it was a big day for me… as today for the very first time i saw the light at the end of the tunnel…
or to to use the terminology of the hour..the first step towards project why’s disinvestement was taken..

yes disinvestment is what it should be called… as the dream I set out to fulfill more than 5 years ago was that of an empowered community taking care of all the needs of its less privileged children.. where the steering would be transferred to ‘investors’… investors in time, skills and one day if all is well, in funds too!

it has been a long journey, with many step backwards.. with its share of dejection and angst.. yet with every step taken I could see the transition gently set in: two new centres set up and manned independently, a secondary section that will soon be flying on its own wings, a cyber cafe taking shape.. then why was today different..

well simply because for the very first time a TV crew came and did a shoot as I watched in the wings.. I did not even have to speak on camera.. shamika and rani did the task.. with the children speaking of their projects and dreams..

I could see project why stand on its own.. I could not but go back to the day when every journo’s visit brought panic and nervousness.. today there was no diplomat daughter walking the slums, no personality cult.. today was about empowerment and water issues, about education and aspirations, about dreams yet to be fulfilled, about tomorrows yet to be conquered.. today was about India and its people…

pNagar.. as we call it.. could be Tnagar in chennai!

Sudhar Camp is waht it is known as.. a tiny slum tucked away behind the electricity department somewhere in Kalkaji, in the south of India’s capital city.. 500 families living in precarious box like hutments where rooms are piled over one another.. a little like the houses children make with their wooden or plastic blocks.. to get to to a higher floor there are wobbly ladders… each family has an average of four children, most under the age of 10…

on one side there are tiny tea shps where you find freshly fried smosas, on the other side the aroma of filter kaphi and sambar greets you.. there is the south indian temple and the north indian temple… families from Bihar and UP live next to families from Tamil Nadu.. there exsits an invisible divide..in almost everything

in a tiny room on a first floor is project why’s latest avatar where south meets north under the the guidance of a lady from the east– yes shipra comes from bengal.. and all laugh and learn in perfect harmony…

Look at the picture? can you guess which smile is north indian and which one from the south.. they are all children of India who will not only learn the proverbial 3Rs but also about each other and maybe next time you come by a little Sudha from Sivan in Bihar will greet you with a cheerful ‘Vannakam“!

n’s article is out. it was published today in the Asian Age .
It was great that it appeared on teacher’s day when all roles were reversed.

We sat down to read it with some of the kids and imagine Vicky’s pride when he heard the opening words “ Vicky Kumar, 12, is concerned about the water problem plaguing the capital“. and then the ones that sounded like music to my ears: “Vicky, who hails from Saharsa in Bihar, wants to become a scientist when he grows up. “I would like to go back to my village and set up a water plant there,” he says with a glint of optimism in his eyes.”

It was nice to see an article that went to the core of what we believe in and talked about the importance of making good citizens, and of revalorising going back to one’s home.

The children were thrilled and you could see pride in their eyes as they poured over the newspaper trying to read the sometimes difficult words and asking for explanations…

I watched them and wondered whether we had finally found the right road… to the future

There is something about India that never ceases to amaze me and that is her ability to contradict everything negative that you may think about her.

She does play games with you, wears you down, makes you angry or even sad, but then when you are just about to lose all hope and give up, she makes up for everything..

At pwhy we have never been media savvy, and most of what has been written about us has been either by friends or by accident. We have had our share of request for telephone intreviews politely rejected as we felt that someone in Delhi could make the effort to come and see us; we have seen copies of what was written by someone dear, lifted time and again sometimes without even a mention of the source; we have had journos come in a hurry for token visits and photographers that never had the time to go beyond our front door..

when a young journo from a leading newspaper called on a sunday afternoon wanting to write about us I must confess I had thought that it would be another journo in a hurry who would appear for a fleeting moment.. well that was not so.

N came on time and gave us the feeling that he had all the time in the world for us.. he interacted with the children and even saw them present a project, he chatted with the staff , shared lunch with us and came and saw our okhla project too..

for all of us it was special as we felt that someone was looking at our work and giving it due respect… and we were touched..

N is a journo with his heart in the right place, and I just wish it stays that way..

Project why wishes him all the success possible

asiya and fatima, the two year old twins sleep reaching out to each other for comfort… while rabiya takes a much needed break.. like any mom would.. only rabiya is four, just two years older than the siblings she looks after with great care and maturity..

rabiya is not an exception.. she is almost the rule in urban India’s slums!

on my way to project why I often drive past what we sometimes refer to as ‘potty nager’. It is a rickety camp known as sudhar camp and is home to migrants from as far as Karnataka, or Tamil Nadu.. most of the women work as part time household help, and the men as security guards; the place is crwaling with toddlers who can be often seen easing themsleves on the road as the only bathrooms are a set of public conveniences where a rupee needs to be paid! As many of our children from the creche have moved to the primary section I thought it would be a good idea to get some of the kids from this camp.

Last Seema went to survey the place. the story she had to tell was chilling: in the day sudhar camp is almost like a neverland, as most of its inhabitants are children.. with a few elders hanging around quite unconcerned.. many of the children came to meet her, ready to listen to waht they had to say. Many were quite excited about going to ‘school’ but it did not take long for them to tell Seema that they could not as they had to look after their siblings. seema told me that it was then that she realised that something was not quite right: every child – and they were between 3 and 5 – was carrying a younger child in his arms.. and what was difficult to believe and heart rendering was that they did it with a sense of responsibility that could match that of any adult..

