Our battle to make nanhe’s mom see sense is taking on disturbing dimensions. In order to ensure that little nanhe is well taken care of and in the face of our total failure in making the desperate mom see sense we decided to play the game and follow her search for kidney, the rider being that we will help her if we were assured that all was above board and provided we got a written estimate as was the case with our heart surgeries in AIIMS.

D, our staff member was appointed for the mission. He was first introduced to a so called relative who happened to have nothing to do with the hospital. A middle aged dubious looking character was introduced to D and told him with total confidence that a kidney would be available for around fifteen thousand rupees give an thousand or two. A doctor in the burns department of the said government hospital would arrange it.

D was told to act dumb and gullible so that we could get to the bottom of the story. When he enquired about who the donor woul be, pat came the answer: gurda amrika se ayega – the kidney will come from america.

Kudos to D for not having fallen off his chair. he kept a poker straight face saying that one had to satisfy the potential donor and hence meet with the doctor. He was told that the doctor was recovering from an accident and would be available in a week or so.

This is not fiction or the plot for a serial. It is stark reality that is unfolding in front of our eyes and concerns little nanhe, a child dear to many. The so called relative has already extracted five hundred rupees from the poor mom for mithai – sweetmeats – presumably given to the doctor as a new year gift.

One may recall that nanhe’s mom was initially told that the kidney would cost one hundred thousand rupees till the kind relative jumped in and said he could fix things for her. 500 rs may seem chicken feed to us but we must remember that nanhe’s mom is a poor widow with 4 children, three of them challenged, that she ekes her living from a cart where she sells whatever she can and that on a good day she makes under 100 rs.

This is where thing stand today. We plan to follow the matter and see how we can expose the truth which could range from a simple extortion from the so called relative, to a much deeper racket.

We need to do it for nanhe and or all other desperate mothers who would believe in any thing just to save their child.

Two Dylan songs struck a chord in me when I was a young and someone remained with me all through they years well into my old age. That was way back in the early sixties.

The Nithari tragedy brought them back as it seemed as if they had been written yesterday:

and yet 44 years have passed and everything seems unchanged, seems there have not been sufficient deaths and the halls have not been rattled loud enough.

Yesterday a debate on television addressed the Nithari serial killings and related issues. A retired cop, an eminent lawyer and two political opponents engaged in a perfectly orchestrated blame game. Among the topics discussed was the issue of different rules for different people based on which side of the fence they happen to belong to.

Why debate on it when a mere glance at the audience proved that point beyond doubt. A group of people from Nithari had been invited and sat on one side, away from the rest the invisible and impregnable divide sticking out like a sore thumb.

Oh yes they debated and all agreed upon the fact that the poor had a raw deal, that cops humiliate and snubbed them, that things were not right and had to be changed. And with the necessary drama options were lobbed: change laws, amend acts, remake the world..

In the meantime more children will disappear, be abused and killed. More poor will have their rights trampled and life will go on without change. The poor will go back to their world as they have to carry surviving and the rich will find something else to debate upon.

The culprit in the NOIDA or the Ghaziabad tragedies is not the paedophile or the individual sick mind. Such people have existed since time immemorial and will always do. Come to think of it the chemicals of a brain can go wrong once in a while. Of course they need to be punished and put away.

The problem is far deeper and the responsibility lies within each one of us and not in finding something or someone to blame: be it the party in power or age old social ills. The true culprit is civil society who did not react at the appropriate moment. The true culprit is each one of us who feels that such things cannot happen to us and do not concern us. We all know how we walk away from a accident site for fear of getting involved with the police, how easily we dip in our pockets to break that tiny law that is irksome, how we throw names left, right and centre to slip out of the system in place, how we never find the time to help another, how get rid off the disturbing beggar by throwing a few coins but never dare look into his eyes, in a word how we each and every day reinforce the barriers between them and us.

We revel living in our world not realising how fragile it is. Our so called sense of safety depends on the simple fact that those on the other side have not found their voice but the day is not far when a tiny incident will unleash a force we will not be able to contain.

Every moment brings us closer to that day. In our rush to acquire material goals we are eroding the very foundation of our lives. The debate on whether there are different rules is not an intellectual one, it has to strike a chord in our very spirit and make us change our attitudes and ways. The responsibility for the NOIDA killings lies in each and every one of us and true healing will only begin when we have the moral courage to accept that.

