Dancing with the feet is one thing, but dancing with the heart is another and little Radha did just that. Yes Radha, the one who cannot walk, the one with brittle bones disease, the one who dreams of being a dancer danced with her heart, and I know that even the Heavens stopped to watch her.
Radha never dances. Sometimes we take her in our arms and dance but rarely does she dance on her two little useless feet. But yesterday she did. Was it because she knew that tonight she would sleep under a roof and not on the road side. She danced non stop for almost an hour, twirling like a dervish and her arms moving gracefully to the beat of the music
Dancing faces you towards Heaven, whichever direction you turn said Sweetpea Tyler. Little Radha proved just that. It was moving, touching and overwhelming to watch her. There was not a dry eye in the room, even her classmates, those who cannot hear, or walk or speak watched her mesmerised.
Apologies for the poor quality of the video, but there was a power outage and we knew that perhaps we may never see Radha dance like this again.
She still sleeps on the footpath with her family, under a tree with no protection from the heat, dust or lashing rain. Her face is the kind Modigliani would have painted and she does look pretty as picture. But one look at her frail, distorted body is enough to tell another tale. Little Radha has brittle bone disease, a rare condition that affects 1 in 60 000 children and where the prognostic is grim. Little Radha’s life is bound to be short.
In spite of her distorted bones and frail body, Radha has an incredible spirit and wants to do everything her friends do in class. She plays every game even if that means running on her hands. When asked what her dream was she simply said: to be able to walk!
She lived in a house so tiny that you could not stand in it, and yet that is where she and her family laughed, cried, hoped, and dreamt. It is there that her father died and that her young mother tried to rebuild a life: one of simple survival. Not an easy task for a young widow as predators lurked everywhere. We had hoped that the young mother would agree to come and live at our women centre with her 4 children but that was not to be. Perhaps she was too free a spirit or was it her extended family that did not allow it. One would never know. Radha and her family continued to live in their tiny home till it was destroyed two weeks ago by the municipal authorities. The family lost what they called home and the protection it gave them.
From that day onwards the little family slept on the roadside without any protection from the heat or the rain. Their few belongings are carefully arranged on the kerb, or packed in plastic bags. When it rains each member of the family covers him or herself with a plastic sheet and waist for the rain to pass. A small earthen stove is built in a corner to cook the meals. The family sleeps in the open an easy prey to any kind of predator. The mother runs her food cart in the day and feeds her little family. And little Radha whose fragile bones can snap at the slightest touch navigates herself on the tiny pavement of what is now her home.
This little story is replete of deafening whys that need to be answered. Why is a child with a rare and complex condition born in a family that can barely look after a healthy child? What does a child like Radha do in a land where social security and sound medical care are non existent? Why is there no proper habitat for the poor and why can anyone be allowed to live in the abysmal conditions Radha’s family did for years? Where are the laws that protect children? Where are the rights enshrined in our Constitution and why are people like Radha’s family deprived of them?
For the last 15 days I have asked Radha every morning where she spent the night and for the last 15 days her answer has been: on the road! What is touching as well as saddening and infuriating is the calm with which little Radha answers the question and then goes to finish the task at hand with a smile. I do not know the answers to all the questions posed above. Perhaps only the God of small creatures can answer them. I only know that we need to do something, and do it now. We will find a new home for Radha, one that is livable and move them off the street today and help them with the rent if need be. I cannot hear another: on the road anymore!
She left this planet nineteen years ago. Yet it feels like it was just yesterday as she lives in everything that surrounds me and above all in all the little faces of the children of project why and in the hope and dreams of all the women that come to change their tomorrows at the centre that bears her name. For me she lives in very nook and corner of my home and in every fragrant plant that blooms in the tiny garden that surrounds it.
Kamala was one of a kind. A woman born well before her time who managed to instill in many a rare zest for life, no matter how difficult that life could be. As for her life itself was too precious a gift to squander away. Perhaps that is why she fought a painful cancer without the help of any treatment as for her dying in her sleep was unacceptable. She breathed her last in my arms fully aware of what was happening to her.
I often ask myself whether I have been worthy of such an extraordinary mother, one that fought every battle of life with courage and dignity. I have tried to the best of my ability to emulate her ways and stand for what I believed was right, but I find myself a very pale imitation of what Kamala was. And yet I strive each day to do a little bit more and will continue to do so till I too leave this world.
Much of what pwhy is, stems form what she wanted to do and could not for reasons beyond her control. Even in her very last moment, Kamala wanted to reach out to those how suffered or were less fortunate. I have just tried to translate all her dreams and wishes into reality.
