pencil box to simply jometry
Where did I buy my last jometry quipped little Kiran.
For a few moments I was perplexed then it dawned on me: she was referring to a pencil box a.k.a. geometry box. I am sure many remember the rather ungainly tin box that we carried to school many years back and that included all geometry implements and pencils and rubbers.
Somewhere the word box got dropped and the tin box acquired many an avatar, but to school children from the other side of the divide the name jometry remained.
Jometry today for most slum kids is the word to define all shades and hues of the precious pencil box they carry to school.
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I sat on the edge of my bed and cried
Every morning before I set out for the day, I watch the news on TV. A old habit become more relevant since pwhy began as one has to be anchored in the reality that surrounds us.
One is prepared for news about violence and bombs. one is even resigned to the fact that a large chunk of the bulletin will be hogged by sports and bollywood. One even braces one’s self for some item on child abuse…
I switched on the idiot box expecting to see yesterday’s Baghdad blast and was in no way prepared for what was about to hit me. The lead news today was about three little girls age 6. 7 and 11 who were rescued from an upmarket home after 3 years of torture and abuse. They were domestic workers..
As one of the girls relived the belts and sticks, the chili in her eyes, and the camera zoomed on her scalded badly healed hands, I was unable to stop the tears that ran down my cheeks. Soon I found myself weeping uncontrollably: they were tears of anger, of rage, of extreme sadness, of helplessness, of shame..
The ordeal of the little girls did not stop there. Yes we have a child labour law, yes we have a juvenile justice act, we boast of child protection legalese, and are signatories to the UN convention for Children’s Rights but once rescued by an NGO the little girls spent 5 days in the cop station. The state of H does not have a juvenile home, the district magistrate – a woman – refused to comment, the law did not allow them to come to neighbouring Delhi. The perpetrators however were released on bail.
The disturbing image of the little girl with scalded hands refused to go away. 2 and half years of torment , that meant she was just 5 when the descent to hell began. And the tormentors,they lives in a city not a barren island, did no one see their plight or did everyone turn their face away as usual. And how could people treat children this way. Why did these tiny children have to work. Why are the laws made for children so full of gaping holes. How can we hope for redemption when we are not able to protect our children. Who gives us the right to shatter children’s dreams. The little scalded hands were not meant to scrub, and clean but to play with a doll, be held and caressed.
Questions that need answers but who will answer them..
God of Lesser beings are you listening
children will be children
I had to share this picture with you! This is a Kodak moment of the afternoon session of our bran new Govindpuri primary extension. the room we have is so tiny that it is only sufficient to lock up the meagre resources we have. Classes are held on the roof as the weather is clement these days.
Just two weeks back this centre did not exist, and most of these kids wandered on the streets. Today its is cracking at the seams and filled with laughter, joy and above all hope.
As soon as we were spotted by one of the kids, there was a scramble down the stairs to open the door and usher us into this new world. The children almost fell over each other as they ran down the tiny stairs and greeted us.
These children are just like yours and mine: eager, mischievous and eager to imbibe whatever we can teach them, still hungry for more. Their guileless trust makes us painfully aware of the responsibility that rests on our shoulders, as somehow we have become the ones who may just fulfil their wildest dreams.
But can we?
welcome back our world !
Deepak has a brand new heart or rather has got his broken heart fixed. A huge T shaped scars is ample proof of that.
We first met Deepak almost 5 months ago when he was 8 months old. He needed heart surgery but his family did not have the required money. We raised it with the help of some kind hearts and believed that in a matter of days or at most weeks all would be well.
But that was not to be. What should have a simple walk to the OT turned out to be an obstacle race in today’s India. Deepak first encountered the hydra headed monster called reservation. any a times we was turned away from the portals of the most prestigious hospital in our country.
His tired body gave up once and his heart even stopped beating but his will to live was formidable. He came back to life again but the battle was not over, a huge abdominal abscess delayed the procedure again.
Last week D day finally dawned and his surgery was performed with success and soon he will be back to his little home and ready to start a new life.
I wonder what life has in store for him? His family is poor and illiterate. His father barely earns enough to keep the family going and his mom and granny stay at home. The one huge asset they have is a bond of love and are a close knit family.
We will slowly tiptoe out of his life, and then Deepak will be on his own. For a long time I wondered about his future as I more than anyone else know how much we have let our children down, particularly those who live on the other side of the impregnable yet invisible fence.
Deepak will soon find out that life is not fair, that the images he will see on TV – the family has one of course – are not meant for him. As he grows and starts going to school – the municipal one for sure – and may not become a drop out statistic if he is still around and come to pwhy. On the way he will see many ugly realities: reservation, caste division, child labour, unemployment and more. The god who heard his mom’s prayer and gave him this new hart will have to work overtime to protect and guide him at every step of life.
When I watch the news I am horrified to see that with obsessive regularity every day, some news we are ‘treated’ to some news item that confirms that life is not alright for our children. Yesterday we heard about the young slum kid who won a national yoga competition but found no one to sponsor his trip to the international meet in Italy.
Laws that protect children are broken with rare impunity, tender bodies are raped, used and abused. And we just emit of few chuckles of sympathy and carry on with our lives.
But each image robs me a few minutes of my sleep each night and urges me to do something more. I feel ashamed at my inability to reach out and help.
How can I say welcome back to our world Deepak..
orange juice revisited
I have always held that the poor emulate the rich! This is apparent in more ways than one: urban slums weddings for instance now look like upmarket ones: food stalls, decorative thrones, DJs and smoky dance floors.
This is also apparent in the proliferation of cell phones, bikes, VCD players et al!
Yesterday I saw something that made me smile. Our local juice vendor was rushing with a bunch of plastic bags filled with orange juice, and dropping them to different jhuggis. Actually each jhuggi had a sick person in it.
Yes health consciousness has also hit the slums.
I did not even dare think about the quality of the plastic or the origin of the water used to dilute the juice…
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how many deaths..
Seeing the aftermath of the Bhandara tragedy cannot but bring to mind what bob Dylan wrote more than 40 years ago
Yes, ‘n’ how many deaths will it take till he knows
That too many people have died?
I will not write about the horror of that night, the shattered dreams of a brilliant girl, the agony of the surviving victim. I will not delve on the pitched battles that are played over and over again when the brutality of the police beatings which reminds us of the British raj, neither will I wonder why such a horrific incident had no witnesses.
I will just ask why in a land that has been freed for over 60 years justice does not come to victims that are children of a lesser God, I will just ask why factions cannot unite in the wake of such human tragedy, I will just ask why protesting in a democracy leads to brutal beatings, I will just ask why people are not allowed to dream big!
Delhi just witnessed the abduction of a rich child and the media bltz that ensued. I wonder wether it would have been the same if the child was poor? And yet the agony of a mother is the same be she rich or poor.