The times they are changing and answer is blowing in the wind.

A recent news item about the introduction of savoir-faire classes caught my attention. Apparently B schools like IIMs now have classes to ensure that you don’t attack the custard with a soup spoon!

True that the world is shrinking with host of new opportunities for young Indians, and true also that a potential employer would want his employee not to commit a gaffe, but I wonder whether expats coming to India for employment in desi companies – and there are more each day – are taught how to eat with their hands, or whether a young aspirant to a job in let us say Beijing would master the use of chopsticks.

Often learning about another culture becomes a way of breaking the ice and establishing a healthy exchange where both cultures find space. Moreover even in fork & knives culture there are variables, about ways of setting tables, placing cutlery to indicate that you have finished and so forth. Were these to be taught would result in confusion whereby one is trying to recall the right manner and thus fumble and appear gauche.

On the other hand were he left to behave naturally, he would soon find out the right way of the moment and execute it with grace. But there is a deeper side to this issue. I wonder if there is an unexpressed feeling of inferiority that makes us want to ape the west. I have always held that it is only when we are proud of our own culture, that we can aspire to widening our vision with success. Manners cut across countries and cultures and are often inherent. I have seen impeccable manners in the homes of pwhy children where one is at once made to feel comfortable and where food and drink is shared with pride and love.

It is sad that we are slowly losing our identity in our rush to ape cultures that we feel or are made to believe as better. The shrinking of the world should be an enriching experience for all, where all cultures are given the same importance thus enabling each one to learn from the other.

A friend dropped by this morning. We had not met for a long time, yet there was a time when we shared the same ideas and concern and were all set to rebuild the world over innumerable cups of coffee. At that time we both taught in universities. We liked the same books, the same songs and shared similar aspirations. I cannot remember what was said and thought, but I do recall that we both felt deeply that things were not right.

Life took its course and he remained a teacher and still teaches in a prime institution. I left my comfortable, pensionable post as I had felt stifled. Family obligations saw me criss-crossing the planet and it was only a few years back that I set roots and felt I had reached my destination.

The last time we met, we only knew one side of the invisble divide that fractures our country and conjured the other the way we wanted to see it. But this time it was different, I had crossed the line and experienced first hand what reality was, seeing each and every of my preconceived notions being blown to pieces, and re-looking at the very issues we had debated upon with new eyes.

It took me but a few minutes to get to my pet subject and talk about my dream of seeing the children of India grow together, side by side, without any labels stuck to their foreheads, taking time to build their own. Somehow I had expected T to agree to what I said. I was astonished to see his reaction and stunned when he mentioned public-private partnership in education.

A pall was cast on what had started as a happy meeting. We fumbled through the next few minutes and bid farewell. For a long time I sat in silence wondering what had happened in those years to change things between us. Why was it that felt so deeply about bridging gaps whereas all others be it politicians, educationists and so forth maintained that solutions lay in widening the gap. Had history past and recent not given us sufficient proof of how the very fabric of our society was getting destroyed by the multitude of divisive policies we were following leaving far behind the ‘we the people of India..’ of our Constitution?

T’s reaction was disturbing as I knew that he was intrinsically a good person, truly wanting to see change. He taught the best minds and thus could impart new ideas and ideologies were he to believe in them. Then why a total rejection of a common school idea. And why on the other hand was my belief strengthened each and every day. What had happened to both of us who started much in the same way?

Maybe it was the fact that I had experienced the other side, or was it that time was not yet ripe, that our social baggage was so heavy that we were still not ready to accept our children rubbing shoulders with ‘their’ kids!

All these questions plagued me all day along.

Yet I was to be validated sooner than I thought. The evening news carried the following: the brutal murders of many young children in NOIDA have touched a chord around India. For the first time, residents of NOIDA’s bungalows are now venturing out, offering a helping hand to those who work in their houses.
The year 2006 was a year that saw so many conviction. Now taking the same spirit into 2007, the battle has just begun and so tragic as it is that it’s taken the horrific serial killings to bridge the glaring class divide between an urban slum and a swanky suburban town.(NDTVnews)

Sad that so many innocent lives had to be lost to see this. I wonder how many of the mothers must have sought help when the child disappeared. I can also imagine the reaction of the likes of me who must have offered kind words and maybe money but were unwilling to make that trip to the police station.