To say that I miss her would be a euphemism. I miss her wisdom and sagacity; I miss her inimitable way of turning the darkest moment into a bright sunshine, I miss her ability to infuse courage in at times when all seemed hopeless; I miss her love and her smile. And today I miss her more than ever.
It was a hot sultry summer morning but a long gone promise had to be redeemed. Meher and Utpal had behaved well for a whole week and wanted the promised ice cream. because of the heat we decided to go to a mall near the women centre as I knew that if nothing else, it was bound to have an ice cream parlour!
The mall all glitzy and shining looked like a ghost city. Only a few of the hundreds of shops were occupied. Thank God one of them was an ice cream parlour. The rest were mostly eating joints of all shades and hues with a lone toy and shoe shop making one wonder how it survived. It was a true picture of the recession everyone is talking about. A few people were seen loitering around mostly staff, I could barely spot a client. Meher with her expandersin her scalp looks like an endearing real life ET and was a once the cynosure of all eyes. Everyone looked at her but she did not feel awkward or odd and simply strutted in, screaming in delight at the new things she saw, the most important being the glass elevator!
Kiran and Utpal acted like the elder siblings and took her under their tiny wings and marched towards the ice cream parlour. After a session of intense tasting everyone selected their ice cream and we all sat at a small table. Keeping the flies away was left to me as the children dug into their little cups.
While helping Meher to navigate through her over frozen ice cream my mind wandered as I took in the picture these three children made, a picture that told a touching and wonderful story.
Kiran came into this world almost exactly on the day project why began its activities in Giri Nagar and that too on my mother’s birthday making her that little more special. She is probably the only person in the world who calls me Anou with authority! I remember carrying her around everywhere I went in early project why days and she grew imbibed with the spirit of what pwhy stands for. No wonder that till date some of her best friends are the students of our special section, a place where she spends all her holidays with her very special pals.
Utpal came into my life as a bonny baby I use to watch being bathed every morning till the terrible day he had a tryst with fire and his little life changed forever and so did mine then barely two overcame her initial pangs of jealousy and become the elder sibling and then the soul mate. Recently when Utpal had to complete a piece of holiday homework where he had to write about his family Kiran was very much part of that family.
Little Meher completes the trio. I still remember hearing her very loud voice before looking down at her scarred face. Today as she undergoes complex reconstructive surgery she has two little protectors who make sure that no one bothers her as she struts around like a an extra terrestrial princess!
A beautiful tale of love, compassion and hope that could only be weaved at a place called project why!
It stands forlorn on a table. It had been bought with much hope and expectation to celebrate an event many of us had prayed for: the departure of a little boy to another land with brand new parents. But that was not to be as once again the life of a child got irremediably caught in the web of adult egos.
Let me tell you the story of a little boy now 4, who landed in our lives when he was just two weeks old. Born out of wedlock to parents of different faith he faced a grim future in a land where such children are branded for life. We thought that perhaps he would have a better morrow were he to be adopted and taken away to another land where labels and branding do not matter. Everything seemed to be working in the right direction as suitable parents were found and all seemed to be on track. The legal process was initiated and the doting parents-to-be made umpteen visits to India to shower love on the little boy.
We watched him grow, cut his first tooth, utter his first word, take his first step as he was a student of our creche. When the parents-to-be were in town, he slept in my home and was smothered with affection and gifts. Then what went wrong? Everything! The legal case took longer than expected and the child changed from a cuddly baby to a little boy with his own character and temperament. And by the time the case finally concluded in favour of the adoptive parents, a lot had changed. The parents had adopted another baby in their own land. And our little boy still needed a passport to leave his birth land and join his new family.
All of us believed that obtaining a passport was just a matter of time. But to our utter dismay we soon found that there was still a lot of red tape to be faced and egos to be appeased. The adoption agency refused to give the required clearance in spite of a court order. And as is always the case, no one was willing to give anything in writing. The would be parents lost interest and the little boy’s future was again in jeopardy. The celebration was not to be and the champagne bottle stood unopened, a grim reminder of a battle sadly lost.
In hindsight it is maybe all for the best. Next year we hope to be able to send the little boy to boarding school, thus ensuring that he gets what is needed to change his life for the better: a sound education. Perhaps it was the God of lesser beings operating in his own inimitable way! But one wonders how many children have their lives truncated because of inexplicable bureaucratic procedures and imbroglios.