So many questions and no one to answer them
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Locked in silence
Sometimes you wonder why children are made to suffer! I wrote about Himanshu locked in his world and who had found a pal in Nanhe.
Well someone got jealous or cast a spell and the next day nanhe found suffered acute renal colic and had an epileptic fit that send him to hospital and Himanshu found himself without his new friend.
Himanshu’s story is what horror films are made of: his mother committed suicide by hanging herself, probably because of domestic violence. His maternal grandparents then asked the father to come to the village proposing that he marry the dead wife’s sister. the father thought it would be a doable option for his two children as Himanshu has a younger sister.
In the village, in some remote part of Bihar, what awaited him was a family seeking revenge. The man was shot by the brothers and the whole deed made to look like another suicide.
Today the children are being looked after my the dead father’s sister who has chosen no to marry in order to bring up these two children.
I wonder what Himanshu saw that made him the way he is, locked up in a strange world of his own, trying to deal with something he cannot understand.
In the face of such tragedy I remain speechless.
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dil deke dekho.. dilli!
A few weeks back we were contacted by a organisation asking us to participate in a national effort whereby young bankers of a leading multinational bank would come and spend a day at pwhy as part of the CSR effort.
A draft programme was sent to us and we were asked to send a concrete proposal which we promptly did. The idea was that about 10 such persons would ‘spend the day’ with our kids and participate in various activities.
Then as usual we got caught in our day-to-day life. Yesterday we remembered that the programme was scheduled for this week-end and having not heard from anyone we decided to call them.
Why was I not surprised when we were told that though Bombay and Calcutta had met the required numbers, Delhi had failed to do so. No need to wonder why, Delhi will not give up its Saturday spent mall crawling, star gazing or partying to walk filthy slums and play with poor kids.
Dil deke dekho– dilli – try spending a little of your heart!
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a promotion for nanhe
It has been along time since one has written a blog about pwhy children. Somehow the sombre mood and events of the past few weeks had hijacked much of these posts.
But while the city was being held to ransom by the sealing saga and numerous bhands, life did not stop for an instant on planet why. We have had some new admission and one of them was little Himanshu in the creche.
Himanshu and his younger sister are orphans being brought up by their aunt. Right from day one Himanshu seemed a little different and unlike his sister who took to her new friends like a fish to water, Himanshu remained withdrawn, locked in his world, banging his head occasionally or sitting in a corner.
Today we shifted him to the special section so that our very efficient team would assess him. As soon as he entered the room, Himanshu suddenly felt at home. He smiled, and settled down as if he belonged.
After some time, he decided to sit by Nanhe and soon rested his head on Nanhe’s lap a broad smile on his face. Nanhe of course rose to the occasion suddenly as this was the first time in his life that he felt responsible for someone.
We all watched in silence as this was a huge moment for us all.
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thirty four to one
I asked my old acquaintance Mishraji why our local DDA market had so many cars parked in front. Mishraji and I go back a long time, when he worked at a provision store in M block market GK1 and I shopped there for my daily needs. That was about 25 years ago!
Today Mishraji works the local chemist in the DDA market the store he worked in then is now a lingerie boutique!
“behanji, did you know that there were 34 provisions stores in M block market in those days, now there is only one, so the many residents of diverse blocks in GK 1 come to the two provision shops here”, was Mishraji’s answer.
A zany thought crossed my mind: will they one day seal this tiny complex because of traffic snarls!
Thinking back I do remember many such stores; they all disappeared giving way to showrooms that sell jewellery, fancy shoes, fancy apparel, sports goods, crystal ware and more of the same. And shoppers comes from across the city and even across the country, in their cars and create those terrible traffic jams.
This blog is not about rules and the breaking of them. It is an epitaph to days gone by, days that remain forgotten memories in the now tired heads of the likes of Mishraji and I. With malls, and showrooms the bond that existed between the shopkeeper and the client is gone and in its place is a business like exchange. I guess one has to move with time but some of us still long for the days when things were different.
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get one free
She is 11, goes to school but there is a catch; she has been married to a man more than twice her age who is also the husband of her handicapped sister.
The future of children and particularly girls with disabilities has always been a source of concern.
Often their already grim lives turn to nightmares after the demise of their mother when the reins of the home passes on to a new entrant: the elder daughter-in-law.
It is for this reason that we try at pwhy to teach each and every special child basic living skills so that he or she can remain within the home. Often we have to argue with parents who try and see the child as normal and chart out a life for her which leads to marriage as the very Ponce Pilatus option: I would have washed my hands off her. No one ever thinks of the plight of the girl in a new home.
Yesterday a TV channel aired a story that disturbed me a lot. A father had married his deaf and dumb girl to a much older man; only there was a catch: he also married his 11 year old second daughter to the same man! His explanation was brutally simple: his disabled daughter would find a home.
The understanding was that daughter no 2 – still a child – would remain in her parental home till she finished school. Only that is not what happened, soon after daughter no 1’s wedding, the in-laws started abusing her and insisted that daughter no 2 come immediately. Apparently this case is not unique, many parents of disabled daughters have had recourse to this.
I know that everyone reading this blog will be horrified, but seven years in pwhy have taught me to look at the larger picture before condemning anyone. True that the authorities have moved in, the father is behind bars, the younger daughter still in school does not quite understand the situation, and the handicapped young woman is back home, her future as bleak as ever.
Now had the ‘deal’ worked, it would have remained a secret and the sisters would have lived together. The larger question nobody seems to be addressing is: what will happen to them now and what is the future of the innumerable young women with disabilities in a country that has no option for them?
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where small is not beautiful…
Welcome to the land where small is not beautiful..
Wonder what I am getting at?
Two recent news items caught my eye. One pertains to sealing and its effect of small traders, and the other on the proposed amendment to regulate foreign donation to NGOs. In both cases the big fish will get away but the small will suffer and ultimately die.
Keeping an eye on nefarious activities is understandable but believing that those who engage in such activities will not find other ways of doing so is naive.
Those who are engaged in trying to make a difference by reaching out to the many who have been let down – children, women – know how difficult it is to get help from within the country. Somehow the word NGO is circumspect and viewed with extreme suspicion and disdain, making people like us wary of even using it to identify one’s self. True that it unfortunately conjures in the minds of people the image of huge organisations with large budgets and heavy administrative setups . It is also true that many are just that. Now with the added scare of NGOs being used to fund terror, mistrust will grow.
The flip side that there are some people who set up projects with an honest approach and are engaged in good work. The flip side is also is that funds normally come from across the seas, where even our kin become more charitable.