Seema came back crestfallen and perplexed as to what could be done in to answer the tiny voices who were all saying: I want to go to school but who would take care of my sibling…

i am still trying to answer that question…

last week I decided to take a class..

this decision was prompted by the constant complaints of some of the primary teachers who felt the kids were getting difficult to handle…some not doing their work and disturbing others..
as all the advise meted had not worked, I thought best to see things for myself..

I asked for the rowdiest class.. I was given the boys of class IV and V…

when the teachers asked me what I was planning to teach, I simply answered that I would let the children guide me…

we decided to sit outside on the floor, in a circle and as I looked around I saw lovely eager faces with big eyes staring at me..

I decided to ‘take it from the top’ and ask them simply why they were studying… they all looked bewildered, not knowing what to say…. the teachers were as amazed as the kids. I repeated my question gently addressing myself to one child, then the other, and then the next.. after some prompting I got my first answer: to change things in the world… to have a better future said the next.. to gain knowledge said the third…

stereotypes that no one really undesrtood. so we sat and talked about education and the different subjects studied and picked up social studies… for my little pals social studies meant learning from the book..

we sat and talked about why we should learn about our social system, about laws and rights and duties; how they could change our lives and help change the world or better our future..

at the end of the hour, the little ones were asking for more.. somehow in their minds boring subjects had acquired a new meaning: hindi or english would help word petitions, maths would help calculate losses, and civics would tell us how we could play a role in building our land.. redressing wrongs.. remaking te world..

actually what i was witnessing was the making of true citizen India!

Look at the picture.. what do you see?

three little girls playing, the way all children that age should, three children savouring what is know as the best part of one’s life: early childhood, when others take care of your creature comforts and everyday needs, when you do not have an ounce of worry or concern…

oops I forgot to tell you this scene is from an urban slum in India… so let me reinterpret it for you..

Rabia and her twin sisters Asiya and Fatima live in a fifth floor hovel in a slum in Delhi.. They have an elder sister and no brother. When they came into the world there was no joy or happiness but they were meant to feel a burden from the moment they saw the light of day. Their father drives an auto ricshaw, their mother takes on needle work for greedy exporters who pay her a pittance, the house is unkept and unclean..the girls uncared for..

The twins now two cannot walk or even stand, they do not talk or even smile. All the medical tests done were negative, the verdict brutal: lack of love; suffer from extreme neglect.

When little Fatima is upset it is not her moma she runs to for comfort, but elder sister Rabia, barely four, as you can see in the picture. And the little four year old surrogate mother does her best to wipe off the hurt…

Now look at the picture again, do you see what I see….

till we can get a picture of the young couple, this is what a bonboniere looks like

“Barbara and me will get married next September 24th and we decided to donate to you the money we were to spend to buy bonbonnieres”

I have never met Barbara or Massimo, they are friends of a friend’s daughter …

I first googled to find out what bonbonieres were: bonbonieres are pretty little souvenirs that are handed out to each person attending a wedding in Italy as a traditional wedding favour.

Now this wedding will not have the traditional bonbonieres that guests normally carry back as a souvenir.. but there is something that they will carry back, something many will remain unaware of, something intangible .. something they would have help create: bonds of love and friendship between two young people starting their life together and children who strive for a better one… and the world will have become that little bit smaller..

Is it the magic of project why at work once again..?

Jonathan Blake Wade
1950 – 2005

If ever there was a man who epitomized all that project why stands for it would be Jon..
A human being par excellence..
A man who was first a man, before being white, or brown, british, or indian..
He transcended the usual tags and definitions, and refused to be locked in the little boxes of religion, country, race, colour and all that divides…
Born british he chose to be an Indian and imbibed in every pore the essence of India at its best..
Son of a pastor he chose to follow a universal religion that encompassed nothing short of the greatest..

If ever there was a friend that gave friendship its true meaning it was Jon…
Always present when needed, he knew the art of tiptoeing away when the task was done..
Generous to a fault with his time, his patience and his love, Jon found a special place in the hearts of everyone who met him, albeit for an instant..

If ever there was a man who embodied all that project why stands for and strives to impart, it was Jon..
A man who stood by his convictions and his beliefs and never gave in to the flavour of the moment..
A man who had the guts to walk the right path, even if it was the more difficult one..
A man who displayed courage and fortitude in the face of any obtsacle and always found the right solution…
A man who was simply ‘ a man’ !

The children and staff of project why mourn the loss of Jonathan Blake Wade who for the past five years was on its Board of Directors

New Delhi August 20th, 2005

the door bell rang and for once it was not the impatient courier man, but Ram Lakhan, our good old postman!

Strange it had been a long time since one had seen him. I had almost forgotten the days when one waited for the postman at given times, .. how he had been part of so many memories, happy ones and sad ones.. but then with the advent of emailing and courier services, Ram Lakhan had faded away like so many good things..

But today there he was, looking older and greyer, but still smiling as he shouted: ‘money order didi’!

