing that they would cast their vote for who they wanted. They were the ones who were quick to tell me the not so glorious antecedents which seems to be a common factor for everyone of them.

On election day however many hopes were shattered as for those who did not have voter’s ID cards the options allowed by the Election commission once again divided India: PAN cards, driving licences or passports were ID’s that would allow you to vote, whereas ration cards were disallowed. So those living in slums and whose name appeared on the electoral rolls could not vote as they did not have the required ID proof as they often do not drive cars, pay taxes or travel outside India!

Election day saw money exchanging hands and the presence of liquor was evident in the sway of many people as the day passed..

A friend called saying that she questioned the validity of electoral promises which seem to state the obvious as were not municipalities meant to provide citizens with water, electricity and a clean environment?

There was a small feeling of satisfaction as the “none of the above” option was included. I remembered the fight it had been to excercise the “refuse to vote” option some years back.

We indeed had come a long way.

At my advanced age one does not celebrate birthdays or expect gifts. Yet this year I decided to mark my double five by unabashedly asking for a present from my crew even using the power of being captain of the ship!

I must confess that it is part of a game plan I have had for long. When the project why journey began, I had a dream: that of seeing each member of team project why one day at the helm of their individual programmes. however each time i suggested this, i was met with a salvo of: how can we? we are not capable? etc. It was to be expected as just like the children, they too suffered from a brand of poor self esteem that was almost debilitating and made them incapable all they had achieved in the past years.

So last Saturday I reminded them that it was my birthday in a few days and that I wanted a gift from each one of them. I was amused as I took time in stating the nature of the gift and watched their eager and perplexed faces. I think no one expected what came next: for my birthday I want each one of you to write a paragraph about what you have achieved in the last 5 years that I can be proud of. i want each one of you to tell me why you should be admired..

Stunned silence followed my words and before the usual No’s would land on my ears, I added that there was no discussion and added the right dose of emotional blackmail as i said that I would be hurt if someone did not do what i said as this was the first time I had actually asked for something.

I wait with bated breath for what will land on my lap on Wednesday and will share it with everyone. For me it is a way of proving to this incredible lot that they are capable of taking my dream forward!

The supreme court order staying the OBC reservation issue has leashed out a series of reactions across the land. This time I kept my pend in check waiting before adding my two penny bit.

Last summer was one of discontent as many young students took to the streets to protest: each each side having its protagonists. Students sat on hunger strike, gandhigiri made the journey from screen to street. No one really heard as the powers that be huddled together and got what they wanted or so they thought.

Institutional heads were roped in and some wishy-washy formula was evolved. Quietly petitions were filed in the highest court but the hubris was such that it would even take on the Gods!

Then came the supreme court stay order, a rude wake up call that sent everyone into a flurry. bandhs were called, protests abounded a new cause was found to defend setting the dreaded caste and social divide into motion. Passionate debates were aired on TV and strangely every voice of reason was shouted down by those with extreme positions.

As if no one wanted to find a solution. A retired Professor echoed my thoughts as I tried desperately but in vain to highlight the sad reality about the abysmal state of primary schools. His effort to steer the debate in that direction was countered by a venomous retort branding him as an enemy, validating the point that I have often made about the conscious effort of the powers that be to ensure that a large segment of the population remain illiterate and hence a vote bank easily manipulated.

As the debate carried on one realised that no one was actually interested in the plight of the little Ramus and Jyotis who may have been born in the right caste but who will remain illiterate and whose only hope will be little efforts like project why that ensure that they do not drop out of the gaping holes of the education net.

Last week I went to the Greater Kailash outlet of Cafe Coffee Day. To my utmost surprise a beaming young man in his smart red uniform came to my table and said: Ma’am don’t you recognise me, I am Shiv and was a student at project why! I was taken aback as I remembered him 5 years ago still a shy adolescent who barely spoke.

I must say he was not standing at the portals of an IIT or IIM, but somehow he had stepped on the other side of the fence on his own merit, without reservation with just a little help because someone had believed in him.