But it is not time to cry over what cannot be changed, but celebrate this new beginning and to ensure that this very fragile spark is kept alive. There are so many who can get justice if they have our support and maybe it is a way of redressing a system that has run amok. Filing a simple FIR, as one discovered today, is a nightmare even for an educated person. Simple rights have been usurped by a feudal attitude that sets the rules turning victims into accused.

One has to also ensure that this new found compassion does not become another power game or get hijacked on the way by those waiting in the wings for any cause to espouse to fulfil their own agendas.

I said earlier that maybe the time was not ripe for the elusive common school system. However I want to believe that if people have found it in their heart to reach out to their poorer brethren, then slowly they may also come to accept one day to have their kids share a school bench.

I guess the penny will drop when one comes to understand that in doing so we are not doling out any charity but investing in our own tomorrows.

How many more children will have to be abused, mutilated and killed, how many more mothers will have to live with questions than can never be answered before we become responsible as a civil society and say enough!

We are supposed to have a law and order mechanism but what we forget is that these work only for those who have money, power or at least a vote. The parents of the dead children of Nithari did not have any of these. Migrants from other states, they came in search of work with a hope that maybe they will be able to give their children a better life. Instead they sent them straight to a horrific death.

Imagine the plight of a parent whose child has disappeared. Imagine his sense of utter defeat as he knocks at the portals of a police station and is sent away over and over again with contempt. Imagine his despair when he is told that the children of the likes of him do not exist for the so called system. Imagine the days and nights spent in waiting for a miracle that never comes. And finally imagine that closure comes with a set of clothes, a heap of bones and the realisation of the horror that one cannot begin to imagine.

Then try to envisage what that parent feels when in the dead of night and numbed with excruciating pain he realises that just a stones’ throw away another child also disappeared and within moments everyone was on their toes: policemen, politicians, admin bigwigs et al and within days the child was back home.

Welcome again to the great divide of India, one that is even more poignant in a land where democracy is supposed to protect each and every one. Have we forgotten the preamble of our constitution where we promised to secure to all citizens among other things justice, social, economic and political.

When did invisible barriers appear along the way and segregated people and marginalised some. When did our constitution get hijacked by hidden agendas and why did we just sit and watch it happen. Was it because the likes of us knew that we would remain on the right side of the fence.

Once again one’s head hangs in shame. The past months has been filled with such moments: the orphanage in ghaziabad, the little fingers for a handful of spinach, and now countless children mutilated and killed, their organs traded so that someone with money could live making some rich on the way.

2006 was the year of people power but before that power also falls prey to the great divide it, we need to act if we are to redeem the right to be worthy of ourselves. Or let me put it another way, one that maybe is better understood in our pathetic times, it is time to act now if we are to protect and secure our own future, as the day is not far when the cumulative pain and anger of those we have shunned away will rise and I know that on that day all the gods in heaven will be on their side.

“Go buy a kidney for your son, it costs one hundred thousand rupees” were the words said almost casually to a desperate mother by a doctor of a leading government hospital. The son is our own Nanhe battling renal failure.I guess for the doctor it was a quick an easy way of getting rid of a annoying woman.

But this post is not about Nanhe. Many of us have been trying to shun the images of the little children of noida, massacred over the years our own Mr Hyde. As the story unfolds so does the horror makes us wonder what makes a so called human being lure children and kill them mercilessly. Why were only skulls found. What happened to the bodies. is this the work of a paedophile.

This morning a news item seemed to suggest that we may in the presence of a organ sale racket and that the children were used to that end. And as the enormity seeps in, it makes sense, terrible sense..

Wonder how many desperate parents and families are told each day to ‘go buy a kidney‘ by doctors? We all know what desperation leads and are aware of market forces as these permeate any situation where a buck can be earned.

So poor children easily seduced by a treat or a handful of pennies seem easy targets. And another handful will take care of the law and order machinery. Poor parents are easily shunned off and the macabre game is on.

So do you tell nanhe’s mom that the kidney that may save the life of her son has taken the life of another’s mom’s child? Or does one convince doctors to assess the implications of their words before they utter them?