I walked towards the gate as he fished the money order out of his wizened bag, and looked bewildered at the one hundred rupee note he held out. On the form, was a hand written message form an unknown person hailing from Pune that simply said: a small contribution for the work you are doing…

I was moved beyond words as, with a shaky hand and clouded eyes, I signed the receipt. To me in this slightly crumpled note lay the heart of India. Who was this unknown indian who had read about our work and thought it valuable enough to deserve his trust and this note.

I held on to it for a long time… feeling humbled and elated .. feeling I had finally found the way home…

In many parts of our country and in many lands across our planet, shoes are left outside the homes.. a custom that makes a lot of sense which ever way you look at it

if one were to take the image a little further, one could also think of it as a way to leave problems and tensions that are part of our ‘outside’ world, before we enter the haven of our homes..

On the tiny planet we have conjured and called why a lot of shoes have to be left at the treshold.. and they are those that we have been made to wear because of our own ignorance, our inability to look with our hearts, our short sightedness..

They are the shoes that divide us and marginalise some of us, the ones that we often wear without realising or comprehending: they have names yes, names we often see on news headlines whenever ugly incidents occur: caste, religion, gender, colour, race….

At project why, these are left outside with the hope that one day we will forget to wear them, the day we will be truly ‘educated’… and hence trule independant.

Happy Independence Day!

August 15th 2005

let me tell you a tale.

once upon not so long ago there lay an unused palace in south delhi district.. it had been a labour court, but then as it lost occupants and soul, it lay empty sometimes utilised for noisy and messy marriage functions that left their plastic scars..

occupants of a strange planet called why did try to get it to live again and wrote numerous petitions suggesting it become a place for children and elders and find its soul again..

one day there was flurry and activity and buckets of paints, and grass and flowers: time for a great makeover and the once cast aside lady became almost a beauty…

cars rolled by and many queens and kings came to the second coming of age ball.. then big hoardings appeared bearing the little red ribbon that names today’s dreaded scare and tiny letters spelt out the wonderland that was to enfold..

even planet why was happy, something was in the offing..

but great locks and iron gates were set up, no one knew what happened there..

then one fine morning, actually it was today, a kind hearted lady who lives near there stopped us and with great angst told us that all was not well behind the iron bars, that old deranged women and hurting people were beaten with sticks and blows.. that something needed to be done.. it was not a land of love and care..

the words on the board did mention the old and the ailing and many souls of lesser gods..
what was happening..

was that the plight of the ones that even families hoped to wish away, those like our darling Preeti who ate flies and insects to fgeed a starving body till one day someone in her own family would lock her in the place where they fed you blows!

insects and blows are lesser children’s woes.

all is not well in the state of….

he who plants a tree, plants a hope
said Lucy Larcom (1824 – 1893)..never were words written as true as in the case of Preeti and our new aloe vera project…
Stop a moment to look at Preeti’s smile before your read on…

Preeti is 19 though she looks 12.. she suffers from a mental retardation that no one ever bothered to assess and by the time she came to us it was far too late to do anything concrete..
Preeti is not a pretty child and in her home no one loves her. Her grandmother has even told us to ‘give her a rat poison’ on more than one occasions and not as a joke. If her family could wish her away, they would…

Pretty has never been fed and has a severe micro nutrient deficiency which translates in her eating flies and insects.. which makes her the butt of nasty and snide remarks..

But Preeti is an endearing child if you are willing to stop and look at her with love. In spite of her very limited abilities she loves to help in any chore she can and one of her favourite activity is gardening.

When our friend DV suggested that we start an aloe vera project we had no hesitation is giving it to our special section under the stewartship of their educator Virinder.

The children are now busy planting aloe vera saplings into tiny pots, preparing charts and other material explaining the vertues of aloe vera and the advantage of having a plant in every home. They have collected empty containers of aloe vera based products and highlighted the exhorbitant cost of each of them and are now preparing a little presentation for our annual day that will be held on August 13th. They will on that day launch the sale of their saplings at rs 10/- a pot and who knows our littel aloevera fairies may turn into business ladies!

And maybe, just maybe, Preeti would gain a little place in the heart of her family when she comes back with first earnings…

so as Lucy larcom said

it was a special day at project why…

we had a special guest, one that has been a friend even before he saw our world or met any one of us.

rabin came all the way from chennai and spent the whole day with us.

his smile won eveyone over and the magic of project why worked once again as rabin became part of everything that was happening as if he were one of us.
he watched the reherseals for the forthcoming annual day, met all those he had touched with his cyberLove, neha and little aditya, met the angry and misguided young teenagers of okhla, and the odd couple who are parents to little yash.

the day went by, a normal one for project why but i guess a special one for rabin as he got a live show of what till then had been a reality perceived through words and snapshots, and a far cry from the cool air conditioned and organised world of a state-of-the-art bank!

a very special moment was when rabin met nutan. i cannot even begin to imagine the multitude of feelings and emotions that filled that instant..

if one had looked with one’s heart, what filled that tiny room was hope..

will the world look the same to you rabin!

As Nutan’s story unfolds, India comes to light, with its hard realities and softer truths. Nutan is 30 and is suffering from a severe heart malfunction.

Years of ignorance laced with neglect, years of living the life of a woman in a society where women are lesser beings, of bearing four children with little or no help, of malnutrition and hard work have taken their toll on a frail body, where a heart was made to work twice as much because of a probable congenital defect.