The reservation issue will never die as no one will allow it to. It is to good a cause for politicians and for what is now known as the creamy layer. For those who barely survive nothing will change; no one wants it to.

Seven years ago we set out to create a model whereby underprivileged and illiterate or semi-literate parents could be empowered to steer the educational needs of their children with local resources.

The model proved doable as in the last 7 years drop out rates were contained and children passed their examinations with success. We used local talent and proved that teaching could be done anywhere and did not require structures. The only factor that remains to be proved is that of having the staff initiate funding modalities and this necessitates a phased withdrawal on our part. That is where we stand now and will soon have a model to share.

Were that to happen, then phase I of pwhy would come to a logical closure compelling us to move on to phase II. Whereas a set of precise goals steered phase I, it would be unwise to think that they same can apply to phase II.

Many factors have to be taken into consideration to launch phase II: some are beyond our control as the new habitat and town planning realities, some emanate from our past experience and some are guided by our desire to see pwhy live beyond individuals.

The idea to seed planet why in a rural outskirt answers the first concern, the need of a residential facility, albeit a tiny one, stems out of the handful of persons that have come into our lives and the resolve to address the sustainability option form day one of phase II is the logical outcome of the precarious and fragile nature of our funding ways which have been resting on individual skills and individual state of minds.

So whereas we could begin working with the children and the community of Goyla immediately and without much requirements, we have chosen not to and instead find a way to ensure a permanent source of funds from day one.

The cusco model was one we found eminently doable in the present scenario as there is a paucity of pleasant guest house facilities in Delhi and the ever increasing desire of tourists to pair voluntary work with sight seeing to get a real feel of the country makes us believe that our concept can work not only in Goyla, but elsewhere to making this model a replicable one too!

So it seems to be a win-win situation. However it will need all our friends and well wishers to once again open their hearts and help us get going!

Ever since we have started sharing this exciting idea, we have been overwhelmed by the positive response we have got. A friend from China says it all in these words:

When I read about the guest house and the new location near the airport, I just think it’s wonderful. Imagine if we can draw transit passengers from over the world to drop by the planet.. And the thought of children showing how proud they are to be of service and showcasing the planet and India, the jubilation’s beyond description

We second that!

I have always been a morning person and a light sleeper. Yet for years I never woke up before 4 or 4.30 am. If I let my memory travel back I realise that often it is was the cling clang of the Delhi Milk Scheme vans that used to wake me up. Sometimes a crow or a bird preceded it by a few minutes.

Lately I have found myself waking up as early as 2 am jolted from my sleep by the sound of a speeding vehicle. We live close to a flyover and in the dead of night every sound does get amplified. True that in yore years too sometimes their were cars whizzing past, maybe on their way to the airport, or Saturday party goers getting back home but it was an occasional sound that did not get passed the deep sleep one was in. It is the everyday sounds that reach that part of your brain like the milk van or the faithful crow.

Irked by this new phenomena that was now translating itself into dark circles under the eyes and an irritable Maam’ji, I decided to try and decipher the source of this new late night occurrence. It did dawn one such night: these were the BPO or call centre staff vehicles crisscrossing our city to meet their unearthly schedules.

A lot has been said about the effects of these new working hours that need to meet different time zones and turn night into day. many young people are paying the price and as is often the case, the once lucrative and upmarket job options is now being shunned by some and is slowly reaching the lower strata of society. Today many of our ex students work in call centres as the job profile is scaled down to meet the ever exceeding demand.

Doc P, our family doctor recounted how on a trip to the US he needed to change a booking and dialled a number answered by a young lad who was desperately trying to communicate in his newly acquired American Hinglish; no matter how many times Doc tried to coax him into speaking in Hindi, the lad held on: needless to say the booking was never changed.

While travelling to pwhy everyday one sees new hoardings for BPO training institutes that guarantee perfect English in 6 weeks or so. I guess they must be lucrative as new ones appear ever so often.

I guess I wil need to invest in a good pair of earplugs!