Babli and Nanhe will be operated upon next week… at project why life continues and the beat goes on..

Little Manoj looks like a garden gnome.. he is almost two and cannot stand, his legs not bigger than two sticks.. his bright eyes dart around with intelligence as he tries to follow the others, making sure he is not left out..

His emanciated body is a silent reminder of the everpresent and insiduous ailment that pervades urban slums and attacks children: malnutrition.. a mother who never got what was needed to build sturdy bones and strong muscles… a child fed for far too long on breast milk… store bought goodies that have become the hallmark of urban life: bread and biscuits dipped in weak tea.. no fruits or vegetables… legs that never crawled as there is no space in the dingy homes, let alone the alley in front of the home which often looks like a drain.. and where you breathe the fumes of factories …

Back home in the village there would have been wholesome chappatis, green vegetable, local fruit and milk, as even the poorest of the poor own at least a goat, and grow seasonal vegatables… there would have been clean water and freah air and space to run in..

Manoj’s mom is a frail undesrnourished 18 year old who does housework and his father works on daily wages in some factory.. they came to seek a better future…

Is an urban slum, in a city where habitat for the poor has simply been forgotten, where employers do not respect the minimum wage laws, where quacks replace doctors, where there is no caring grandmother to share local remedies.. where the man often starts drinking the much needed rupees to ease his frustration… where you find yourself in the stranglehold of the money lender the moment the first problem hits you, a better future..

I wonder…

It is back… the smile that was lost for a while behind a wall of pain is back where it belongs, on nahe’s beautiful face..

Never mind the foot swollen to double its size because of innumerable intravenous feeds, never mind the now forgotten pain and discomfort of an agonising test with a tongue twisting name, Nanhe’s face lit of when we dropped by his ward this afternoon..

His smile brightened the dreary hospital room and warmed the cockles of our hearts.. In his own inimitable way Nanhe made us feel special. This was love in its purest form..

His indomitable spirit reached out with a message of hope and trust…

It was a moving and edifying experience; a silent and eloquent homage to life, as this child who has nothing going his way, reached out to tell us he was doing his bit.. to get better and come back to us..

We had to do ours…

Note: all xrays and other medivcal investigations have been completed. nanhe now awaits surgery.

“I almost always start my day at work by reading the projectwhy blogspot” says a friend in the US.

” I was reading some earlier posts on your blog, as I do when I need inspiration”.. says another one from the other side of the planet in Australia

Project why blogs began at the behest of a friend who believed that the occasional outbursts shared in emails should have a larger audience… I never knew that the words that came out from the depth of my soul would have such an impact.. and once again i am overwhelmed.. but not surprised..

The little moments I share here are not figments of my imagination, they are real and are impregnated with the hopes, the aspirations, the dreams of simple and often invisible people. What makes them a little diferent is that these very real images are viewed by one whose love and faith in India is indubitable, one who believes that every child of the land has the right to a better tomorrow, a right we are the custodians of..

These posts are also my way of reaching out to that part of each one of us that sometimes has been lost in the quagmire of cynicism and mistrust that seems to prevail around us.. a way of showcasing what one does not want to see.. as it disturbs, and awakens a sense of responsibility we are not ready to take on…

How small our problems become in the light of the lives of those portrayed here, how simple it is to be happy and to smile.. and how easy it is to reach out and make another life better..

Simply put these posts are shots of optimism and hope… for those who care to look with their heart!

But beware, the smile you see on this child’s face can become addictive..

Nanhe is in hospital and in pain . I was given a garbled and incoherent report on his condition by those who accompanied him. What I could gather was that he would be in hospital for a long time and that the surgery would take place at a later date..

Government hospitals life Safdurjung give good medical care, but are often very sparse and even brusque when asked to explain a medical condition. This is understandable as not only are they overworked but used to dealing with ‘illiterate’ families..

Now I could not stop at this, and had to find out more.. I did remember seeing on his hospital papers that he had VUR or vesicoureteral reflux . I decided to find out more and, as I set out to do so, I realised once again that as in many other cases, this condition should have been detected early had he had proper peadiatric care. The reality is that a simple condition that could have been redressed at an early stage, has resulted in a severe renal condition that left unattended could have dramatic consequences. The treatment in the early stages is regular and long term medication, in later stages however corrective surgery is required.

We have good medical facilities in the large hospitals of our country, but the tragedy is that lack of education and awareness, as well as harsh living conditions in urban slums, lead to children being neglected and only taken to the right facility when the problem has taken alarming proportions.

One of pwhy’s implicit aim is to see that children get immediate and correct medical help and that parents are made to understand the need and importance of proper medical care. Had Nanhe’s bedwetting and failure to thrive been looked at, maybe a simple course of antibiotics would have sorted the problem, sparing him long years of silent agony and humiliation.

It is sad that whereas people at large react with great generosity to individual cases, we find it difficult to find support for our on going activities, though it is our continued presence on the field that not only helpa us find more nanhes, but allows us get early intervention and increase awareness.

It is the message we are desperately trying to get through..

Note: this picture of nanhe was taken a day before he was admitted. he was very happy with his boxer’s helmet that we bought him to protect his head as he has a tendancy to fall.

People get addicted to many things.. I too have my addiction, one I did not realise till I missed my shot of Nanhe’s smile..

Yesterday for the first time I saw Nanhe in such excrutiating pain, as he clung to his mother and in spite of all his efforts was not able to smile..

He is now admitted to the hospital for the last lap of what has been an extremely long obtsacle race.. but one he runs with rare courage and examplary determination.