I spent the first years of pwhy trying to get support from friends, relatives, school buddies of spouse etc watching personal funds whither as very little was forthcoming. Everyone always had a good excuse, one more ludicrous than the other. Must add that what I sought was tiny, something people would flitter away in an evening. I even came up with my one rupee a day pitch, thinking that what I was asking was actually so tiny that it became invisible. But to no avail. Then our famous FCRA got cleared and the same story was sent out on the net reaching people I did not know.
Distance makes the heart larger I should say as I was overwhelmed by the support that came from young students and professionals over and above friends that I had known for long. The sums were not big, as many took the rupee-a-day option that translated into a tiny 8 dollars a year. But we survived month after month and year after year. We survived and hundreds of kids did not drop out, 20 different kids spent a few hours a day laughing and being loved, 30 people got employment and could feed their families, 7 hearts got repaired..
Now with the new law that will soon come to force, we may lose much of this support. Not because we are dishonest or dubious but because meeting the requirements will deprive us of the spontaneous support of small donors who often react to appeals from the heart. Moreover, the new law also states that a tab will be kept on whether or not the money is used for development. This will open the doors to witch hunting, settling of personal scores not to forget new avenues for under the table payments as who defines what development is!
For organisation like ours who do not believe in corpus funds and think that money given for a cause should be used as soon as possible, any blocking of funds to answer queries would mean no money for the next month. For organisation like ours which have very restricted small administrations, a point appreciated by our donors, it may mean increasing that budget to meet the new requirements. It alsomeans retructuring our donor base in a way that may jar with what we believe in.
But above all it will mean losing the warmth and spontaneity that characterised pwhy as its number of supporters grew across countries and lived the joy and angst of our little effort with us.
Small is not beautiful in our land!
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when cars land in slums
Over the past six years I have had to fight many battles. Lost some, won some. Sometimes the adversary is too formidable as was the case of the MLM people who came with their rehearsed pitches, their alluring promises and their fast track to riches!
They came, saw and conquered many young men and women promising them a quantum leap measured of course in gleaming bikes, and natty cars. My sensible words fell on deaf years: some listened by respect, and others just took the longer road to avoid the babbling old lady telling them to take one step at a time.
I felt a pang of guilt as pwhy boys and girls were naturally selected to lead as their social and communication skills were well honed by years of tender grooming. I watched with despair as some dropped out of colleges to be able to sell more computer software to gullible slum dwellers. The MLM gang was quick to scale down their minimum qualifications to ensnare more lads. Graduate, to class XII, to class X and even less.
I prayed my favourite God to make the pyramid crash sooner than later but to no avail. I have to confess that all the ex pwhyans have gleaming bikes and some have even bought cars, leaving me even more uncomfortable as I know the inevitable outcome.
So R got his brand new Innova. It is parked on the other side of the Giri Nagar road, in front of his tiny shack that is barely sufficient for the family of 5, next to the tinier shack that is the bathroom. Every morning his teen age sisters open the car, switch the AC, put on loud music and happily brush their teeth and have their morning tea. The car is also often used as a sitting or even sleeping space!
That is what happens when cars land in slums..
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Jhola days around the corner
I watched the sealing drive yesterday. The targets were big fish be they showrooms, offices of even government institutions. The government suddenly took the rule of law very seriously.
Later in the day I read an article ringing the death knell of small NGOs located in areas identified as seal-able!
The logic presented by the author was simple: such NGOs had chosen those premises as hey were often cheaper. This enabled them to present their donors with small admin bills. Were they to move into commercial areas then the rent and other charges would often be higher than the amount spent of the development work they do.
NGOs normally do not break laws, however when those are poorly defined then they may inadvertently do so. It is a well known fact that donors are weary of inflated admin costs, so it stands to reason to think that were small NGOs asked to move out, they would have no option but to cease their activities. It is true that there are some NGOs who are not quite what they seem , but small NGOs like ours have a role to play in a city where the government has abdicated many of its duties. Not many alternatives are left for takes.
At present we are on safe grounds, but who knows one day laws may change or be suitably modified to meet numbers and the sealing gang may land on us. I have been thinking of this and have come and realised that pwhy is maybe not in such a bad situation as most of our activities are nomadic. The solution will be to turn every activity into a nomadic one and become a jhola – satchel – NGO. Each one packing the need of the day in a satchel and taking off for the garbage dump, road side, shanty assigned to us and ending the day in your own drawing room to take stock and plan the next day.
I remember many of my detractors criticising my stubborn resistance to enclosing pwhy in the confines of four walls, but somehow I held on and feel vindicated.
So jhola days may be round the corner…
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here we go again… to seal or not to seal
here we go again.. says the popular song.
I have been watching the tos and fro’s of the local authorities regarding the now existential question: to seal or not to seal!
To take the Shakespeare reference further we could easily say; all is not well in the State of D.. (substitute Delhi for Denmark). Is there a solution?
To understand the present situation one has to travel way back and ask a multitude of almost rhetorical questions: why the master plan which had a fair allocation for commercial buildings was not respected? Why did the local authorities happily give green signals to illegal activities? Why did the politicians promise regularisation of unlawful construction before each and every election? many questions and no answers as it is a chicken and egg situation.
For the past few days the government both local and national have been in their usual band-aid mode? One arm says yes to sealing and the other no. But what is disturbing is the pathetic excuses: a festival here, a law and order situation there. In the meantime a city is held to ransom, children cannot go to school and violence lurks at every corner.
Everybody has been caught unawares! Those who paid and retreated into comfort zones, those who received and promised, those who broke laws with impunity and those who turned their eyes away..
This crisis management situation has become endemic to our very nature with no one realising that it just delays the inevitable just a little bit longer.
The sealing situation threatens to become a hydra headed monster and no Hercules who would look for the neck and sever it. We just go on snipping the heads which grow again and again.
But one day the laws catch up and everyone stands helpless. There is a Hercules, but in this case not an individual but a complex entity covering all sides and willing to take on his or her share of responsibility and willing to lose some to set matters right.
Wishful thinking in this day and age where individual benefits are more important than collective ones, where rights are demanded but duties shunned!
Where do we go from here…
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three step forward and two and half back
I am livid. Do you remember Babli?
Here I was back in a comfort zone feeling smug like a proverbial Cheshire cat, thinking that with her brand new heart, Babli was sitting on a school bench making up for lost time when I was hit by another thunderbolt.
R and S came back from a field visit visibly upset. On the way they had passed Babli’s slum cluster and found her sitting on a cart selling chewing tobacco, cigarettes and biscuits instead of being in school, her little sister standing in the background.
The cart was supposed to be the father’s way of earning some money, but he simply left her there to pursue his gambling habit. Seems that it happens often as she sheepishly told us that her name had been struck of the roll of the school.