I wonder

Many newspapers and news channels chose to sum up 2006 in India as an year where people power finally emerged. True they have many reasons to do so: Jessica and Priyadarshini got justice, the Right to Information Act was salvaged from potential hijackers and the son of MNC boss returned home safely after being kidnapped.

The media too played a pro-active role in getting justice to many individuals be it a slum kid dreaming to represent India, a poor old couple begging for survival, little girls in an orphanage being abused by their caretaker, a little challenged kid abandoned by his family..

So can we dare to say that all is well on planet India?

Maybe not. There are many Jessicas waiting for justice, many old couples in need of help and as we all saw in silent horror many children kidnapped and killed as parents knock uselessly at the doors of police stations. The difference is hat they are from the wrong side of the invisible barriers that divide us and do not have what is required: money, contacts, access and even the not so often mentioned miracle tool – good command of English.

Some manage to break the barriers if for some reason or the other they get picked up by he media and if in the heat of the moment some tangible action comes their way, well and good, otherwise they sink into oblivion after their brief moment of glory.

This is not meant to be a cynical post but a simple call to all the invisible voices who came o the fore to help get justice when they felt it was in danger. Time has come to ensure people’s power reaches out to all those who have been hurt, abused or let down and to bring about long term changes to ensure that they get justice.

The Noida children could have been saved had the police registered the FIRs and set out to look for them with the same diligence as in the case of high profile children. Civil society should go beyond addressing specific cases and seek out long term solutions.

They have the power, what is needed is the will to exercise it. Only then can the invisble barrers be broken.

Come January 1st and we all set out making new resolutions for the new year. I use to do it too and then somehow these were forgotten as life took on its course. This year I just let January 1 be like just another day, the difference being that I watched it go by with more awareness. And just another day it was with its share of simple joys, its tinges of drama and its moments of weariness.

In the street where I work and which is far remote from the glitz and glamour, nothing seemed different. The street vendors let out their call at the appointed time, braving the cold and morning fog, shops opened their shutters, people set out to work as a day missed would mean a hungry family and barring the rote like ‘happy new year’ people exchanged, it was an ordinary day.

2006 had slipped into 2007 without much ado.

To me each day is a new beginning and that is what makes it extra-ordinary. As one set out in the morning one cannot begin to imagine what it will hold. But come to think about it just the simple fact that it goes by quietly is a celebration in itself. So much could go wrong, and yet nothing has.

Each day also brings its set of challenges that need to be met as well as moments to savour: it could be an extra smile or a tiny achievement many would not see or that warm cup of tea enjoyed in the watery sunlight that was finally agree to pierce through the dense fog.

We seem to have lost the ability to seek out simple joys and look for causes or crutches to ‘celebrate’ and maybe January 1st is one of the most jaded.

Yet it is just another ordinary or extra-ordinary day, depending on how you wish to look at it.

Nanhe’s predicament haunts me ceaselessly. As someone wrote: this is the battle of the mind and the heart, and none of them are wrong.

Nanhe is precious to many of as we are addicted to his smile. Somehow when Nanhe smiles than for that tiny moment everything seems so easy.. and most of us would like to believe that we would fight to save it no matter what.

Easily said than done as this time the battle is anything but fair. Till now, every time the smile was in danger a few days at the hospital, a surgical intervention, a few strips of medicine was all that was needed. But now he needs a new kidney and suddenly the adversary has turned formidable.

The docs dismissed the mom by quoting an sum that would seem astronomical to any one, let alone a poor widow with three challenged kids and a pitiable cart that she fills with whatever she thinks saleable. It would have seemed the same to us but somehow offers have come without our asking.

But the real issue is not whether we can raise the money or not, it not even whether we can find a kidney or not in lies in doing what is right for Nanhe. I recently read an article on compassion and about the need for caring, and how little of it there is around. But in situation like this compassion itself is challenged. Where does true compassion lie: in getting a complex surgery done knowing it is wrought with danger, in spending an astronomical amount of money to give some more time to a child who will never be able to survive this world, in finding the courage and the right words to tell a mother that her son is dying.

One could also try and explain to her that it is in not simply the one hundred thousands rupees asked for but the cost of dyalisis and expensive medecine, the risk of rejection and so much more and the care needed afterwards. one could gently remind her that she has three more children two of whom as challenged and the other a daughter that needs to be married soon. But have you ever tried talking to a desperate mother fighting for her child’s life, even the gods in heaven sometimes have to accept defeat.