When the body could not carry on, when the lungs hungry for oxygen started giving up Nutan was taken to the district headquarters of Purnea, in Bihar. There a doctor who braved the odds and dangers of life in this dificult state to bring a healing touch to those in need, diagnosed Nutan’s ailment and gave her the best possible advise: take a train to Delhi, to the AIIMS for immediate heart surgery.

The year was 2003.

Nutan then fell prey to the half baked knowledge of probale well wishers who scared her so much that she refused the treatment needed and pushed her all ready tired body to the very last.

Then two years later, when even living became difficult, she finally took the train. The verdict was simple: immediate surgery; the cost was staggering for a family who had already sold or mortgaged everything it possessed.

Ayan, a doctor friend from John Hopkins saw Nutan and confirmed what we all knew. I asked her what would have happened if Nutan had been born to a rich family. The answer was staggering: the pediatrician would have detected the heart murmur at birth and the corrective surgery would have taken place by the time she was 3. And anyway, had Nutan had proper medical check up during her pergnancy, the murmur would have been heard. And then the inevitable question, what if nothing was done, the answer was a quiet: 2 years at the most.

What conclusion to draw in this tale of missed murmurs?

The one missed at birth, the one missed four times and then the unexpected one from a kind doctor in a state everyone has given up on..

Nutan a mother of four was diagnosed having a severe cardiac malfunction in a district hospital in Bihar and advised immediate corrective surgery. Doctors were optimist.

That was two years ago…

For two years, Nutan suffered, her condition deteriorating day by day. You may think that the surgery was delayed for want of funds.. well not quite

Nutan became an unsuspecting victim of what one could call enlightend ignorance. In her small village in the back of beyond of what is now known as the most backward state in India, this broken woman was fed on horrific tales of what a heart surgery was. In betwen bouts of severe and almost unberable pain, she heard bribes of conversation that described her body being torn apart and mutilated by city doctors and leading to a possible death.

Slowly a deep seated fright took hold of her pain ridden mind and she simply refused to be taken to the city and thus shut out the one option that could save her life.

It took two years of withering away, of bearing excruating pain, of witnessing her body slowly giving up for Nutan to accept to come to Delhi.

Nutan can barely walk, actually she can barely breathe. She is now undergoing the pre-op tests at the cardio-thoracic centre of AIIMS. We hope we can raise the money required and above all use our sources to get a date for the surgery and see this mom back on the road to recovery.

But Nutan’s case is not unique. How many people fall victim to ignorance, or what is worse half-baked knowledge.

Education then takes on a whole new meaning, a far cry for multiplication tables and historical dates…

as children we have all dreamt of what we would want to be when we grow up… i remember wanting to be an air hostess, a nuclear scientist, an astronaut and god knows what else..

even slum kids have dreams: they often want to be teachers, doctors.. even actors.. and sometimes they even say ‘we want to be like you’.

the young boy in the picture is Sanju. His father ran away with another woman. Sanju has two younger sisters. Deepa the middle one has been sent to the village. Manju, two and half, comes to our creche. Sanju’s mom cleans homes and leaves at 6 am returning late in the evening, leaving Sanju is charge of getting little Manju to school.

Sanju is an angry young man who does not know how to handle his feelings. He used to come to project why but was a difficult child to control. He stopped coming and hangs around in the street in spite of our best effort. In the afternoon he does go to school but that also is not regular. And in the evening he often has to bear the frustration of a tired mother, who often hears complaints about her neglected kids.

This morning I spent time talking to him, wanting to know how I could get him to come back and study. In the course of our little chat, I asked him what he wanted to become when he grew up. After some thought he mumbled ‘mend chains‘. I was perplexed and asked him to explain. He did: Sanju wants to become a zip-repair man (there is one who roams giri nagar repairing people’s broken zips)!

I was filled with immense sadness faced with this child and his tiny dream, his one life ambition. I just sat long after he left lost in my own thoughts. How could the life of a man who wandered through streets holding a few zips and lugging a shoulder bag become the ideal of a smiling boy. At an age where one can dare dream of the impossible, what makes a child stop at something so insignificant.. how suffocating and sad must his life be… what did he see in this man who goes around shouting in the street hoping for someone to call him so that he could earn a few rupees… was it escape from the life of a surrogate parent when one wants to jump and play with others, or from the embarassment of having a little sister clinging to you..

Sanju has to be given back his childhood and te right to dream big, but how?

that is the question.

the little fellow in red singing his heart out is Aman a little gypsy child.
last wednesday, his mom made him wear his smartest clothes, scrubbed squeaky clean in spite of the paucity of water in the camp where they live and sent him to project why.

in days gone by, i succumbed to the fashionable funding option of sponsorships even though every fibre of mine was telling me not to. but at that time the sources were few and the need urgent. the deal of course was that there would be no special goodies or add ons, but just the basic requirement for the child to be in project why. we carefully divided the cost of each section by the number of children and came up with a figure and got some funding that way. since we have ben able to try and get our message across and do not go for sponsorphips of individual kids anymore.

