by Anuradha Bakshi | Dec 17, 2009 | women centre
I wish there were 240 hours in a day and I wish I had the gift of ubiquity! Wishful thinking but if that were the case I would have spent most of my time with the children of project why in each of our 11 centres. Sadly that is not possible and my visits to the project centres are often virtual, via the pictures I receive at the end of the day. Yesterday I got a camera full of pictures from the women centre and spent a long time browsing through them. And as I did, I experienced a range of emotions: from excitement, to bewilderment, to pride and even a tinge of sadness at having stayed away for so long.
Seeing little Meher dance and prance and even try her hand at computer surfing was incredible. And that is not all, her new pixie hairstyle, a little like my own, made me realise how time flies. It seemed just like yesterday when I first lay my eyes on her scalded scalp and wondered what her morrows would hold. In a few weeks she will sit for her admission test and in April pack her little bags and joining our incredible five at boarding school! Who says miracles do not happen.
Then there were umpteen pictures of children studying. Children of different ages, all very serious and motivated notwithstanding the difficult conditions or lack of resources. The creche however looked stunning with its new pink and white harlequin look! Then there were pictures of the Xmas party organised by members of a young church group. They were carols and cookies and loads of fun and the number of children was staggering. Thank God the roof was solid! My mind went back with nostalgia the first party organised at the women centre, a Xmas party for predominantly Muslim kids. But then as Usha Uthup says in her delightful song entitled Eid, be it Eid, Xmas or Diwali we wear new clothes, we eat good food, we visit relatives!
Then there were pictures of the sewing circle of Khader, the one we had begun with so much hope almost exactly two years ago. Today over 50 ladies has graduated with certificates and 50 more were in the midst of completing their course. As I looked closer I realised that some of them were stitching cloth bags, the ones that we make on order for one of our funders and hence these women had taken the first step towards financial independence. True there was a long way to go but I knew we would get there.
The last few pictures were of the monthly parents meeting. It was heartwarming to see that here too the numbers were staggering. And to say that not so long ago there were never more than a handful of parents at such meetings.
What an incredible journey it had been, one that had begun hesitantly barely two years ago. Share some of these Kodak moments with us.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Dec 12, 2009 | Uncategorized
I got a message on Facebook this morning. It was from one of the innumerable friends I have and came as answer to a series of pictures of my grandchild I had posted. It said: I always remember you in final stages of pregnancy taking classes sometime between 1979-82. You were inspirational and lively. I was always five point someone (Chetan Bhagat) type of a student (one of the hindi belt one) but you were never prejudice and sometimes more considerate. That was encouraging. Till this moment I had not realised that this friend was one of my students from my JNU days. She was referring to 1981 when I was expecting my second daughter and teaching French in the Centre for French Studies.
I read and reread her short message. Was there a hidden message? Was it the sign I was looking for? The bottom line was that even after almost three decades nothing had really changed. Invisible and impregnable walls still divided our society one of them being the one that separated those who spoke English and those who did not, the former having a head start in any race they ran. Never mind how intelligent or smart you were, how good your marks were, how motivated and serious you were, if you had not mastered the lingo of those who had ruled our land for a few centuries, you were doomed to be left behind. Was not teach my child English, the first request formulated by parents when we began our work. Even the most illiterate parent knows that, and even the most illiterate person will try his hand at English!
It is unfortunate that though we began with spoken English classes we somehow lost our way. Maybe it was because we all felt that keeping children in school was far more important and spoken English took a back seat. Our children passed their school exams year after year and many passed out of school. And though they cleared their English exams, they sadly never mastered the language and thus could never break the glass ceiling.
It is time to help them do so. And as I wrote in an earlier post it is time to mutate. We at project why must look at quality and not quantity and ensure that no child feels he or she is a five point someone type!
by Anuradha Bakshi | Dec 11, 2009 | manu
Supercat is her email id and yet the name fits her like a glove. Cat a volunteer from Leeds leaves project why tomorrow after nine wonderful and fulfilling weeks. A slip of a girl, Cat is feisty and full of joie de vivre. But above all she is a young lady who knows the fox’s secret and applies it to everything she does: it is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.
Cat landed one afternoon and walked into our hearts. Her warmth was infectious, and her smile heartwarming. I still remember sitting with her one evening as she quietly shared her future plans and being floored when she told us without much ado that she has decided to work in palliative care with the terminally ill. She believed with passion that they deserved love and care and had the right to die with dignity. Her words moved me and I wondered what made a young girl like her walk such an unlikely path. The answer was simple: she just saw with her heart.