The mother spends long hours in the factory she works in and the father does as he pleases. Come tomorrow and we will set out on a remedial mission which will start with some plain talking with the impossible farthest threatening to put him behind bars if he abuses the child in this manner. Then a PR expedition to government school to ensure that she is taken back. Somewhere down the line the mother will get a dressing too.
These moments are when you just feel throwing your hands up but you stop midway and wonder how you can address the situation that actually is one of protecting children’s rights. We can carry on our crisis intervention, but there is a larger question that needs to be looked at: parents need to be informed about the laws in existence and about the importance of giving girls a good education.They should be made aware of the child labour laws and more..
The presence of little Arzoo in the background is a blatant proof of the fact that girls are treated differently as Ramu the brother goes to school.
There is so much to be done, one step at a time…
Note: two days after this post babli was back in school, and sister arzoo back at pwhy’s creche.
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the lure of comfort zones
I have always feared comfort zones. You fall prey to them unwittingly. When things look alright, when no untoward incident occurs, that is when comfort zones appear and you easily fall prey to their lure.
This has happened time and again at pwhy though I have tried to fight it as best I could. When things are smooth you even stop seeing things as they are.
Then something happens to bring you back to earth and you feel a tad guilty looking for meagre excuses where none exist. And when it pertains to a child, then the guilt is far greater. So many little miracles have escaped my mind and yet where there for all to see.
Many of you may wonder why I have not written about Nanhe for a long time. Simply because I feel prey to the comfort zone syndrome. But a lot has happened and it is time to share with all those who have loved and supported him.
After his leg operations Nanhe has been able to stand and is slowly learning to walk with a walker. It is a huge step for this child who till recently was condemned to drag himself in a sitting position. To us who take our standing as granted it may not seem so important, but imagine what it means to little Nanhe. he can now stand with his classmates and take part in the morning exercise routine, and even dance with them.
No wonder then that the smile has got even bigger!
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chilling numbers
My limousine had not come so I decided to spend some time in the creche where the big section – all between 4 and 5 – sat in a circle for its daily activity.
The past few weeks had been so hectic that I had barely found time to spend with the children as I was busy struggling to survive. But the breakdown of the three wheeler – ie my limo – allowed me that luxury. Once the children were settled and work handed out, I found myself staring at this little circle of around 15 kids and knew that there was something I could sense but not yet see!
It took me a few minutes to register what was disturbing be, till I felt hit by a bolt out of the blue: there were only 3 girls in the group!
It is true that the socio-economic profile of the early education group has always been different to the other sections. I guess that the presence of volunteers of all shades and hues and the fun and laughter that often emanates from this group made many slightly better families bring their children to us. This has been god sent to one like me as it was almost a precursor my dream of a common school as the solution to many problems in our country.
It is also true that the sex ratio of south Delhi is one of the worst – 784/1000 – but it is only today that I saw the chilling numbers it the very micro sample that is pwhy.
There are missing girls and we cannot afford to turn a blind eye. The importance and essential value of the girl child has to be restored in the minds of each and everyone.
Come November…
Come November and it is time for me to get off the spinning earth and look at time gone by as a rank outsider…
November never held much significance in the first for decades of my life. But the year 1992 changed it all. November took my father away and brought the most difficult closure in my life. For six long years I sought every crutch possible just to the fragile vessel of my life from sinking.
But November is also the month when life came full circle with the setting up of pwhy’s first class in Giri Nagar and somehow with the intuitive realisation that I had embarked on the last chapter of my life.
The last six years have been the most rewarding ones of my life. A barely formulated wish of paying back a debt turned into a discovery of India. What began as an effort to give Manu a life with dignity is today a throbbing project where over 500 children reclaim their right to be a child.
It is a matter of utter joy to walk every morning and be greeted by smiles and laughter filled ‘ morning ma’am’, when each child tries to get one’s attention. It is a matter of outright joy to see my staff dressed in their smartest outfit bustling around efficiently redeeming their lost identity. And above all its is a matter unqualified pride to see Manu smartly dressed sitting with his pals and solving a puzzle. And to say that just six years ago I sat in front of our one room centre trying to rid him of the maggots that infested his much abused body.
A deep sense of peace fills me as I relive these last six years, but I cannot allow myself to sink into a comfort zone, there is still so much to do. Pwhy is still a six year old child that needs to learn to survive independently.
And if I allow myself to dream about the future I see the November when pwhy will be sustained by the community itself, run by some of our ex students, the day when Manu will proudly show his identity papers as he sits in his own kiosk, earning his living with the help of his spirited younger sister.
That day I will allow myself to retreat into a comfort zone.
So help me God of the lesser ones!
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hijacked by hubris
It was sad to watch Delhi come to a standstill. Whereas the big fish will remain unscathed, small shopkeepers will as usual suffer.
I the days when gandhigiri is a la mode, one wonders whether bandhs are the right form of protest. Gone is the outsider, the foreign invader against whom you unite, the enemy sadly is within each one of us.
I was not surprised when a prominent TV channel dug up the erstwhile master plan for India’s capital city and revealed that only 15% of its provisions had been met, one being the creation of markets and commercial space.
Yesterday was also the day when a man got the death sentence 10 years after committing a heinous crime that he thought he had got away with simply because of his father’s position.
So where have we gone wrong or to put it otherwise what ails our society?
Somewhere down the line our entire social fabric got hijacked and we sat in silence. I have seen it myself when our neighbourhood market which a few years back had vegetable an meat shop , a haberdashery, a stationery shop, tailors and dry cleaners and more today is a haven for luxury and branded shops and jewellery stores. When a few years back only local residents came often on foot, now people come from across the town in their gleaming cars.
And when the market itself was not big enough, residential buildings around it were commandeered too! Leading to the chaos that necessitated the courts to intervene.
One may wonder how it happened? Law makers and protectors hit their eyes to small aberrations for a few pennies, and slowly greed on both sides took over till a hydra headed monster emerged and got out of control.
Today both the administrators and the administered are battling the monster that grows a new head everyday.
We are a society that got engulfed by hubris and even challenged the Gods! Now our hubristic side has been exposed as we try to make sense of things a blame game has begun. Maybe it is time we took stock of things and accepted part of the guilt. Are we not the ones to look for the easy way out, jump a few queues, grease a few palms? So why be astonished when the little drops have turned into an angry ocean ready to submerge us?
The appeasement policy and bad aid therapy of our politicians has to stop. A new master plan trying to white wash past aberrations will only delay the process. Walking over the judiciary will ultimately lead to chaos and will catch up just as it did with the man being sent to the gallows. We must finally accept part of the responsibility and each give up a little to set matters right.
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the three most beautiful words
I got a mail this morning from a friend of pwhy, who lives miles away, whom I have never met. I only know that he sees with his heart as he has always responded to my innumerable appeals with spontaneous generosity!
This is what he writes in response to my wondering why I deserve the support I get:
And do you really need to ask why
you deserve it?