Somewhere, within the arachnean boundaries of planet why, lies nanhe’s smile, a smile in custody…

Godspeed Nanhe…

Come January 1.. and we all make resolutions that are often commonly kept.. often because they are made by habit and not conviction..

I too have in the past made many such resolutions.. this year however as I sat down to review the past year and take stock of things, I realised that I had changed many of my ways, quite unconsciously.. I was more patient, less demanding , less obstinate, willing to walk the middle path more often.. and one thing was certain, it was pwhy that had brought this..

Pwhy has been the most rewarding experience in more ways than one.. the love of the children, the incredible support of people, and the little achievements that light up each and every day.. but more than that it has made me discover things about myself, helped me overcome many inhibitions, and I think the greatest one is that of asking for help..

When I look back on the past 5 years I realise that maybe one of the biggest stumbling block has been this very attitude, the result of years of being led to believe that it was not done. So maybe resolution 2006 is to try and rid myself of the last shred of reserve as when I seek help it is for those who no else reaches out to..

So on this first day of the new year, I ask all of you who think that pwhy is worthwhile to walk one extra step and extend your support.

There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle. (Albert Einstein)

It took me a long time to decide what the post on the last day of 2005 would be, and then I came across this quote that said it all..

On planet why we live life the later way. We have had our share of miracles , big and small, in 2005. So many that I feel overwhelmed: when the tsunami hit our coasts, pwhy kids did the imposible and collected 60 000 rs and bought a small kuppam (fisherman’s village) a fibreglass boat that sails every day bearing the name project why on its hull; Arun got a new heart, the started walking, the children brought us a 100% results

The internet wove its magic and friends appreared from the world over: a raffle was organised in the US, a short story competition took place in the UK, and each time we were in need, invisible angels appeared and pulled us through..

And there is more, Babli’s operation is on the anvil as we have the required funds, and little Nanhe will also be operated upon and have a painfree existence..

The adoption plan we put up is slowly fall in in place and we know that it will happen sooner than later, as so many friends have put us on their sites and blog pages

There were difficult moments… when we discovered Munna’s little family but one phone call later and another angel did the job.. Munna’s family will have a warm new year and take its first steps towards better times…

We had a party hosted by a lady just 8 months old, and a wedding so different from the ones we see.. we even made it to newspapers and had our moment in the sun!

As I write these words I am overwhelmed by the abundance of gifts recieved and somewhat humbled …

To all those who made this possible I would like simply to say: thank you!

Many of us will sit down tomorrow night to usher 2006. There will be lights, and warmth and food and music.. no matter how chilly the night.

In the same city Munna’s little family will sit in the dark, the only light being that of an oil lamp… Munna is 9 and suffers from mental retardation. He has been at project why for a few weeks. He has three younger siblings and brave parents who came to the city, floods having washed away the little land they had. the father earns the princely sum of 1000/rs, and the family lives on that.

The little family juggles with the sum to make both ends meet, so they have decided not to get an electric connection, and when vicky 3 and shakuntala 1 are hungry, the mother breastfeeds them.. Sapna goes to school, and Munna and Vicky come to pwhy. The children have barely any warn clothes, and the mother has none. Despite his limited capacities, Munna is very much the elder brother and in his own endearing way watches over little Vicky and helps his mother as best he can.

We were moved by the quiet dignity we saw in the face of such adversity. There were no complaints, no soliciting for help, on the contrary when ve visited them, we were offered food and tea.. the rules of hospitality were impeccable.

As we left munna’s home many questions came to our mind: how did anyone live in a thousand rupees? How could any employer give a thousand rupees for a day’s work – Munna’s father beats iron for a living -? and above all how could we help them …

The picture shows Nanhe on his nth visit to the hospital. It is no mean task for a child who cannot walk, is incontinent, is in pain and never complains.

For the past two months come monday and the trio of Nanhe, his mom and Meena our staffer, sets off in the cold or rain to the hospital located a few kilometers away. In the afternoon the trio comes back, and whereas the adults frown or complain, Nanhe smiles on.. the scenario is repeated the next friday and so on. Sometimes another test is needed, sometimes an xray has to be redone.. and the date for the much needed surgery to put an end to the excruciating pain of one suffering from multiple calculi seems as elusive as the scarlet pimpernel.

No I should not be complaining. A recent press report revealed that the waiting time for surgery in India’s capital city’s only state hospital for children was four years resulting in parents having to find resources to take their children to private hospitals, here it has only been two months.

Nanhe needs another test that cannot be done in Safdarjung Hopsital. The doctor scribbled a referral on his green card, and the trio set out to AIIMS but to our utter horror no one could figure out what was written. By the time they had finished their rounds in search of information, poor nanhe in tow, public dealing time was up. Come again tomorrow..

Enough is enough, today a senior staffer will go to the hospital and find out the exact name of all the tests required and the name of a private lab that the hospital endorses and we will get all the tests done.

But that is not the answer because every hurting child does not have a pwhy like support. Parents have meagre resources that soon dry out. In a case like Nanhe who cannot travel by bus, each trip is costly and then even caring parents give up on a child who is not even an investment in ones’ future: remember nanhe is severly retarded..

But does one give up on a smile like nanhe’s…

It was party time on planet why thanks to a little girl who lives far away in England. Dhanya had decided to give a very special gift to pwhy a xmas party.

We had two parties one for the big kids with DJ and coffee machine and one for the tiny tots and special kids. The common denominator: everyone had their dancing shoes on..

They danced with abandon and grace. There were the little ones and the big ones, the lohars, the special kids, the guests and the staff. It was touching to see that everyone no matter how little they had, no matter how tiny and dark their home, everyone had made the effort to be beautiful. You could see the younger girls with hurriedly applied make up, the high heels that made one wobble a little, the bright coloured shirts the boys doned with new found confidence, the hair pasted with gel in the latest style.