At project why, Cat worked with the special kids and brought cheer and laughter into their lives. Everyone of them took to her and vied for her attention. Be it Anjali, Manu, Champa, Honey, Himanshu, Ankur, Anuraag or Shalini, they all loved their Cat Didi. But it is little Sohil that stole her heart and it is he who asked the question we all wanted to ask but did not quite have the courage to: Why are you leaving Cat Didi?
But I know she will be back, till then we will make do with memories of her and with saying booter instead of butter!
by Anuradha Bakshi | Dec 11, 2009 | Uncategorized
After the wrath and anger of my last post, I needed a healing touch before I could pick by virtual pen again. I knew that unless I mended my hurt, I would not be able to carry on and above all ran the risk of taking decisions I might later regret. So I waited for the proverbial sign and it came unexpectedly in the form of my little grandson tucked inside an old carton box looking at me with eyes filled with hope, hope that I would reach out to him and pick him up. Needless to say I did and that simple gesture melted my anger in a trice.
His eyes were trusting and brimming with innocence. He somehow knew that I would free him from his box and allow him to crawl wherever he wanted. I must admit that he did just that! I sat watching him zip around the house giggling and laughing and when he tired he sat down and applauded himself hoping again we would follow. I had fulfilled his momentary wish and that is all there was to it.
All children are like Agastya. Their little worlds are simple and they look up to those who love them to actualise their wants and needs. And so it should be but sadly that is not the case for millions of children whose little dreams get crushed out even before they are expressed. They are confined to little boxes and no one is their to lift them out and set them free. The little silly game Agastay and I played was an eye opener and made me look at pwhy in an altogether different way. Were not all our children trapped in little boxes and were we not there to try and set them free? What a challenge but more than that what a wonderful and blessed task. So what if the adults around them sometimes behaved irrationally and stupidly. Perhaps they were still locked in their boxes as no one had set them free.
I realised that I had foolishly allowed myself to be locked in a box, albeit for a few instants, and little Agastya Noor had set me free.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Dec 6, 2009 | Uncategorized
It was a balmy day. The kind that sets you in a mellow mood and makes you feel benign. It was also PTM day, something I always look forward to and that for more reasons than one! First of all it is always lovely to meet the children, but there is more. The few hours spent in the little boarding school are always an escape to an island of hope and allow me to forget the trials and tribulations of my everyday existence and simply relax for a few hours be it by imbibing myself into a kid’s world, or even getting a lesson in life! One thing is sure each PTM is unique and special.
So we set out for this one in a happy mood. I was accompanied by Cat and Lukas two young volunteers. We reached early and were told that the children were in their respective classes. We set out to find them and lie all parents dreaded the outcome of the meeting with the teachers. But we were in for a surprise. All our stars had once again performed extremely well and three of them were first in their class with Babli and Vicky getting certificate of merit for best handwriting and scholar of the month! Wow we were stunned. These were little slumkids, the kind no one expects anything from, the kind you write off without even giving them a chance to prove the contrary.
My heart swelled with pride and I felt absolved of all the criticism and cynicism I had faced when I had dared think of sending such children to a upmarket boarding school. Maybe I had read it all wrong: the reticence of privileged people to open the portals of quality learning to kids from slums and poor homes stemmed from the fear or the conviction of knowing that they would outshine their privileged peers! Food for thought.
As we had planned to stay for a short time, we had brought some goodies to share with the kids as there was to be no trip to the pizza parlour. We sat on the grass and opened the boxes and I must confess we had as good a time as the kids as we gobbled cookies and cakes washed with warm cups of syrupy tea generously provided by the school. It was a perfect moment, one we knew was not to last but that we enjoyed to the fullest.
It was time to go and we bade farewell to the kids. Our driver seemed to have vanished to we stood next to the car and waited for him to reappear. In one corner of the patch of grass where we stood sat a little family. An elderly man with the kindest face you could imagine in spite of his forbidding moustache, and five boys aged between 15 and 9. The man had a picnic basket from which he fished out little glasses, bowls and plates. He had two large packets of food and I looked at him and smiled. He immediately invited us all to share the meal he had brought for his children and would not take no for an answer. There were divine millet rotis and homemade butter, the kind that comes straight from a farm. We shared this simple meal with a little guilt as this was what he had brought for his children, but refusing it would have been anathema and gone against all what real India stands for. It was an incredibly moving moment, particularly for young Cat and Lukas: a glimpse of India they would never forget.
The driver was there and it was time to go. Lukas wanted to know when the next PTM would be as he wanted to invite the proud and generous man! I smiled. I did not know if you would ever see him again, but we all knew that we would carry this moment in our hearts forever.
Here are some snapshots of this very special day