Reminds me of a scene from the TV series Star Trek (In case you’re
unfamiliar with it, it is about a group of people travelling aboard a
spaceship seeking out new civilisations and trying to understand them). At
the end of one episode, the captain gestures out the window to the doctor
and says “You know, out there right now someone is saying the three most
beautiful words in the universe. Know what they are?”. The doctor looks
quizzically at him. You might expect the words to be ‘I love you’ or such
like. But the captain, gazing out of the window, says “Please. Help me.”
You are one of the few who are driven to listen for these words and try and
help out. That’s why you deserve good fortune.
I sat quietly for a long time my mind traveling at incredible speed as I went back to the days when I too had watched this episode, and wondered when and where I had learnt to listen to these words, a question I had never asked really myself. It is true that my seven years of trying to raise funds have been an eye opener and leads me to think that maybe it was the way we were brought up, the values we were taught and the education we got that made us this way. And maybe these are the very things that are slowly getting eroded leading to other ‘ideals’ where looking with your heart and giving are not on the menu.
I can only say that I feel truly blessed to have been able to find many persons who had the ability to heart these three most beautiful words loud and clear.
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rite of passage
For most I should be elated and jumping with joy – age permitting – two monumental battles were actually won in the last few days. One with a huge bank vindicating the stand that no matter how big the adversary, if truth is on your side you ultimately come out on top, the other with a large funding body that you finally manage to convince in accepting what you always intuitively held as being the right way.
For project why this has been a quantum leap from days where you wondered whether you would survive the next one, to an easy sail where you know winds are favourable for months to come.
Then why do I feel a tad sad and empty? Another why to answer.
There are many reasons. Is it because this is a rite of passage for pwhy, and all rites of passage are always difficult as they spell the end of a stage in pwhy’s life and the onset of another yet unknown? Is it because with this step pwhy gets a life beyond all else and hence deprives me of the driving seat? Is it because we are moving into a comfort zone, and to me such times are filled with hidden dangers? Is it because this will make us deviate from our main challenge; that of finding a donor base within the community we work with?
Maybe all of these in some degree or the other. The real test lies in viewing this much needed help as a way to double one’s effort towards the initial challenge that becomes more doable when one is not struggling to keep from drowning. It means a change in direction where efforts would not be on seeking help, but would have to be aimed at keeping the team sufficiently motivated and to veer them from sinking into a stage of complacency. Easier said than done when my detractors love saying that I have enormous funding that I conceal!
But no matter what, this has to be done as otherwise pwhy will lose its very essence and could just become another clone of many existing efforts. It becomes imperative to view this gift as a stepping stone to the day when the bread of pwhy – staff and space – would come from the tiny drops gathered from the community leaving the butter and jam to outside support.
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the toad in the well
Some of you may remember the little house of horrors.
We have not forgotten the children and are in the process of trying to save them, but we need to tread carefully and ensure that all aspects are covered before the final kill. The adversary is formidable and has been running this hell hole for over three decades. A master at concealing, he carries on his game fooling one and all and hiding being the garb of righteousness.
recently when some of our staff went on a cleaning and fact finding campaign they were stunned by the place and had no words to depict the horror. I had sent them to ensure that I was not overreacting and applying high standards. the ladies I sent were all from the slums and all were ready to hit the roof and had to be restrained as our game plan was not in place.
What shocked them most was the size of the solid gate and the fact that these girls could not ever see the outside world. One of them described the children as being little toads in a deep dark well looking at an inacessible sky!
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a banker who sees with his heart
The last few weeks have been harrowing as one found one’s self in a soup for no fault of ours. A clerical error, a hurried decision and our bank closed our accounts.
It was a David takes on goliath situation but I was I knew the god of lesser ones was on our side. When the matter could not be resolved, I had no option but to write to the bigChief and felt like David. But then the god of lesser children was on our side and the banker was one that saw with his heart. Thirty six hours later, our accounts were restituted.
I just hope that one day he will come by planet why and meet all the children he helped and who would like to thank him in person.
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justice at last
The Priyadarshini Matoo case has come to an acceptable closure and maybe Priya’s soul will finally be able to rest in peace.
Eleven years or so to finally send the rapist and murderer behind bars. I cannot even being to fathom the agony of the last eleven minutes of Priya’s life as she lay fighting her last battle, the pain and courage of her father who never gave up while her killer lived on, got married and even had a child. Did he feel that his father’s position was enough to have him do what he pleased. No Sir. We live in a democracy that works and have a judicial system that is fair. We are protected by a constitution that guarantees us our human rights.
Maybe it takes a little longer than hoped but if like Priya’s father you do not give up, you do not heed threats and carry on your fight, you win no matter how small, unconnected and fragile you may look.
Will potential rapists now think twice before they commit their dastardly crime? Will those who thought that money, connections and power were sufficient licence to do as they please finally understand that they are not above the law? I hope so.
Priyadarshini’s case is the victory of the people of India, a force to reckon with, one that is slowly emerging from the dark.
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david takes on goliath
Never explain – your friends do not need it and your enemies will not believe you anyway, said Elbert Hubbard. Maybe that is why a blog written a few days back has been lying unpublished. Each time, my finger wanders towards the publish button, something holds me back.
Wonder why. Is it because what has happened looks so terrible, because it holds within it so many assumptions each needing to be addressed and denied? I do not know.
Is it because a touch of that key will maybe alienate many forever and leave us rudderless, or is it because one is afraid of tarnishing one’s now glowing image needs?
Let me explain as best I can now that I can view things with a little distance and less anger and even some hum our. Let me start by a asking you a question: what would you do if one day for not fault of yours, without any prior information you received two envelopes with two drafts, no letter or explanation barring a mention of the counterfoil stating that your accounts stand closed?
After wondering for an instant who the generous donor was, I read the words with horror and felt my whole world crash as innumerable images rushed helter skelter in my tired brain. I am sure my head grew a few more white hairs!
To cut a long saga short let me just say that as an easy way out and after operating our accounts for two whole years and not finding any fault, a huge bank decided that we were non-grata and just threw us out without any professional ethics probably thinking that we were to small to react. Surprisingly the same giant sent us two letters dated later than the draft that asked for a certain papers and with no mention of the closure.
When we asked for a reason and explanation and at least for a letter to the authorities stating the reason for such action, we just got wishy washy replies and a vague reference to Bombay being the ultimate authority.
Had this been a personal account of even a business one, I may have thought twice before taking Goliath but 600 pair of eyes was all that was needed to realise that at least the God of Lessor children was with me. So knowing that had done no wrong I wrote a letter to Bombay which had been held to me as the ultimate Goliath!
An answer came and then phone calls and vague explanations. The battle is still on and though I want no one hurt I still want to know why I was treated this way and above all a way to redress the tort.