As the DJ belted out favourites, squeals of joy could be heard as the dance floor filled with would be stars trying to match the steps seen on the ever present TV screen. The energy was palpable, the mood upbeat and the party a success.

Even the little ones the next day, some not quite three, took to the floor with the same aplomb. And everyone, big or small enjoyed the food. But the proverbial clock would strike midnight and the party had to end before the magic weared out. The coachmen of the night – radhey, tuntun and sitaram – were there to see everyone safely home.

What was truly remarkable was the impeccable behavior of these often misunderstood children. No food was wasted, no fight occured, no one was teased or laughed at and to my utter surprise nothing littered the floor after everyone had left. Every plate, cup and napkin had been placed in the right bins..

A lesson for all…

I was extremely saddened and somewhat angry to read this post.
I could feel the palpable angst that permeated each word.. as this lovely child of India questioned her very being..

No child, no one can take away from you the right to love and care for your country whether you wake up in it every morning or miles away in another land, that right is indubitably yours.. what is sad is that many of those who question it with such vehemence are the very ones who have forgotten how to love their land..

No one can stop you from commenting on its faults or praising its achievements as long as your person enough to accept responsibility for what it has become and do what you think is right to change things..

I speak from experience as in the past year I have seen that it is people like you who have come forward to help us make a difference, people whose hearts beats for India even if they are miles away..whereas those who breathe its air, enjoy its resources, live on the fruits of the toil of its humble people have lost the ability to care for it..

You need prove nothing… your words say it all!

Imagine my utter surprise whenI saw my band of galahads march in this morning almost dragging a sullen looking fellow, their captive of the day. I was sson to learn that it was Ramu,
bablis’ famous brother!

They wanted me talk to him and make him understand that he was not to bully his sister.. or beat up or make her do his work.. they were all talking at the same time, but I got the general idea..

Ramu stood sullen anbd I knew I had to play my cards right. He of course denied everything. He was after all a child of urban India slums, where children are always chided and abused and left no alternative but to repeat the pattern with someone younger; where boys are taught to believe that they are of superior mettle and girls inferior.. butI also knew that this young man had had the courage to come and face me..

Babli of course nodded her little head vigourously when asked whether big brother beat her. Now the stage was mine.. I took Ramu’s hand and gently explained to him what having a hole in a heart meant, and then telling him that being a big brother was a privilege and that he was responsible for his two sisters and that I knew that he would care for Babli. Ramu’s hand was still in mine and I felt an almost imperceptible squeeze. I realised that maybe it was the very fisrt time that an adult had spoken kindly to Ramu.

Now it was time to lighten the atmosphere so I asked Ramu what was his dream.. and he whispered – cricketeer – !

We then made a pact that if he would promise to look after Babli then I would see about organising cricket coaching for all pwhy boys. the pact was sealed with a high five and laughter.

It was then phototime and though Babli was all smiles, Ramu still had to play the role of the sullen brother though I think he was smiling inside. My knights in shining armour stood around with huge grins on their face.

Well done boys!

The previous post was about the plight of girls and the unfair treatment they get even in as small an issue as shoes!

The immediate reaction that one has is: why not buy them shoes.. but how many can you buy was my asnwer to a friend who wrote in.. the solution lies in changing age-old mindsets.. impossible would say my detractors.. well not quite..

Many of you know about Babli who needs heart surgery and will soon get her well deserved new ticker.. but I was thrilled today, when my primary boys, some of whom live in the same area as Babli, came to me all excited and told me how they had defended Babli and even slapped her elder brother..

I calm them down and asked them to tell me what happened. Apparently Babli’s older brother Ramu excpets his sister to fecth and carry for him and often ill treats and even beats her. Now my little knights in shining armour took up her defense and tried to explain to Ramu that Babli’s health was fragile and that she had to be cared for.. when he carried on abusing her they slapped him and told him that they wold be watching him..

Maybe the methods used by Raju and the gang was not quite what one would condone, I must confess that I was quite thrilled, and though I mouthed the required reprimand, my eyes were filled with pride…

This is not a summer footwear display… but the neatly lined up shoes of our primary girls at giri nagar on a chilly winter afternoon…

when most of us have different shoes for different seasons, the children in delhi slums are lucky if they have any footwear at all.. and rubber chappals are sturdier than the cardboard soled shoes that are sold on weekly marts and that do not withstand a puddle let alone rain!

winter wear is expensive, takes a long time to dry when washed and when you need to multiply it by the number of children you have, finances goe awry.. so it is often the male child who dons shoes whereas the little girls just have chappals… and one must not forget that an open shoe lasts longer, and can be worn even if the foot sticks out both end..

so here again girls are children of a lesser god…

it was a chilly afternoon as we set out to vist nanhe’s home. we needed to assess the situation and see what was needed to make his return from hospital as comfortable as possible. we locate his mother’s cart and she guided us to her home. we had expected a small jhuggi but this was more like a box where a cot took almost all the place – remember five people lived here, nanhe being the youngest – the place was as tidy as such a place can be, with a small electric stove and all that was essential to subsist. we made a mental note of what would be needed as we sat on the cot..

the dampness of the tiny room made the cold even more biting and quite honestly we were hoping for a cup of tea.. nanhe’s mom had scurried out we thought to get some milk.. we were taken a back when she returned with bottles of pepsi… and looked at each other in dispair.. knowing that we would have to gulp the chilled bottles seeped in the gratitude and love of this brave mother who probably felt thata mundane cup of tea was not god enough for us..

well you see this was urban india and nanhe’s mom had to show that she had learnt urban ways.. in her village we would have probably been given sweet and hot tea..

we drank the urban treat as refusing it would have been hurting her feelings..