I have often wondered what is it that makes this so popular and once again one is compelled to conclude that it is a matter of giving in to the donor’s conscience. has anyone ever stopped to think how the kid who has a sponsor and smart thinks is treated by his peers, how he is marginalised and considered an outsider. have we not all felt this way in our childhood days?

Then how do we explain to one parent why the other parent’s child has been sponsored. and when you view a set of pictures what makes you select one rather than the other? the cutest one? the saddest looking one? Even in our group adoptions we have always found that it is the smaller section that gets the most support. Sometimes the special kids, as it is fashionable, never the secondary kids though for them it is the last chance to catch the train to a better future..

well to come back to my little fellow, he was one of the chosen one and last week after umpteen mails and calls the person was to come and meet him. we of course told all parents that we would have a visitor so that every child came looking his best.

So it was a bunch of really smart kids that set out that wednesay morning waiting for the guest to come… he never did.

I guess aman and the others never realised that they were kept that little bit longer, as project why is a fun place to be in. For them it was just another day…

and I just once again remebered the fox and his quiet message:

One sees clearly only with the heart. Anything essential is invisible to the eyes.

may i never lose that ability…

just got back from chennai and will write about my visit soon …
but today i want to share the joy I felt returning..home!

yes this little planet as i like to call it, has become ‘home’ as isn’t home the place you feel wanted, loved, cared for… was it the little children who ran to me screaming maa’m, or the more subdued ‘morning maa’m’ of the older ones.. was it the relief written large on the faces of some of my colleagues.. or the happy face of TunTun the scooter driver as he drove me to work..

maybe it was all of that ..

or was it the incredible joy and positive energy that dwell in every nook and corner of this little project and was so visible in the faces of the special kids as they greeted me this morning…

yes i was home…

when the tsunami – a word none of us knew post 26/12 – waves hit the shores of India on a fateful sunday morning, I did not know that it would create ripples in a little planet tucked away in a small delhi slum.

we set about collecting money for a boat, and we managed to do so in record time. today a beautiful little fishing boat proudly bears the name ‘project why’ as it bobs on the East Coast of India bringing new hope to little children and their families.

in project why classrooms, a picture the little brightly coloured boat is displayed on the walls with great pride, creating new yet invisible bonds.

now as we all know the tsunami relief operation did go a bit out of hand as the world found its lost conscience and wanted to put it to use in a hurry. we managed to convince some donors to set aside a little money for the children of a fishing village and my visit to chennai was to try and see what could be done to erase some of the terrible memories that little minds still carry, and that are often not understood by elders.

A drive along the East Coast Road brought to light many realities that we are unaware of. Several villages have been affected and the fisherman now live in ‘camps’ some of which look unreal, I was horrified by one where dwelling units were made of hessian cloth dipped in black tar, and looked like a vision of hell, others looked a little more welcoming and they used natural thatch. DV Sridharan my guide for the visit, pointed out something I would have missed: carefully worded panels that almost ‘invited’ you to visit these camps. I was appaled by the lack of sensitivity that made a human tragedy into a new form of tourism..

More disturing however was the fact that today many villagers have made releif their main ‘economic’ activity, with fishing taking second place… here again we are made aware of the thin and invisible line that lies between helping and handicapping. When fishermen stop fishing something has gone terribly wrong… whe people start concealing reality in the hope of getting more, the purpose of aid gets defeated… this is something we have also faced time and again, and to my mind herein lies the litmus test of any development work: the ability to know when to stop!

Alas this is easier said than done as the problem does not lie only with the recepient but also with the donor who rides on the high of becoming a temporary god or at least saint of the day!

Then what does one do, become a follower of Diogenes and sink into cynicism, or does one carry on with the hope of being able to stop when the need arises.

That is the question.

Dear Nida,

Thank you for your lovely mail and of course you can call me Anu!

I chose to answer your mail in this weblog, because much of what I would like to write to you, is what I would like to say to the young women of a land I love with deep passion. I must confess that sometimes I feel very defeated when I see the youth of today, and wonder where, we as parents have gone wrong.

To read that I have inspired you is not only humbling but a vindication of my deep seeded belief that everyone has a heart, maybe we just have forgotten the way to it. I am sure that everyone of you has the potential to make a difference, we just have not been able to show you how!

I do not what what motivated you to spend precious holiday time in the dusty and hot lanes of a slum rather; I do not even know what you were looking for.. I just hope you found it, and I do not think I am wrong, in the eyes of Aditya.

I can also see that you are a woman of substance as you were able to catch the essence of my approach. Yes, Nida deep concern without pity. Pity is a word far too often associated with, what in page 3 terms, would be ‘social work’. Yet it is the one thing that ruins it all.

I think we should all feel some reponsibility towards what we think is wrong, and I do not think that anyone would argue with the fact that little Aditya sleeping hungry is wrong or that young Arun having his operation money diverted to pay for funeral rites is wrong, or that a child’ s school fees going to pay the father’s evening tipple is wrong, or that .. and the list is endless..

The time you spent with us at project why must have shown you how little it takes to set things right. And yet it is so difficult to get even the tiniest bit of support.

I hope you will take this message to your friends and help people find the way to their hearts. And I hope that you will continue to be the woman you are, that you will always find the strength in you to do what you think is right, even if all others think differently.

We will miss you… particularly Aditya….

Note: Nida was a volunteer who worked with us during the summer.