Once again today I wish I had a dream catcher

Have you ever wondered how much a handful of spinach costs? A few coins on a market place, a little more in a fancy store… and a few leaves picked up in a field would not be missed by its owner.

Not quite. In a remote village in the state of Bihar a little 10 year old girl lost three fingers as she dared to pick a few spinach leaves from a field. Before you express indignation let me simply add that the little Khushboo is a dalit and the owner belongs to a higher caste! And if that was not enough the girl and her father are too scared to open their mouths.

At times like these I am left speechless as nothing one can say can even begin to explain this horrific equation: a few leaves of spinach = three little fingers! I hang my head in shame as I try and look for the beginning of an answer that would explain this..

One has heard ad nauseum about the reservation issue that is threatening to destroy our social fabric. One is led to believe that the creamy layer of the so called lower castes will hog up all our place in the sun. But nothing can make up for the three tiny fingers cut off in a fit of rage for a few leaves that may have just wilted and rotten had they not been plucked.

Why did little Khushboo commit that offence? Was it to ensure that her family would not go hungry, was it because she could not bear to see her mom beaten by a defeated and helpless father, was it because it had been so long since she had tasted the freshness of a green vegetable. This is something no one will know as the little girl will keep her secret locked away inside her.

When someone decided to divide human beings into what is known as castes, I am sure that the reason was not to give one caste the licence to snip off fingers. So we before we battle about the right of one caste to accede to higher learning, maybe we would address the question of Khushboo’s finger and take on the responsibility of their loss. Khushboo’s fingers, Priyanka’s life are just two examples of the countless tragedies that some of our own suffer because they were born in the wrong caste.

It is not reservation or affirmative action that will right his wrong. Neither is it the few fleeting expression of indignation that cross our minds as we see or hear such stories. We need to go deep within ourselves and to see what made us lose our human compassion down the line, what hubristic demon took possession of us and made us lose all sense of reality. What gave us the right to treat another fellow being in such a barbaric manner.

Khushoo’s fingers will heal and her father may have to pay a few more rupees to find a man for this child. The perpetrator may or may not be caught. At best he will spend a few days in jail as all he took away were three little fingers. And all of us will move on with our lives till the next tale of horror jolts us back into momentary compassion.

The Jessica Lal verdict is out. It took a long time coming. Wonder why as she was shot in a place filed with Delhi’s own page 3.

For seven years we were almost mute witnesses to a mockery of justice where the entire system connived to save the killer who was a is said in today’s parlance well connected. Muscle and money power went to town and after six years or so those who had brutally ended a young life were set free for want of evidence!

Jessica was not a known person but she suddenly became the girl next door and somehow a city felt threatened. That is when civil society woke up from a long slumber to show its might. And it dis. Notwithstanding political connections or arm twisting of any kind, the existing machinery set out to redress a wrong and it did. Even the last ditch effort of a high profile lawyer who took the now jaded route of turning the victim into an accused failed miserably. The killer was found guilty. Jessica can now rest in peace.

This case has restored one’s faith in the judicial system but it has done more than that. It has shown that civil society is a force to reckon with. True that J’s case was a high profile one, that she had a spirited sister who refused to give up and give in. But this whole fight will come to naught if we as a society do not realise that our role goes beyond high profile cases. We today have the proof that we have the power to change things, to redress torts and thus to make a difference but with it comes to responsibility of reaching out to those who are invisible, and remain voiceless.

There are many unknown Jessicas who have been abused or killed. There are numerous families who hope for justice but do not know how to get it. There are many killers at large who are protected by the system. They need civil society to take on their cases and see that justice is done.

Let the Jessica Lal verdict be a verdict of hope, a verdict that makes us believe that things can change, one that rids us of our inertia and drives us to act. Then maybe the little Ghaziabad girls too will get justice they so deserve!

I have been perturbed about the future of the ghaziabad girls. Often when I am uneasy about something I sit quietly and let my thoughts wonder in an unbridled way. It fills the terrible emptiness that threatens to devour me, and often brings some solutions or at least some direction in which to proceed.

I can imagine the girls in their Mathura home, with no known face, huddled together in the cold wondering what will happen to them. They must have been subjected to humiliating medical examinations, incessant questioning by total strangers and much more. No matter how indulgent one is, any government run shelter in Uttar Pradesh must not be a great place.