Oh darling yeh hai India..

Wonder who this is…

This is our little babli’s family… her father and her little sister.. the ones she has to mother despite a hole in her heart..

But there are no options.. babli’s father who is 35 years older than her mom, is asthmatic and cannot work.. or does not want to. Santosha her mom slogs in a factory for long hours and babli is the one who takes charge of things at home.. True she is not the eldest child. She has a big brother but then he is a boy and enjoys certain privileges: he can play with friends and go to school, in a nutshell be a child..

This is the plight of many little girls who are deprived of their childhood by the realities of life in urban slums where there no extended families. The fact that babli has a severe heart condition makes the matter just that more poignant…

read more about babli:
babli’s world
babli.. a tiny woman of substance
Life on the planet is born of woman
let alone she may die

nanhe’s smile has moved many friends.. and yes he is an amazing child and we are very blessed to have him with us.

He has showed us the true meaning of hope and more than that his love for life does makes us all wonder about the total emptiness of our own lives…

I have often wondered why God, if there si one, sends such souls into this world.. many answers come to my mind but above all I feel that somehow these lovely children who bear their suffering with such dignity are there to help us unearth parts of us which seem to have got lost in the recess of our minds and souls…

The smile in the picture was nanhe’s way of telling me this morning as he set out for another series of painful tests, that all was well on planet earth and that he was ready to take on the day with courage.. his way of requesting me and others like me, not to pity him or feel sorry..

Ever since we began our work, it is the children of the special section who have given me the strength and the determination to carry on, no matter what.. they have been beacons of light and proved that no situation was ever desperate enough to want to give up. This motley crowd of simple souls with different abilities are examples of compassion, acceptance, cooperation and love.. a true celebration of diference..

How small we feel compared to them…

the following story – a true one- would have made you smile, if it did not affect a child’s life.

pawan is a class III student that comes to our Lohar Camp Primary programme. he is a bright boy and an eager learner. He comes from a very poor family: his father pulls a rickshaw and hos mother cleans home.

All seems well with this young fellow except a slight limp, and unsteady gait, and sudden falls. When you look closely at his ankle that is still not healed, you can see a huge gap.

Almost a year back, an asbestos sheet fell on little pawan’s foot in the municpal school he attends. After a couple of days of home remedies, his parents took him to safdarjung hospital as the pain was excruciating and the ankle swollen. pawan was kept in hospital for many weeks but the anke did not seem to be getting better.

One day a doctor came and told the family that their son needed support. The bewildered family not quite comprehending what was meant and too frightened to ask, simply thought that what was needed was the support of of some important person. They simply took their son home.

When Gita, our teacher came to us with pawan’s story we tried to make sense of what had happened and to our horror understood that what the doctor meant was that pawan’s ankle needed some form of prosthetic support!

pawan will soon be taken back to hospital and we hope to be bale to get him the care he needs.

In our fight for survival, we put up an adoption plan whereby we seek kind hearts to ‘adopt’ the nine sections which make pwhy, each with its dreams, its hopes, its aspirations…

I have many times, maybe even too many for some, shared my own dreams for pwhy. I try with passion to defend its very spirit which can be summed up in the words: a mater of the heart.

In our dark times, many well wishers have tried to convince me to give up my quest for caring hearts and accept the more conventional way of institutional and impersonal funding.. I must confess that even if I sometimes nodded in agreement, my heart refused to follow and I lay in the dark of the night looking for a sign to vindicate my stand..

Last week another volley of mails was sent asking friends to come together and help us. I must admit that I got my share of emails telling me to change my ways, but I kept my fingers crossed and waited for a sign to show me I was right and this morning it happened as one of our centre got adopted by a old friend and supporter.. and I heaved a sigh of relief..

This friend of why is someone I have never met, someone who has never been to pwhy.. but to come back to my favourite parable, she is one who understood the secret reveald to St Exupery’s Little Prince by an untamed Fox, someone who can see with her heart..

“I will donate for the child if you guarantee he will live” were the harsh words that I heard in the dead of a night when we were looking for funds for Raju our first heart surgery. This followed an appeal on TV and was one of the numerous calls that were made on that September night.

I just answered as sweetly as I could that I could not even guarantee that I would be alive…Raju was operated upon, is now back in school and a fine boy at that.

I had forgotten this incident till today as we sat in the weak afternoon sun, talking about Nanhe and his forthcoming operation and the unecessary delays as the child is in great pain. A few friends were also present and we shared our helplesness as we foresaw no real future for this severly handicapped child, who cannot walk or talk and is dependent on a single parent who can barely support her family. I had thought that the friends present would come forward to help Nanhe and I must confess I was a little taken aback.. till I realised that people do not invest in a child who has no real tomorrows…

Yet Nanhe wants to live.. and he shows it in so many ways.. never complains.. always smiles.. even though all conspires against him – he fell of his mom’s cart and has four stitches -. He even has friends now and is happy…

Now the question is: he is worth investing in.. and what one can one do..

The answer is simple: fill his life with as much happiness as we can. Get the minimum surgery needed to make him pain free, get him diapers – they cost a bomb – so that he retains his dignity and can be taken out to parks, and other places… we know that his life will be short, and that is the best for him.. but it is still a life, a life that is worth investing in..

And let me tell you, his life has a purpose.. it shows us that life no matter how wreteched is to be celebrated and lived to its very end..

And if you need any proof, just look at his smile….

This is Babli’s world..