I am an Indian expat – living in San Diego, California now. I was born & raised in Delhi, and, like so many others, had become immune to sights and sounds of abject poverty surrounding me everyday. I came across your project while doing some random net surfing during my lunch hour at my work place here, and was touched by the plight of the children. I think you & your team are doing a terrific job, and I wish you every success. I cannot even begin to imagine the kind of hurdles you face in your day to day operations, & I just want to commend you & the rest of your team on your spunk and spirit.
Betsy

I do not know Betsy… I do not know if we will ever meet… maybe we walked on the same street as she grew up in Delhi, two unknown strangers that nothing could or should link.. she went to fulfill her destiny thousands of miles away and I stayed on to fulfill mine… and we should have remained strangers but for project why..

When I wake up at the crack of dawn every morning to catch up with the ever increasing load of work, and switch on my computer, I am often greeted with a message like this one.. and the grey clouds lift to let rays of hope in.. and I am strenghthen in my belief that I chose the right road, even if it is the less travelled one..

I have often been criticised and even sneered at for insisting on my decision to fund project why with the now almost proverbial ‘one rupee a day’! But it is that very ‘one rupee’ that brings to project why the love and good will of so many people dispersed the world over, of people I would have never come across and creates invisble bonds that are priceless..

a rupee a day does make the world smaller!

If you look at the picture you will see a little tear that is about to fall… why is aditya crying as he clutches his pink bag?

Some of you may remeber a post in the June archives of this very blog entitled ‘the other WHY’, and the same little aditya asking questions no one would answer..

why did my father die ?
why is everyone so nasty to my mother?
why did no one give me medicine when my face was hurting so much?
why do i hear my mama weep at night?

the questions will remain unanswered.. and many more will appear… as life will continue its often cruel course…

Aditya, who never misses a day at project why had not been coming for the past few days.. This morning we sent Urmila, his favourite teacher, to find out what had happened and my blood ran cold when she came back: Aditya was alone at home, and Neha his mother and his grandmother were out.. a kind neighbour told a stunned Urmila that for the past three days the little proud trio had not eaten anything. The gaz cylinder was over.. and as Urmila perused the tiny kitchen she realised that all the diminutive containers were empty, barring one which had a few grains of lentils…

The neighbour went on to reveal that this proud family never asked for help, and often went to sleep after drinking water to calm the hunger pangs… a message was left asking Neha to come by and Urmila returned and shared what she had seen and heard…

We set up our little support network and decided to fill up the empty boxes and the cylinder so that the little family would not sleep hungry tonight and then we would work out something..

Later Neha came clutching little Aditya and we heard that this proud mother, widowed at an age when one is still a child, had calmed little Aditya’s hunger with water laced with some sugar and salt and dollops of mother’s love…

But there is a god for the lesser ones and he does send angels in different garbs and Aditya’s angel was a kind lady who had come to visit project why and who decided to sponsor these little bravehearts till Neha finished her course and could stand on her own feet…

Little Aditya sat on his mom’s lap listening to everything and I knew that his little soul knew that an angel had flown by…

this week we made it to outlook and for once the article conveyed the reality of project why and its hopes and dreams. For once readers are spared the ‘ambassador’s daughter’ walking the slums, a cliche that makes me mad and has been used ad nauseum…

project why came of age in what i think is still the best article even written on why project WHY came to be. This article appeared in September 2003, and since we have gone a long way. At that time we were still groping in the dark, needing some kind of recognition that would make us visible and hence help us grow… but then everyone picked the words from the goodnewsindia.com article and somehow rewrote it, giving the impression that nothing was
truly happening..

yet the essence of project why is its ability to change and mutate, as its aim from the very first day was to empower people to take charge of their own lives…

project why was never about the poor little rich girl hoping to become a saint!

project why has always been about making a difference and one again we find ourselves at crossroads and know that will have to take on a new role… and I hope that when we do and succeed there will be someone who will report it honestly!

One dream one soul one prize one goal
One golden glance of what should be
It’s a kind of magic
One shaft of light that shows the way
No mortal man can win this day
It’s a kind of magic
The bell that rings inside your mind
Is challenging the doors of time

wrote roger taylor for the rock group queen…

strange that these words came to my mind today… the day after having had to face some of the social ills that continue to plague our society: caste, women ruled by their husbands, narrow mindedness..
yet this morning when i saw the little project why inhabitants getting ready for their morning activities, i was once again touched by the magic of our little planet…

look at the little souls in the picture.. a happy lot they seem, intrigued at the presence of the big ma’am…

did you know that one is dalit, the other a muslim, the third a watermark brahman, and yet another a nepali; one is orphaned, the other illegitimate, another is a gypsy; some are very poor others own scooters, some live in airless shanties while the others in well cooled flats… would you be able to stick the correct label on the right forehead…

and yet they as the song says, they are the shaft of life we seek but do not recognise… soon they will be taught the ugly and divisive side of life, but today they are touched by the magic… the magic of planet why..

shhhh.. do not disturb them… it’s a kind of magic

stay hungry, stay foolish

Again, you can’t connect the dots looking forward; you can only connect them looking backwards. So you have to trust that the dotswill somehow connect in your future. You have to trust in something -your gut, destiny, life, karma, whatever. Steve Job

Today I had to put my 7 year old dog, Cleo , to sleep. Cleo has been sick since the time she was born. She was a bull mastiff ; but Cleo was also the result of human greed whereby one forgets that nature has laws that should not be broken: Cleo was the result of extreme in breeding. She came to us one night and one look at her was enough to realise that nothing was right: from her distorted legs, to her tongue that was too long: but she was beautiful and we all fell in love with her huge melting brown eyes.

she lived a brave valiant life in spite of her kidneys having failed.. at the end she could barely stand and was in pain.. and today I put her out of her misery… all could say to her as I held her was ‘sorry’..