The ghaziabad girls as they are known all have names. I know a few: Ila, Preeti, Meena, Rinki. Wonder who gave them those names. Maybe someone who loved them, as one girl did mention her mother living in a Delhi slum. They had been living in that house of horrors learning to survive, comforting and protecting each other as best they could. Now they face the unknown, even the threat of being separated. What an ordeal that must be.

The abuser is behind bars for just another 6 days. I wonder what the charge sheet will look like. He may just be able to walk free if one is not vigilant. Have the girls been able to tell their story, will they have to face theur abuser.

Wonder what one can do toe ensure that justice is done. When I first wrote about the plight of these girls, there were many reactions. As the story unfolded one could feel the palpable anger that it brought. Kaveeta wrote about it passionately and came up with the idea of concerting efforts in a wiki simply called we need you.

Yes, that is the bottom line: we need you, you here being every human being with a shred of decency, every person who claims caring for children, every one who believes in justice. In the recent past we have seen the power of civil society in many high profile cases. We need the same civil society to stand up for these girls who have no father, sister or peer group to help them, but just have you!

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In times when nets and cell phone proliferate, making courtesy calls is almost an aberration. There was a time when paying a call was the only way to get the news you sought. Oddly, in some cases it remains at times the only way at our disposal.

Three calls needed to be made: one to enquire about a lost smile, the other to our cerulean boy, and the third to a mother who needed to be admonished.

So we set off in the watery sun of a winter morning. The first stop was at Nanhe’s in search of the elusive smile. We found him a tad better, but no sign of the smile. His body was less swollen though the pain was still visible on his face. On checking the hospital papers we were horrified to se that his weight was a mere 15 kilos, a stark reminder of the fact that he had barely eaten for the last two weeks. His brave mom filled the silence by telling us that the doctor had asked her to come by this afternoon to get a date for the operation. We realised that what was comingin the way of the surgery was the poor condition he was in.

A few mental notes were made by all of us: get some liquid food supplements, provide transport for the hospital visits, get his teachers to come by and sit with him. None of us spoke as we left him. We had not found the smile.

The nest stop was to see deepak who we were told had come home. As news of our arrival traveled fast, we were met by Deepak himself in the arms of his much relieved grandma. We were happy to see him as gone was the blue hue that had worried us so much. He was as pink as can be and gratified us with a huge smile. The only reminder of his 7 months ordeal was a scar that began almost at the base of his throat.

Next we had to meet sapna and monty’s mom, as the two kids had plaid truant for far too long. We found her sitting at her tea shop. She was looking weary and dragging her feet and told us that she had not been able to get them ready in time. We did chide her and extracted a promise that she would make the effort, but in our hearts we knew her problem. Sorry for being graphic but this poor woman has lived for over two years with a prolapsed uterus. When we had tried to get her operated it was discovered that she had a heart condition and needed a valve replacement. That had been done but somehow the uterus had been forgotten.

We told her to get to the hospital and fix her surgery and that we would help in whatever way we could remembering that the last time the operation had not been done because she had no one to donate blood.

The calls were over.. we returned back in silence

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Morning has broken, like the first morning
Blackbird has spoken, like the first bird
Praise for the singing, praise for the morning
Praise for the springing fresh from the world

Had I written this post yesterday, it would have been filled with anger, dejection and ire. It would have turned out to be a litany of vociferation against everyone and everything and would have missed the miracle that unfolded before our eyes. The rants and raves against a system we actually are responsible for creating, would have obliterated the real story.

Yesterday 45 little girls finally had god answer their desperate prayers. Just take a moment to imagine what a child feels when its body and should is violated, when those one trusts become monsters. Think about the long days and longer nights spent in filth, cold and hunger. Envision looking at a sky that seems unreachable and try to conjure the words sent in prayer to a god that seems as remote as that piece of sky.

And think about the night that comes after the illusion of freedom as you pack your tiny belongings, in some case just a tiny handkerchief and realise that once again freedom has eluded you.

Then when all hopes seems lost forever, when the terror of what will befall you when all the people have gone and you are left to face your tormentor, a lady arrives and tells you that all is well and it is time to leave the hell hole.