It is rich in some things and terribly lacking in others. It is filled with smiles and love, courage and determination, dreams and hope, prayers and belief.. all things intangible yet precious. Bablis’ home is tiny, maybe as small as a bathroom or a storeroom in upmarket areas. It has one rickety charpoy, not enough bedding to keep this family of five warm on what is said to be the coldest night in years. A few pots and pans in a corner, a few empty containers making you wonder what dinner will be tonight.

But life goes on in this home, and traditions are respected, the freshly painted walls bear witness to this: Diwali just went by. It is probably in this space that Santosha, Babli’s mom whispered her desperate prayer, that Babli expressed her silent desire to be a ‘police’ – , in this very space that the little family gets together at night to share the happenings of the day gone by. At present the topic must be Babli’s imminent heart surgery as prayers have been heard and dreams have taken the first step towards realisation…

The smiles of the children’s face are proof of the strange and almost incomprehensible fact that this is a happy place. For Babli it is a home she is proud of and from where she draws strength.

Yes Babli’s operation will happen soon.. it is just a matter of settling a few hurdles.. another miracle is in the making.. but that is not why I write this post.

I write this post to dispel what many of my peers think about what they callously call ‘jhuggiwallahs“, and quickly qualify with a string of negative traits. No, all jhuggiwallahs are not thiefs or crooks. They are just like us and live with dignity and courage in conditions many of us cannot begin to fathom. Babli is the fourth heart surgery, and we have supported each of the families. An operation of this magnitude often entails a parent having to take leave and we have have helped them with food and basic amenities. Let me assure you that once the child is through, we have never been harassed for help. The only thing we have received is an embarassing amount of gratitude.

I was hurt, angry and ultimately very sad by the outburst of a visitor who was witnessing our planning for babli operation. She cried out: “do not give them food for more than two days, all jhuggiwallahs are crooks and they will harass you for more”.

No ma’am, they are not crooks, they are human beings just like us…

A mail dropped by this morning. It simply it said:

I too want to help the slum children in our Hyderabad city, and as a first step started with a nearby slum in the outskirts. I now understand the uphill task that it is, but I won’t give up.
The main problem is the motivation. How to do that? How to keep those children off the street , to the gambling( oh there are so many versions!) the fights etc..? How to convince the parents to send them to the free teaching classes?

It was from someone who had written four years back seeking information about our work. I first thought I would reply the mail in the customary manner, but as I sat down to I realised that the words conveyed had a far deeper meaning for us at project why..

First of all it meant that a milestone had been crossed as we had moved from those who began asking many ‘whys’ to one who could now answer the hows. And to me personally, it was a validation of my often misconstrued objective of making pwhy a model that can be replicated. And if our experience can help someone wanting to reach out to children, then I am entitled to my Eureka today.

What I would like to tell our friend is that the first step is the hardest one… often one wants to but the desire never gets translated into action..but once the first step taken, once you have locked eyes honestly with the first child, there is no going back.. you just have to remember one thing: you cannot solve all the problems that surround you, but even if one life is changed, it would have ben worth the effort.. we took the first step in November 2000, never looked back and have a fair track record as proof of our success.

Now to come to the specific hows mentioned, the answer is that there is no single rule. Remember that you are doing this work because children are on the streets, because they gamble, because parents do not understand..

Even five years down the line we still face the same problems and find solutions specific to the particular situation as we are in a land where individualism is celebrated and hence no one solution works. You can only find the right solution if you have assessed the situation correctly. Many a times we have been shocked by things once we took the time to find out. In some cases you may fail but that should not deter you. You just need to be patient, forget your ego and remember your objective. Sometimes you may even have to befriend the local goon, use humour with the kids telling them that if they want to be bad then they should aim to be an educated Don… You have to accept to enterhis world first, before you pull the child out of it..

You just have to wear down your detractor of the time by using very Gandhian methods. It is during my work in the slums that I understood the sagacity of Gandhi.
There are times when you may have to compromise; that is often the case when you deal with parents, so readjust your timings, accept to look after the younger sibling while the elder one studies.. And somethings you will have to accept quietly, hoping that the next generation will understand..

But never give up. The children have paid far too much for the mistakes of us adults, ranging from ignorance to callousness.. It is time we made it up to them.

Nanhe has a smile to die for… and yet does he have a reason to smile, one wonders…

The youngest of five children, he was not even given a name, simple called nanhe..the tiny one. Nanhe has multiple disabilities. When he landed on planet why he could barely hold his head. The innumerable scars on his head were sufficient proof of the number of falls that child had suffered. Incontinent because of impaired kidneys, Nanhe was also often the butt of ridicule and repugnance.

Nanhe came to project why a few months back and has become an important part of our special section. As he is carried out of Sitaram’s blue vehicle, we are treated to his special smile, a moment we look forward to every morning. Nanhe participates in all activities and is even starting to take a few halting steps in spite of his deformed feet. And yet his pain is far from over as he has been diagnored with kidney and bladder stones and needs emergency surgery next week to clear a blockage that is causing him severe pain.

Nanhe has an infective joie de vivre, but as I watch him every morning I wonder what this child’s tomorrows are going to be.. and I feel totally helpless.. we will deal with one problem but another will appear and even if we heal the body, what hapens next, Nanhe can never lead a normal life..

Nanhe lost his father and his mother barely manages to feed her family, one in which three children have disabilities. A brave woman indeed but with all odds against her..

These are moments when one cannot call logic to the rescue. Some will say karma, but whose karma, the mother’s or the little child’s?