The battle is on and I will no rest till it is won. However if I stand by what I was taught as a little girl my a doting father: always look for the larger picture, maybe there is a lesson to be learnt: work like ours will only succeed when the basic support comes from within. So no matter how things end, one has to work towards the elusive one rupee option as all other solutions, no matter how easy and comfortable, are fragile and finite.
True one will have to deal with the there is no smoke.. types, they always lurk around as it would give them the awaited opportunity to slime out of commitments. One will also have to explain and vindicate one’s self and the trust painfully and patiently gained over seven long years
Yes one will have to pick up the pieces carefully and gently, and weave them together again with the hope that no cracks remain. And yet there is another lesson to be learnt, one that corroborates my almost intuitive vision when I wrote the first official document for pwhy, one that highlights the vulnerability of any developmental work that depends on outside support: true success lies in one’s ability to build a support system within the group one works with. One that is so small that it escapes all possible attacks, and yet powerful enough to grow by the day.
I just hope that those who stood by us will continue to do so.
Note: For those who are curious the problem seems to have arisen from the fact that someone forgot to look at all the documents filed and took a hasty Poncus Pilate way out.
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nursery blues
If all goes well tiny tots in Delhi will not have to face the dreaded interview to get admission in a school. However the procedure suggested seems rather complex. Whereas the 20 points given to proximity is a great one as it maybe be the harbinger of the still elusive common school, the 20 marks reserved for the education of the parents seems to deal a blow on those who may want a better tomorrow for their kids. Even if their relentless hard work can meet the fees, they cannot reinvent themselves.
I wonder how transparent this system is going to be, and how it will actually work on the ground. It is sad that one has become so used to people circumventing the system in today’s India, that even before a new system has been set in place, one is looking for the loopholes and ways to beat it.
However for those who love kids, it is a huge relief to see that they will not be subjected to grueling preparations at an age when all they should be doing is discovering themselves and the world.
In a country where education is a constitutional right, every child should have a place in a good school. Whopping amounts are spent on universilisation of education, but the ground reality is abysmal. Even in the country’s capital city schools lack basic amenities like toilets, drinking water and sometime even a roof. If state run schools were improved then many parents would find it a good option for their children as a simple perusal of the city’s map shows that every locality has a school at walking distance.
Long and dangerous journeys in badly driven vehicles is not what any parent wants for his child, but the social mores renders the government school infra dig. Like many things in India, the solution lies in a reversal of the present way but no one is listening, or rather no one wants to.
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the little house of horrors
I have been battling many demons and what now looks like trivial problems, when my good friend mr god decided to call me to order in his inimitable way.
We had been invited to talk about pwhy at a expat gathering when another ‘project’ was also presented by some of the ladies themselves. I must confess that at first we were a little put off as it seemed we were losing a bit of the limelight. How was I to know that it was mr god at work!
As the project was introduced and images flashed on the white wall my hackles stood up. And as one image followed the other I knew that this our presence their was for a reason.
The project is question as an orphanage for little girls an hour’s drive away. And as the lady shared what she had seen I knew that I was looking at something that was evil.
The worst was the plight of 15 little disabled girl who lay in their dirt with no one to look after them. As the last slide was projected I found myself looking for the lady who seemed to be the one in charge and offered our help. She gave me the name of a person who turned out to be a kind hearted well wisher and he asked us to come as soon as we could.
The place turned out to be a house of horrors: over 50 girls and 15 disabled girls between the age of 2 and 15 lived live without any one to look after them, not a single woman is there to care for them. The place is filthy and foul smelling, children are not bathed, their clothes ripped and some do not have wear undergarments. There seems to be regular physical abuse and god knows what else. The swami in question does not seem to believe in education and the children never go out.
What was the most disturbing thing was the fact that this operation has been going on for 30 years yet no girl was over 15! Where are the missing girls, and above all who are these girls?
My mind traveled back to the days when I first met Manu but somehow this sight was far more disturbing. I still do not know how the little girls are going to be saved, but saved they have to be. Every extra hour the children have to be spend in this house of horrors weigh heavily on my conscience..
We need to act!
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r.i.p jatinder
A young class IX student, just 14 years old killed himself… the reason being his public humiliation by the principal.. the reason for that being his delay in paying his fees. Jatinder was the son of a driver who had dared dream huge dreams for his son and enrolled him in this school.
Public humiliation in front of his peers, and inability to sit for his half yearly examinations were too much for this child. He simply put an end to his life. Adults often fail to realise how fragile children’s egos are and they revel in flinging unkind words not realising the damage they can have.
One of the reasons project why began its curriculum support programme stemmed out of a public humiliation. It was in a principal’s office that 6 class X boys were dismissed as useless gutter filth and sure failures in front of me. I saw how they cringed and shrunk and had I not been there to pick up the pieces I wonder what would have happened to them. To salvage their hurt egos I told the principal that they would clear their Boards. A challenge immediately accepted by my lads whose body language changed in an instant. The said Boards were a mere 2 months away, their classroom the roadside in the bitter December cold, their class hour: 7 am. But they came and gave their best and all cleared their examinations. Some of the boys are today in college, others working, one has even bough a car!
When young Rani who now is one of the pillars of project why was beaten in public for being two days late with her school fees and subsequently fainted, her illiterate but sensible mom stepped him and took the only decision she thought right: withdrawing her child from school. Today Rani has cleared her XII Boards while working with us and taking on challenge after challenge.
Jatinder had no one to pick op the pieces of his hurt ego and probably felt that he had no other way but killing himself. probably he did not even realise that his death would have the aftermath we are seeing. He just could not walk back into his world both at school and at home with his head high.
Often adults take insensitive decisions without thinking of the terrible consequences they can lead to. My heart goes out to Jatinder who many may forget after a few days. I juts hope and pray that his death will not go waste and that over and above the arrest of those guilty, some laws will be made to deal with such matters to ensure that no child has to take his life again.
may he rest in peace!
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feudal lord to babulord
Five years ago, when I first heard of the local money lender and his alarming interest rate of 120%, I could have never imagined that the day would dawn when I found him almost ‘likeable’.
I have often held that my years discovering the India of urban slums has been a huge lesson in life, where many of my set ideas were not only questioned but sometimes even reversed.
My first encounter with our moneylender’s ways was when I realised that he not only lent at 120%, but sent his goons to collect his monthly pound of flesh on each payday without fail. I was appalled and set out explaining to people that this was illegal and that there were institutions that lent money at sensible rates. Of course at that time I did not realise that poor slum people could never walk into a bank, let alone apply for anything.
The years went by and so did the moneylender and his ways. I often heard about his having given the few paltry rupees in the dead of night when someone’s misguided child had been taken by the cops, or his having disbursed the needed money to buy eats for a visiting marriage party.