I was far more disturbed than I thought I would be and shared my pain with a dear friend who sent me a mail with the text of steve job’s speech delivered recently to a group of students. The words somehow dealt with all the questions that were crowding my mind…

You can read the speech here.

many times, when things are not quite the way you want them to be, you wonder why and it is only much later that the dots get connected into often a perfect picture..

Steve goes on to say:

You’ve got to find what you love. And that is as true for your work as it is for your lovers. Your work is going to fill a large part of your life, and the only way to be truly satisfied is to do what you believe is great work. And the only way to do great work is to love what you do. If you haven’t found it yet, keep looking. Don’t settle.

And thinking back I am blessed as I have found what I love in project why and the rewards I get every day of my life.

I just had not realised it ..

Piya, Sudha, Asha, Misha,Paul, Ronnie, Greg, Sandra, Melanie, Jennifer, Ritu, Sameer, Rohit, Rahul, Ben, Eric, Dr Cohen, Dr Rawat, College of Du Page, Nazeer, Himanshu and the list goes on…. are friends we did not know we had, but the magic of project why touched sarmishta one day as she browsed the net and maybe saw one of the little souls that inhabit or planet..

she decided to help them fulfill their dreams of a better tomorrow.. by pledging part of therevenue from the sales of her maiden film.

but that simple generous gesture sarmishta did much more.. she created bonds between people who would have never known each other and made the world that much smaller..

today we are overwhelmed and humbled

bless you all

french fries and curry

when i asked some kids what made them laugh most, they all refereed to the famous chocolate ad where big B leaps of joy at ‘pappu’ passing his XIIth..

well yesterday when rani brought her class X result, my joy was not for the camera, it was genuine .. and that for many reasons..

the first is maybe because i simply love this young spirited woman.. but more than that because from the time i set eyes on her exactly five years ago to the day… she has never let me down.. from accepting to work without salary as a health and nutrition volunteer, to taking on small responsibilities to becoming my right arm and steering the day-to-day activities of project why..

rani was a shy withdrawn girl, who had dropped out of class IX as she had been severely beaten for not having brought her fees in time, and her mom had decided to stop her schooling..

well this year she decided to sit for her Xth Boards, did not even take a day of leave to study – god knows when she did – and came beaming yesterday with her results..

rani today steers a project which has 400 kids, a staff of 40 many of whom i have seen her grow..

but what makes this woman special is that she takes on any challenge with a smile and a determination no one can compete with… somehow she vindicates project why’s stand of empowering people..

main hoon na! or here I am is what each tiny project why tot proudly says every morning at roll call!

these three little words are overflowing with meaning… they are not simply an affirmation or act of presence, they hold all their still unformulated dreams.. dreams that can only be fulfilled if people find their hearts and reach out to help..

and when they fold their hands in prayer and look up, it is the same three words they say to the invisible one!

to help us fulfill their dreams we need caring souls to part with a rupee a day! easier said than done particularly in this city where people seem to have lost their heart somewhere…

everyone wants to know what they would get in return.. and you stoically retort in a soft voice: the satisfaction of helping educate children – but it does not cut the ice… you get a curt – all NGOs are crooks– and you want to scream – but come and see our work.. – but who has the time..

many friends say – go find a celebrity – but where does one find one who would be willing to associate with a down to earth effort like ours…

never mind if we get children new hearts, or give employment to destitute mothers, or even arrest drop out rates in school.. we cannot get you a place in page 3.. we never learnt how… and the question is – do we really want to…

i think you know the answer..

meet sophiya and pushpa.. one is a tribal from ranchi the other a dalit..
sophiya and pushpa run our okhla primary extension programme..

it was about a year ago that we decided to start this centre, and these two ladies were the chosen ones to go and set it up from scratch and they did, to our utter amazement: found a dump, cleared it and cleaned it, set up a shack, negotiated with the cops and local politicos, handled the local goons, found the children and today teach over 100 kids, in conditions that would scare off many…

and they do it with a smile, without a word of complaint..

to me these two women of substance epitomise the spirit of project why, which only makes sense if community members can learn the skills and gain the ability to set up extension centres in different places learning to deal with local problems and find support within.