And yet everything in little Nanhe’s demeanour is impregnated with a desire to live.. so what we can do is make those days as happy as possible … and maybe, just maybe, nanhe is there to show us that life is worth living… provided you do things right

It was a very special afternoon on planet why..

At 1 pm the children of the special section were ready to receive their guests. There was a sense of palpable excitement as their classroom got ready for the show: a big screen, a LCD projector, a young indian astronomer and the senior primary and secondary girls. Over 50 people crowded in the little room where Pranjal was about to take them to a journey across the solar system…

A motley crowd it was where difference was the uniting factor. People no one would have put together to watch such a show. Yet they sat as the msyteries of the universe got unravelled by this young scientist who intuitively knew how to reach every single mind, with simple words and stunning pictures so that each one, could travel and dream for that one moment in time…

One again planet why had conjured its magic… as for that one hour all differences were left outside and only the joy of learning remained..

Mili died last night.. as quietly as she came in to our lives …

She found us when we were hurting, and adopted us. She put up with all our tantrums and ways whereby we humans decide the way our animal friends should live. She delighted us with innumerable antics and filled the empty space with joy.

But she was a child of the wild and could never forget that. She fought the tomcat, and attacked birds to our misplaced horror. She put up with us as we tried to domesticate her.. Then one day she was all grown up and needed to follow her instinct. A huge court of admirers she had and we were quite helpless.. Some felt she should be let free, but she always came back.. An uncaring adult even called her names.. was that the day she decided that this world was not for her..

But the harm had been done once again by adults who do not understand. She had got used to us, to the comforts she got and had forgotten some of her survival skills. Two days back she was hit by a vehicle and came back howling to what had a become home. We took her to the vet who said she was just shocked and would be allright… We tried to nurse her back to health but she had decided otherwise…

We found her inert body… her free spirit had flown away.

When the kids of sudhar camp aka potty nagar were asked what they wanted to be when they grew up the answer was: teachers, doctors, firemen, policemen…

Now the parents of these children left their homes to eek out a better living in the city and do menial jobs: rickshaw pullers, vegetable vendors, household servants, small shopkeepers then how and how can their kids dare dream otherwise..

This was the reaction of a visitor from another land.. with malice to none I would like to ask a simple question: does not one see children of workers become doctors in their homeland..

Come to think of it, maybe that is where the tragedy of our land lies: the labels we stick on people that stiffle their future. So the son of a domestic worker will remain that even if he becomes a CEO! That is probably the modern day avatar of the erstwhile caste system.

We at project why dare to dream and teach our children to do so.. if they cannot fulfill their dream, they can fulfill it for their children…and the road is one: education, the one possession no one can steal or take away from you..

India will change when quality education is imparted in each and every school, and that can only happen when our modern rulers accept to do it, when NFEs and parallel systems of learning are done away with…

And have you ever thought that in the dream the child expreses lies the hurt he has seen: and if a sudhar camp kid aspires to be a doctor it may simply because of all those who died around him because no doctor was there to help, or if he wants to be a policeman it is because of the helplesness he felt as a tiny tot when policemen humiliated his father in front of his eyes..

I do hope that out of this anger and hurt comes out the will to break invisible barriers and fulfill impossible dreams..

Children have a right to dream, so please do not take away that right from them…

I dropped by the Lohar camp today and once again was taken in by the warmth and generosity of this proud people. Kamlesh was cooking makki rotis and I got treated to one, topped with sarson saag and oodles of white butter.

From the corner of my eye, I saw that the quantity of dough kneaded was tiny and that maybe what was being offered to me with so much love was someone’s much deserved lunch. But then not accepting it would be he ultimate humiliation for this proud people. I sat on the proferred charpoy, on the main road to the amused looks passers by, and savoured this offering of love…

We set down to discuss what I had come for and I was, once again, taken in by the rapidity with which everything I said was understood and improved on.. Then I walked through the basti – just 32 ramshackle tents along the main road – to greet old friends. As I walked I sensed that something was amiss. The smiles were there and the warmth too, but there seemed to be a lassitude, an imperceptible feeling of hopelesness that I had not see earlier. It was more than understandable: it had now been almost 4 long years since we started our project in the basti and launched our legal battle to get the Lohars what had been promised to them: permanent shelter. The Public Interest Litigation is still pending in the High Court. Our plea to the NHRC for the plight of these children remained unheard. These children of India, who enjoy the same constitutional rights as yours or mine, see the light of day in dingy tents, getting their first breath of car fumes instead of fresh air…

They came to the city much before other migrants, over 55 years ago and still live on roadsides. Vague and empty promises were made to them as their tents were given a smart sounding address – rana pratap camp – thus bringing them into the voter’s net. But they lie forgotten, waiting for a miracle.

Their children have grown with urban tastes and want to be included in what is their rightful home. But they bear the brunt of labels given to nomads the world over. Yetwhen you ask them what their favourite food is they reply in unison: pizza!

Habitat for the poor is an alarming problem. Haphazard constructions on reclaimed land led to the Bombay and more recent Chennai floods. The sad part is that no real solution will emerge as they would shake the precarious political equations in place.

One has to seriously think of telling people to take back the skills acquired to their habitat of origin to ease out the pressure that will choke our cities to death. Habitat with basic amenities have to be built for those that will remian, as we must not forget that their form an integral part of our society in which they have a vital role to play.

We try at pwhy to make the children realise this by valorising their habitat of origin and tellin them that they need to take back what they have learnt to other children in the villages, as every child cannot come and live in cities. this is one of the reasons the pwhy model is based on in-house resources.

I am not one to beleive that this will not happen some day.. when the people themselves realise what is best for them.. recently the mother of 6 children said in the course of converstaion that in the village her children were in better health as they could have access to vegetables and milk and good water, and run in the fields..