That is the miracle that needs to be celebrated, a miracle that has no place for recriminations and blame, a miracle made possible by the will an indomitable spirit of a young reporter named Anchal.

here are a few images of the house of horrors. they were sneaked out during the two initial visits made by pwhy!

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Night was the title that Elie Wiesel chose for his account of the horrors of a concentration camp. No adjectives, no nuances, nothing, just one word night to qualify the horrors.

The little children of swami ashram spent one such night, if not worse, as there was not the night of incarceration but the one that should have spelt freedom. As I watched the pictures of these little girls clutching their tiny belongings, hope and fear written of their faces, not comprehending why in spite of the men in uniform, the kind lady, their reporter Didi of 10 days, and many others they were still there.. and as time went by they realised the unbelievable: they had to spend one more night with their tormentor.

The cold night inched away as bureaucrats of all hues raise even more absurd issues. The elusive DM was found and stated that he would act after getting the results of an enquiry commission that would start the next morn! never mind if the NCW had already decreed that the girls needed to be saved. The tormentor – a swami – sat in his office with a smug expression calling his contacts. It was the begining of a sordid game. The victims one again victimised.

When I had first heard of this ashram I knew the adversary was formidable, but I could not have imagined in my worst nightmare that the girls would not be rescued. The worst case scenario for me was that the swami would go free.

But even now the girls are in their hell hole. The story is on national TV. Viewers normally do come forward and I hope they will once again. Children need to be protected and need sensitive laws to handle them. The kids did not do anything that would warrant the abuse they have suffered.

I knew this was a to be a long battle… I will just end this with a quote by Elie Wiesel: “…to remain silent and indifferent is the greatest sin of all...”

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Some of you may remember my post about the little house of horrors, and the plight of orphan girls locked up in pure hell. I had ended the post with the words: we need to act.

Some of you may have wondered why the ensuing silence and even thought that we had forgotten about the little girls. No way. From the time we knew about their plight we sprung into action. But we knew we had a formidable and dangerous adversary and we also knew about the state of things in our land. After much thought I asked a dear friend for help. She is with NDTV and I knew that only the media could help.

Young Anchal went undercover and brought back a chilling story but we had all decided that this would be aired only after the safety of the girls was assured. It is a sad reality that the Minister in question did not act or help, even after seeing the footage. Finally the NCW intervened and a raid was organised today as the story went on air.

You would all think that once the raid was done with the proper permissions the girls would finally be out of that hell hole, but as I write these words they are still there huddled in a corner while the state and central police fight it out, and the DM has gone missing. NDTV reporters are there, and NGOs workers are there but some administrative hassles and battles continue. The network has asked for public blankets and food as they envisage a long night..

I am outraged as I cannot understand why the girls cannot be taken out and brought to safety. The story has gone on air, the little voices shared their horrific experiences in barely audible and pathetic words. The lawyer interviewed cited a litany of sections of the law that the owner of the place has infringed, and yet the little victims are still in that netherworld. What is wrong with us, with our administration, with our politicians.. with each one of us

It will wil be a long night….

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A few days back little Deepak went back home after his heart surgery and tomorrow little Anil goes for his. Statistically speaking they are no 8 and 9 in pwhy’s heart repair shop!

It was just over three years ago that we answered a desperate plea from a great father . Raju was operated upon and the matter could have ended there. But not with Sitaram who decided to help others. That is how from 1 heart surgery we have reached 9.

But this is not the reason for this post. What prompted me to write it is something quite different. As I sat writing an update on Deepak a few days back, I realised how easy it is to become inured to things, no matter how extraordinary they are. During operation no 1 I remember writing regular updates,almost giving a blow by blow account of the surgery and how numerous were the answers either seeking more information or just sending support.

Three years and 8 surgeries down the line, the situation is different: the updates were answered with an almost deafening silence. I sat and pondered for a long time about the possible reasons. Had the situation changed in anyway. Difficult to say as I am sure that the pain and anguish of Raju’s mother was in no way greater than that of Deepak’s or Anil’s. What could be different was the fact that to many this was something we had done earlier and almost become masters at . Once again we were in that space that frightens me: the comfort zone.

No matter how dramatic the event, it does not take log for it to become jaded. We are always on the look out for something new to admire, support, criticise and reach out to. Yet there are things that need our continuous support as no matter what way you look at them, they are still extraordinary.