Women are like stars…only one can make your dreams come true!

one heart has been mended, one kid is back on course…
a bunch of sparkling eyed kids are busy studying…
another lot are busy learning the rules of living in our world..
little stars shine as they learn their numbers and letters..
a planet continues its charted course…

but there is another side of WHY
the one that never ceases to question and look for answers

if you look closely at aditya, the little fellow on the picture you will see a little face filled with questions that seem not to have any answers: here are some

why did my father die ?
why is everyone so nasty to my mother?
why did no one give me medicine when my face was hurting so much?
why do i hear my mama weep at night?
and the list is endless

aditya’s mama is 19, aditya is not even 2. the father died of brain fever last year. his family threw aditya and his mother out. aditya lives with his maternal grandmother who can barely make both ends meet.

we cannot spend time wondering why (!) we need to do something… and we did.

after getting aditya the medical help he needed (injectable antibiotics) we decided to help Neha find a tomorrow and thanks to friends today Neha attends a beautician course at the Shanaz Hussain School and will one day get a job and maybe her own parlour… though we are still looking for a kind heart to sponsor the course material which is quite expensive (4K!) and the monthly bus fare.

And every morning , as Neha sets out on the road of her new life, little aditya sits in our creche working out all the little unworded questions that crowd his tender mind.

And the one question I know bothers him the most is: when will mama smile again!

Two recent occurrences set me thinking about the new lucrative field that I will just call giveBizMess and the new meaning of words like ‘giving’,’charity’ and their XXI st century mutations ‘development causes’ and ‘NGO sector’ etc..

A quick glance at history and quotes from the world over read like:

The desire of power in excess caused the angels to fall; the desire of knowledge in excess caused man to fall; but in charity there is no excess, neither can angel or man come in danger by it. Francis Bacon
or
If you haven’t got any charity in your heart, you have the worst kind of heart trouble. Bob Hope
or
Charity never humiliated him who profited from it, nor ever bound him by the chains of gratitude, since it was not to him but to God that the gift was made. Antoine De Saint-Exupery

The list is endless, but there is one common thread and that is that giving is a one way street and not a business transaction with strings tied to it.

My half a century journey on this planet has shown me time and again that when we humans are uncomfortable with something we tend to marginalise it and kick it off the mainstream. Hence one who does not play by today’s rule is at once branded as ‘silly’ ‘stupid’ and more of the same.

Now to come back to the two incidents that started this stream of thought, one is the unending stream of donations tagged ‘tsunami’, whereby people or institutions have unleashed a wave of giving bigger than a tsunami wave, and that is also likely to have as negative an impact.

The second incident is the one that began by a simple offer to help a child and has also unleashed a rather incomprehensible stream of events where one child’s case has brought to light the ugly or rather sad connotations that charity assume in our day and age.

I think one needs to be ‘charitable’ in dealing with these issues or otherwise one is at risk of being drawn into the givBizMess Syndrome where the one who gives takes on the bigger role defeating the act of giving itself.

What a bit of humour would lead one to ask is:

How come people who normally do not find the time, inclination or need to part with a few coins for simple day-to-day activities such as education, nutrition or old age care – to name a few – to people around them, acquire an impatient eagerness to do the same when a tsunami (word unknown till 26-12-04) hits lands they will never see?

How come one child’s surgery assumes so much importance that money that could have almost paid for one such surgery is spent on phone calls, when a simple request for help for two little girls needs a Board of Directors to meet?

This is the result of giveBizMess, where what was intended to be an almost subliminal act becomes a pure commercial activity where every one wants its pound of flesh.

Giving is an act of love, an act where the only reward you can truly seek is the one you have to look for deep in the eyes of those you sought to help.

But it requires you to make the effort of looking into those eyes and the terrible risk of losing yourself in them!

note: the word bizMess is the brainchild of my friend DV; i just thought it fitted the picture like a glove!

what is essential is invisible to the eye..
was the secret the fox gave the little prince.

as i watched arun sleep today on his hospital bed, his heart beating valiantly and with great effort, these words came to my mind and i wondered what aruns’ heart had ‘seen’ till now.

adults for whom the dead were more important than the life of a child; adults who sat helpelessly cursing life and everything and everyone around but not really doing anything..

children play and run while this child lay helplessly just trying to get from one heartbeat to the nxt…

children learning while this child was stopped from going to school because he may have got hurt..

did arun question the unfairness of life..

or did he just smile thorugh it all with a wisdom born from years of suffering in silence, i do not know..

i still remember the first time i saw him: he just smiled and that smile conveyed everything he wanted to say. I knew arun wanted to live, to make up for the lost years, maybe to run and laugh like other children..

and i knew i would do everything i could to make it possible..

watch these little bravehearts as they petition the God of of the lesser ones…

and you wonder what they are seeking when everything in this world conjures to harm them!

some cannot hear..
simple minds cannot fight the daily abuse they are subjected to..
and an intelligent mind locked in a useless body brings daily sneers…
as a guileless smile cannot convey the scars left on a violated body..

and yet when they come piled in limousine 1472, their three wheeled cindrella coach steered by the big hearted stern looking coachman, a palpable feeling of joy and hope fills project why, infusing large doses of cheer in all of us..

they leave their dark world at the stroke of 8.30 am and till 4 pm walk into light… they set about their chores in an environment when they know they are not judged, laughed at or belittled.. in a place where they can just be themselves…

yes the clock will strike 4 – it does every day – but that is a long time away for these lovely souls who live instant after instant and laugh, fight, cry, play or to sum it up simply live…

so I wonder as I watch them every morning eyes shut and hands folded : what is it that their almost incomprehensible words are saying to the one we all turn to in our moments of despair..

and sometimes the wind blows back two gentle words to me… thank you!