Whenever we could, we used to help people in need, but never had sufficient funds to do so on a sustained basis. I often wondered why this seemingly absurd system did not stop and kept thinking of alternatives.
Last month one of my team members told me he had applied for a loan from a known bank and the interest rate was 2%. seemed fair to me who does not have a head for financial affairs. After much form filling, telephone checking and too’s and fro’s, he was given 25 K or so for a 30 K loan.
I then ventured to ask Amit to find out what all this actually meant. To cut a matter short, our colleague who is barely literate had signed on a paper that would make him pay almost 55 K for his 30 K amount, and for an insurance policy of 3 K per year, something he had not wanted. The financing in the name of a leading bank was one of those agarwal sweet kind of things where leading companies give their name to middle men.
It was another transition from feudal lord to babulord. From human money lender to institutionalised money lender. I did start by saying that to me the former seemed more likeable. Well let me tell you why. Our local money l;ender at his astronomical lending rate hounds you mercilessly for year one, then a little less harshly in year 2, and normally lets people go in year 3 as he has recovered more than enough. The bank will drag you to court and hound you till kingdom come. With the former it is a clear and well understood operation, the later is full of hidden traps that simple and illiterate people fall for.
Wonder where the solution lies
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Do we need to change horses..
The Okhla saga ended well.. the young lads who had broken the wall repaired it after hearing our healing touch pitch.. In the ultimate analysis everyone can be saved, or at least one can try and plant a seed and hope that some day it will germinate..
The two kids in the picture -Raju and Rakhi – are busy emulating their Bollywood heroes to impress their little audience. it is a very serious affair. But both these kinds have all the chances to grow into what we call bad elements: Raju does not have a dad and his mom just manages to keep things going, and Rakhi’s dad has already been to prison and lives on the edge..
So the wall breaking incident could very well be repeated in the future where one would be the lady love and the other the forlorn and rejected admirer..
I have been disturbed recently by the course we have taken at pwhy and have been feeling that our set of horses are tired and need to be changed. The many perturbing occurrences in the recent past that seem to aggravate schisms in our society need to be looked at seriously. Our experience in okhla has shown us that many dangers lurk around a growing urban child. Just teaching them the normal 3 Rs will not get them anywhere. We have to combat the divisive forces at the grassroots. Children have to be made conscious of their role in civic society, of their democratic rights, of the tools they have to combat problems (RTI) and of the dangers of alcohol and drugs.
My encounter with the gang boss was perturbing. In a flash we recognised ourselves as enemies and as he carried on telling me how bad the young lads were I insisted on saying that every child could be saved. Today everyone is talking of Gandhigiri versus Dadagiri being un uneven battle as the later has no principles, no scruples and no values.
Two roads are left to walk: the former is the one that was depicted in the reaction of one of our upmarket volunteers as she heard of the incidents and said: You must find a safer place; the later is that of digging your heels and try and beat the system by using it to your advantage.
Okhla has two small time Dons, one is the one that cross swords me, the other is a young spirited woman who has now become a friend, and who will ultimately help me in my battle.
Strange that I made my will just this week..
I am ready for battle. It is for the children and therefore for the future
all is fair in love….
On my mission to find out why the brand new wall of our school had been broken, I could not have imagined in my wildest dream that the main culprit was Cupid!
Apparently one of the young gang leaders of the are – and there quite a few – was romantically inclined towards one of our students. When she told him that he was not up to the mark, her yardstick being pwhy teachers, the young lad say red. At night he tried to break the wall of the school alone, but when he could not, he gathered 5 pals and they set out to the task of destroying the quite solid brick wall. I presume they were aided by Bacchus too!
On the flip side, the young man in question, was responsible enough to own his action, and in doing so he gathered a few plus points from me.
But it does not stop here, when I went to find out what happened I found myself once again faced with the puzzle that is India. Another student of ours had been beaten by the same band of boys. As I tried to find someone to go and fetch the ‘culprit’, a fat man that oozed bad vibes came and stood in front of me stating loudly that the boy was a very bad element and that nothing could change him, he was scum of the earth. And as his diatribe grew longer and louder, I knew that there was more than met the eye. After handing him a few no child is hopeless and everyone is born the same way, I set out to find more.
I was not surprised to learn that he was the one who first got the boys into drinking and using and then made them do petty crimes. The student who had been beaten had refused to drink!
I am sure that the vile man is working for some politico who works for a bigger wish carefully nurturing the needed brute force to meet their agendas. As I left I was more and more determined to get the boys in my fold and have been trying to find ways, even if the first one that comes to my mind is that rather than break a wall to impress a lady, maybe studying would work better.
I forgot to mention that as I was leaving I witnessed the arrival of the local leaders all offering unsolicited help that of course my staff was politely refusing.
Sometimes everything looks so forlorn, why is it that I always see a ray of hope.
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fun funding frolic
I have been thinking for the past few days of drafting my Dear A.. letter whereby I will seek help at ‘this festival time‘ etc…
Over the years my contacts list has been growing and what was an easily done task a few months back seems daunting when you see over 800 ids on your list and as I have always written each individually..
So as I sat exercising my writs and my back and gathering the courage to begin, pat dropped a mail from abhi stating that she had launched another contest to garner funds for us pwhy. Then came another mail that said that a Diwali Charity Contest had named us as beneficiary..
I guess we have crossed an important milestone as on the one hand the attacks against us are growing in quantum leaps, and on the other hand many now remember us at festival time without our usual appeals.
I have always held that trustworthy development programmes have to be self-funded if they are to remain independent of outside meddling. I still hold on to my ultimate objective of seeing the beneficiary community taking on part of the responsibility.
Initiatives like abhi’s are a great way of pitching in till we fly on our own wings. maybe our blogger friends could come up with new ways that could be creative, fun and at the same time rewarding.
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all about symbols
We have just finished the shradhs or days that have been allotted to our departed souls. Every faith has such days, for some it is a single day for India it is two weeks.
To me these days mean much more than the sated gesture of feeding the poor. It is a time for introspection within yourself, a time when as no festivity is permitted, you are compelled to assess things and thus is also a time for closures of what did not quite work right, be it a relationship or a work situation.
It is also a time for healing, what cannot be changed, and accepting things that you have not been able to. For me it was a temporary checking out to assess what I had been able to do. Everyone of us does his or her best. True we win some, lose some and play our roles in the best way possible of getting our share of catcalls and kudos.
When you reach your twilight years, somehow you become a little more compassionate and a little less censorious and can look at things better. And you are surprised to see that what emerges of your soul searching is often absurdly simple. I took time off to write a series of letters to Popples that turned out to be a life credo that sums up much of what I have learnt.