I simply smiled… a matter of time it is.

religion was called the opium of the masses by marx..
a panacea for all ills it has become an easy answer to what requires serious consideration, a way of explaining what defies logic..

now have you ever wondered how children get drawn in the net..

a few weeks back as we walked passed a statue of some leader erected high on a pedestal, mr p tugged at my kurta and pointing towards the statue kept saying ‘boman’ boman’ and then folding his hands while he urged me to do the same.. slightly irritated I complied just to ensure that stubborn mr p would agree to move on..

it is much later that I unraveled the mystery of the word ‘boman‘.. well it was ‘bhagavan‘ or god! to this little fellow anything that was big, and made of inert material was a bhagavan and had to be shown respect…

one can wonder how mr p who is an extremely sensitive child perceives this entity: something big, something to be scared off, to be wondered at.. the first message that has been given to him is one of diffidence. Does his mother get angry if the little fellow does not fold his hands?

all will depend on how the lessons proceed… but that is how the first seeds are sown.. at present anything big is ‘boman‘.. with time it will acquire qualities and subtler definitions, and then differences of ‘boman’ will appear, your boman and their boman…

oh how is wish that boman remains boman or at best beauMan – how different the world would be…

project why has been a journey of discovery, not only of India, but of other lands.

Japan had been till late an unknown land that one viewed with awe, admired its wizardry, and got acquainted with its cuisine.. but somehow it remained faraway and unatainable.. till nauko walked in one fine day with a big smile and tons of warmth…

for the past two years the japanese ladies of delhi have become part and parcel of project why as they come regularly and teach many things to the children. their subdued presence, their meticulous and unobtrusive ways have made them loved by all be it the children or the teachers.

we celebrated the bamboo festival and learnt a japanese song and recently we were part of the japanese ladies bazaar where a lovely poster in japanese introduced our activities..

this lovely link between a tiny slum in India and a group of japanese ladies is one more proof of the indubitable reality that when one learns to see with one’s heart, differences vanish and the world becomes one.

どうもありがとう。 Dōmo arigatō Nauko

The serenity prayer has been used in many situations and today as I tried to explain the realities of India to some friends from other lands, it came back to my mind:

Grant me the serenity

to accept the things I cannot change;

courage to change the things I can;

and wisdom to know the difference.

How true these words ring as one tries each day to get a little further in the goals one has set and the dreams one has conjured

One can understand how defeated one who does not understand India in its complexities can feel when faced with what seems simple activities. It is true that one would like to change everything in a hurry but can one forget that we are dealing with thousands of years of traditions, customs, mores, hurts, inconsitencies, unfairness.. much of which is so deep seated that it will take time to unravel and redress.. and yet things have to change.

The only way to succeed is to accept those that will take time to alter and change the ones we can without disturbing fragile equations.

One just has to look at the number of social laws that gather dust, as the causes they seek to redress continue to flourish bet it corporal punishment or child marriage..

India will change one day, but one has to have the patience and the serenity to accept that she will change slowly and in her own time..

project why may not have much in terms of what success is measured by in our day and age: buildings, fancy resources or comfortable bank accounts. but there is one thing it has had in abundance and that is the goodwill and love from every corner of our planet.

we pride ourselves in the great team of volunteers that have passed by. each one has left a little of himself and taken a little part of us.. each one becoming better, more complete, more understanding or at least more humane…

and if each meeting is filled with expectation, each parting is always a moment of sadness..

Taylor, a young student from the US left us yesterday after many weeks spent with the little children of the creche.. I instantly liked this young man.. his eyes twinkled and his face reflected a beautiful soul…

They say children do not fake feelings, and our little twins who had never smiled gave Taylor their first smile ever the moment they met him..

Taylor left me a beautiful letter in which he tried to convey what his stay with us meant to him. I do not know whether we deserve all the kind words he wrote, but I would like to share the following as I feel it somehow reflects what project why stands for: ” If through the course of my lofe, I am able to create a small fraction of the hope and joy you have created, I will consider myself a success as a person’.

Yes, project why is all about hope and joy..

and I am sure Taylor will succeed in life… and we will remember him each time little Fatima, or Asiya or Manoj smile…

My father left me 13 years ago, today…

Pwhy would not have existed it it were not for him..

Among the many things he taught me, was the meaning of unconditional love.. the one you give without any expectation…

It took me a long time to understand that his legacy was the abundance of love that I was almost choking with, and that had to be let out and shared: pwhy was the obvious answer..

pwhy is an ode to love, a love that makes you richer as the more you give the more you have to give..

everyday i am overwhelmed by the abundance of love that pwhy has brought into my life.. and I feel blessed

sunday evening saw a star meet a young boy and a spirited woman..

yes akshay kumar, the bollywood hero met Arun the young valmiki boy whose heart surgery was sponsored by him, and Bindiya a lovely lohar (gypsy) lady who won our raffle and hence a meeting with the star..

the venue the home of our friend vikraant who had made this possible..

the smiles on the picture say it all: there were no cameras, no flash lights, no media, no buzz, just people meeting people, discovering each other, bonding in a humane manner.

it was delightful to see akshay holding on to arun’s hand an answering the candid questions of this young boy; it was touching to see him take time to find out about the Lohars and their history…

it was a great simple moment, where no one was pretending to be something or someone else, as there was no one to watch. just people bonding in one happy instant that each one would carry as a memory.

and for that moment in time everyone was a *star*!

” because i am saving trees..”

was my often exasperated answer.. but I manage to pull it off and stand by my convictions without succumbing to ‘peer’ pressure.

My daughter’s wedding was a vindication of all I stand for and I can say with some pride that I managed to conjure a show where two worlds met in a city where you are judged by appareance, glitter and pomp..

Yet we had everything, a page 3 party with page 3 people but where the lights, flowers, chairs and decoration came from a tentwallah that normally specialises in slum jagrans. The rites were in the purest vedic tradition but the groom rode a motorbike and the barat came in three wheelers driven by pwhy parents to the beats of dholaks played by two of our staff. We had a touch of Bollywood as the salis and sahelis (an eclectic mix of girls from diverse lands and social background) danced to the sound of Bunty and Babli’s Kajra Re , the show ended in the gurdwara hall of gNagar with a bash with pwhy kids and the DJ they wanted.

Was it easy, I must confess it was not as at every step I had to fight my way and hold tight to what I knew was right and find answers to the inane questions I was asked.

But we pulled it off..and it was a lovely celebration where people had time to get to know each other, to share laughter and joy, a wedding where the human touch was not lost and where the sanctity of the occasion was not lost.

Weddings have lost their true essence and meaning, they have become impersonal bashes that are remembered for all the wrong reasons: don’t we always hear things like – the food was cold, or the whisky duff, or it was too cold or to warm – !

Imagine you received a letter from a parent marrying his child, informing you that he or she had decided to use the money set aside for the party planned to sponsor heart surgeries for kids and that all would be informed of the progress. Would that person not rise in your esteem?

The money is that of of just one of the numerous parties plan, when food and guest lists are much of the same…

Think about it..

see pictures of the wedding here

The Art of Living, is something terribly à la mode in present times and everyone is attending classes or discourses to master it..

For the past five years I too have been attending such classes but in a different school altogether and with masters who are just two feet tall and have not even walked this earth for a thousand days.

I often have kids from gNagar come home to spend some time and I am amazed at their behaviour and at the ease and grace with which they adapt themselves. A far cry from what my peers and friends tend to think.. I have never had anything broken, never a wall scribbled on, never a grain of rice dropped on the carpet..

K and Mr P came to the all the celebrations we had recently and I was amazed at their behavior. They did not sit in a corner but were part of the festivities, enjoyed themelves, wished people and answered questions. They danced and laughed and Mr p regaled everyone with his antics.. and then when he realised he was tired, even though the night was still young, he found me and simply said “Mummy pass jana hai” – I want to go to mummy-!

Mummy for mr P is a dark dingy room where the air is stale and damp, but it is home and that is where every sensible person returns at the end of the day, that is where one belongs…

One of the greatest lessons in the art of living I have been taught is the way these kids handle two worlds, with no resentment or jealousy, enjoying each for what it is.. but never forgetting what their reality is..

Can one find a better example of the art of living..

The raffle draw was held yesterday at project why…

The raffle had been thought of as one for upmarket people and hence the prizes were tailored to that taste – barring of course the dinner with a bollywood star -. But once we had printed the tickets and set out to sell them, we were aghast at the total lack of enthusiasm we met be it college kids, friends or acquaintances, the response was lukewarm at best..

I must confess that teamProjectwhy was crestfallen, but somehow I was not too surprised. and in the spirit of what we stand for, we decided to sell the raffle tickets in the slums we work in . A great sales team comprising of pwhy staff, parents and children was created and we managed to sell quite a few tickets. We had to, as akshay kumar had give us a date in late november. To make the raffle more attractive to simple folks we added a VCD player!

On 20th November at 11 am, young innocent hands drew the names of the winners and to my delight Bindiya a lovely Lohar woman won the evening with akshay, and ram bibek, a poor tea stall owner won the VCD.. how proud they were.

Bindiya will be going with her brother and ram bibek has hooked on his VCD to his old black and white TV.

and everyone is asking when the next raffle will be…

The initial set back turned to be aboon in disguise and maybe we have a new funding option in the making.

Note: we are looking for sponsors for prizes that slum folsk would like – small music system, TV, irons, mixies etc we are still far from the 4000 one rupee a day donors we need

This is the 100th blog I write and publish..

I started this blog a few months ago hoping that I could convey some of the heartwarming and heartbreaking moments one lives on planet why.

I have been overwhelmed by the response to this blog.

This was a special week as my daughter got married, but more so because this wedding was one with a difference. It brought together many worlds.. So there was a page 3 party, an extremely traditional wedding ceremony, a fun bash for the friends of the young couple and the celebrations ended on planet why with a big dance party with the children of pwhy!

It was a great happening as all barriers disappeared and all that mattered was the music and the laughter. The upmarket friends of the groom who had never left the confines of their parisian district mingled with the gypsy kids of the Lohar camp and celebrated this event.

As I watched I thought to myself, that bringing two worlds together was not as difficult as one feared, one just had to take the first step with conviction and the rest followed, even in a town where barriers seem impregnable..

It was a celebration… but one with a difference.. and one that celebrated ‘difference’!

p and j got married.. in a city where weddings have become barometers of one’s success.. where people wreck their brains to find ways of outdoing others.. where flowers are flown from across the world and strange cuisines discovered… where guests drip jewellerey and stand in bored silence..

p and j got married.. in a ceremony that did out do many.. the groom came on a motorcycle and the wedding party followed in three wheelers to the beat of frenzied dholaks played by pwhy parents , the ceremony was held in the tiny lawn of the bride’s house and not in any farm house or starred hotel, the caterer was up market and the tentwallah from a slum, the guest lists was eclectic coming from diferent lands and all walks of life.. and everyone came together to wish the couple a happy life..

It was a wedding that brought together many worlds , one that proved that diferences needed to be celebrated…