It was also when a series of extraneous circumstances led me to compel my team to assess the value of what they were doing and to take measures to give it durability in time, or if not to have the courage to sign its closure.
I will get my answers soon and it will be a new beginning. But what is important is that this time it will be seeded in solid soil and hence will have the ability to withstand the blows that may come its way.
Ps: in case anyone is interested in reading the letters, pls mail at anouradha.bakshi@gmail.com
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a burning issue
The airing of video images of AIIMS student’s burning Dr Ambedkar’s books sent a chill down my spine. Images of a doom-laden future flashed by my mind.
The reservation issue is going out of hand and unless it is addressed by non-political citizens our land may become unsafe. I would like to ask the students who committed this horrendous act whether they remember Dr Ambedkar has being the main author of the very constitution that allows them to express themselves, albeit negatively. I would like to ask the pro reservation students whether they realise that no child asks to be born in a particular family? Can I ask them to remember that all Indian children are born in the same way, after a gestation of nine months and are protected by the same laws? And finally can I ask them where this hatred will lead in an already electrically polarised society.
I have seen that a mere fight between two ladies over the issue of a petticoat to dry turned into a caste riot in seven minutes. Is not the duty of educated and supposedly high caste students to heal rather than aggravate. Can I also ask the students to look at their other caste peers with their heart and not with borrowed vision and find if there is anything to hate. Or in a gandhian way can I ask these angry children of India to take one tiny dalit baby and give him or her the same childhood and teen years as they had and then to see whether they are still worthy of hate.
My mind boggles at all the questions that are choking me. I am neither pro nor anti reservation. I just want every child to be given the same opportunities and then find his or her place in the sun.
is that asking too much?
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about children but not for children
The de-recognition and thereby shutting of over 1000 schools in karnataka as they did not comply to a law passed many years back brings to fore once again the reality that education and the welfare and rights of children ranks very low on the political agenda of our country.
After the festivities a myriad of kids will find out that they do not have a school left. The debate of mother tongue versus English is an adult’s debate, children follow what they are told to. True that an English divide exists in our country but then can one forget that after 60 years of linguistic debate the problem of a national language has not been solved.
Today many parents living in slums plunge in their meagre pockets to get their children, sadly often the boys, in to what boasts to be an English medium school, even if it is a commercial teaching shop where no one speaks English.
When Ataturk decided overnight to change the Turkish language script as he felt that the children of his country did not need to be burdened by two scripts, he was traveling in the future.
Of the many commentators who spoke on the issue, one rightly felt that all children should go to the same kind of school where maybe 3 subjects could be taught in English and the other 3 in the regional language. makes sense to me, as I agree totally to what the same person said when he pointed out that those speaking the loudest on the issue have their kids study in up markets English language school!
When I came back to India after 16 years of living in other lands, it was a matter of pride to say that you had scored low marks in your lower Hindi paper, and all Hindi speaking peers were called Behanjis or Bhaiyyas.
I have always been comfortable speaking Hindi as my mother devised the best way to teach a child growing in a host of lands her mother tongue: she just spoke Hindi to me from day 1 and I was very surprised to know that she did she did speak English when I was six!
The great English divide has to come to a long awaited end, but it can only come when the upmarket people accept to send their children to the government run school down the road!
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words ad nauseum
When I look at little Komal who can barely see or hear, I wonder how long it will take her to learn the value of words.
I am sick and tired of words: words of praise, words of anger, words that hurt, words that hang without meaning, words that vanish into thin air as they are uttered.
Someone said: Words should be used as tools of communication and not as a substitute for action”.
Frankly I have started to doubt everything I hear. My inbox is filled with words that remained words for as soon as they need to be translated into action, a myriad of reasons spring from nowhere as grim deterrents. The one reason that seems to always be at forefront is mistrust.
It is a sad reflection of our society that we are ready to mistrust everyone and everything. We stop looking with our own eyes, be they that of the heart or that of reason, and conveniently apply the a foregone conclusion. So even if you have shown staying power of over six years and adequate results, helped children stay in school and repaired broken hearts, you are still not be trusted. And why should you, everyone around is screaming the contrary, be it our rulers or our peers.
A quirk of fate has suspended one of our main accounts, and it is strange that rather than fight it tooth and nail which is what I would have done barely a few months ago, I have almost welcomed it. It has enabled me to put my team to the test and find out whether they have understood that you have to fight for your right and prove yourself. No remuneration for the past two months and a challenge thrown to them of meeting half the running cost if they want me to check back in again or they risk having their sections closed down.
Much as the story of the wolf that never was till the day it actually came and no one turned up, it has taken them some time to realise that unlike the past, this time it was for real.
Unless everyone realised that they are responsible for what happens around them, change can never come. So shock therapy is sometimes needed.
What will be the outcome only time will tell. The worst case scenario is another trip to the labour court aptly prompted by hidden enemies, but how has always become used to it, the best is my team taking on the responsibility of collecting funds and moving out of their torpor.
I wait and watch from the wings, a sometimes amused smile on my face..
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the price of democracy
yesterday two children died in the cross fire the police resorted to, to quell angry mobs.
The mobs were exercising their democratic right to dissent against what has become a Kafkaesque cat and mouse game between the authorities, the courts and the people of Delhi.
For the past year the citizens of not quite understood the urban laws of this city that has grown defeating all rules. But were there rules one may ask?
Maybe they were, but a host of options were graciously made available provided you were ready to ‘pay’ for them. Once in a while a cosmetic drive was undertaken but to no avail.
Some of us stuck to the law and were often made fun of, as one’s old house stood amidst the new builder’s monster that mushroomed around us, even taking away the rays of sunshine that use to stream every morning in our rooms.
To say one was not tempted would be an untruth, but then the old precepts one was taught came rushing to your mind. the law will catch up one day, you must stick by the rules, even it means waiting at a red light in the dead of the night when no cars ply; but how can one forget the death of a dear friend when a truck came rushing a deserted crossroad breaking a red light and keeling a young mother.In today’s India sticking by the rules lands you in labour court, earns you unpleasant attributes and labels, and makes you the laughing stock of cocktail parties.Today in the prevailing confusion no one knows what will happen.
I know for a fact that many small shop keepers ear a day to day life, and if deprived of their income will have none at all. Laws when broken with impunity land you in situation when sifting out the honest from the guilty becomes an impossible task. but one must remember that when it is a question of livelihood, seemingly placid people turn violent, the French revolution is a sad reminder of that.
Two children died, but would there death solve anything or will they become a sad statistic in Delhi’s history. what frightened me yesterday was the reaction of the powers that be of were trying to explain the situation away with priceless inanities: politically motivated, passing the buck to those who ‘paid’ for services etc…
We all know that justice the symbol of justice is a blindfolded lady, but can we beseech her to open one eye and see with her heart before more children become sad statistics.
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