When Manu spent his first night in his own bed in our foster care after sharing a hot meal with his roommates, I felt I had reached home after a journey that had taken almost a decade. Had I not fulfilled the silent promise I had made to myself the day I had set eyes on him as he rummaged garbage heaps for food and let out heart wrenching cries: to see him one day sleep in a clean and warm bed.
Manu took to his new life like a fish to water. The young man who had spent the better part of his life roaming streets seemed simply to the manor born. For the past year we watched with gratitude and also a tinge of satisfaction the little motley crew of the foster care get along with their day-to-day life. Nothing could have prepared us for what was lurking around the corner.
A few weeks back Manu got sick. It looked like a simple viral fever and we took him to the doctor. The fever persisted. Slowly Manu began losing weight and we were terribly worried. Last week he was diagnosed with tuberculosis. His liver and kidneys severely impaired, his haemoglobin down to 6.2. We were shattered and at a complete loss, unable to comprehend how it all happened.
We did swing into action and Manu is now under constant medical supervision but it is all touch and go. And yet I will not despair. Manu has an incredible spirit and is a survivor. I know he will fight and we will be by his side. And I want to believe that the God of Lesser Beings will once again work his magic.
Manu is so intrinsically linked to pwhy that one cannot think of one without the other. For the last ten years his smile has been the one to greet me, sometimes with a flick of his hand, at others with a hug. Even when he has been in a bad mood, I have always got my smile, even if it was a lopsided one. He was always there for me. I must admit I took his presence for granted: the proverbial good luck charm.
It is only when news of his illness reached me that I realised how much Manu meant to me. Much more than the one we got off the street and cared for, he was the one who pulled me out of my gloom and gave me a reason to carry on. When I fist met him I was rudderless and looking for an anchor. The loss of my parents had left a huge gaping hole in my spirit and for many years nothing had been able to fill it. It was when I first lay eyes on him that I found a reason to fight for. Manu had to be given his dignity back and to do so pwhy had to happen. But what Manu gave me was something I have never acknowledged till this instant and I am not talking of the kudos that have come our way. No Manu was the mirror to my own soul, the one who gave me the courage to look at myself with honesty and candor. The one who showed me what I was capable of and gave me the determination to walk the road less traveled. I could not have become who I am today if I had not met Manu.
So as I sit writing these words I realise that it is not Manu who we saved, but it was Manu who saved me. Today I reach out to all the Gods that exist and beseech them to heal Manu and bring him back to health. He is a true child of God and God cannot forsake one who has never done any wrong.
Some months ago our dear friend Sabrina shared a project she had in mind. She wanted to write a song and record it with the pwhy children. What was special about the song was that she wanted the lyrics to be written by the children and based on their dreams and wishes. It seemed wonderful but I must admit I was little nervous. Sabrina and Chris came in February. There were workshops and rehearsals, and even a recording in a studio. They left with images and sound tapes and leaving me even more anxious. This morning I got a mail and a link to the song. I was simply floored.
The song is beautiful but what is touching are the lyrics, yes the ones based on the dreams of my children. So what do they dream of you may ask? Simple things: flowers and trees, no fighting but peace, schools and universities, play grounds with a swing and clean water, to be a dancer or simply to read, new shoes, a doll and a gift for their mom!
Take a minute and listen to the song. Look at the beaming faces and the trusting eyes and ask yourself a simple question: are these children asking for anything more than what should be rightfully theirs? Are these simple wishes not something we could and should make theirs?
Once upon a time in a big city a little boy was born. His parents belonged to different faiths and both had their own families that they could not or did not want to leave. They both also had a little boy eachfrom marriages they had not really wanted. They met, fell in love and as is often the case gave life to a child they could not really tend to or care for. Like many others the little boy was brought into the world for all the wrong reasons. No one ever thought of a life map for him or cared about his future. He was just two weeks old when he landed quite inadvertently into the arms of a bunch of people and crawled into their hearts. They decided to build him a future, one that would be safe and secure.
He learnt to smile, to hold his head, to sit up and to crawl under the watchful eyes of caring strangers. As the story of his life enfolded, the hopelessness of his existence became a stark reality. In a land where the right labels were mandatory his were lopsided and flawed. He had no caste, nor creed. He did not even have a proper father. The caretakers who had taken on the challenge of crafting him a solid morrow felt that perhaps his chances would be better if he could fly to another land with new parents.
Luck seemed to be with him as a seemingly kind couple reached out to him. The tedious process of what is called adoption was set in motion. As adults began playing the complex game of adoption, the little boy’s life was filled with joy and hope. Wonderful gifts, smart clothes, outings to fancy places and scrumptious treats cames his way. He turned one, and then two and three. His life was almost picture perfect and he enjoyed it oblivious of the drama being played. Yes there were a few days spent in ugly buildings called courts but the new mama and papa were always there to buy him an extra treat.
Then one day everyone seemed to be jumping with joy as the big people had decided that he could be adopted and even the grim court seemed happy that day. Everyone thought that it was only a matter of days, perhaps weeks and the little boy would fly away. But then a phone call and news that another little boy had been found for the couple in their own land and the new papa and mama had to fly away to complete another adoption game. But they promised to come back for the little boy. Months went by, and then a whole year. The little boy was four. He still showed off his now faded tshirt and said it was his other mama that gave it to him. The paper work seemed endless and the wait unending. The new papa and mama stopped calling and then one day a call informed his real mama that they were giving up and did not want the little boy anymore. They did not even want to be part of his life at all. The game had ended and the little boy had lost! All he had left were a few faded and hazy pictures, some broken toys and some hazy memories of the mama and papa who spoke in a funny way.
This is not a story. The little boy exists and is in our creche. We are all stunned by the news. We can understand that sometimes administrations and laws are callous and complex and do not go he way we would like them to. But what has really shocked us and hurt us is the fact that the people who once wanted this child and were willing to give him the world and more did not want to have anything to do with him.
I am not normally in favour of adoption. In this case I relented as the little boy’s situation was terrible and that he would have to live with too many shadows in a society that could be cruel to children with his kind of past. Somehow it felt right to have him grow in a land where he could run his race without handicaps. I had been concerned about the complexity of the legal battle and scared of its outcome. I had even suggested to the adoptive parents that were things not to go the right way, they should at least ensure that the child gets a sound education as that could be his key to freedom. I had feared that perhaps things would not turn our way but never had I imagined that the very people who had once wanted him with passion would not only turn away but leave the child high and dry. How can anyone be so callous or heartless. I guess the God of lesser beings saw through them and decided to make a course correction in time.
The little boy will next year join the five little pwhy children in boarding school. Till then he will remain under our care, safe, secure and truly loved.
No adult should ever be allowed to play with a child’s life. This is the worse case of child abuse!
Where will it all end are the words that came to my mind as I watched the two little slumdog kids walk the ramp for a famous designer duo. I had just recovered from the news that the same children would now be used by the ruling party to campaign for them!
Let us stop a moment and gather our thoughts. We are just about recovering from the dastardly news about a father raping his two daughters to better his business prospect and the sad but of indubitable reality that child abuse is a stark reality and as supposedly concerned citizens and sensitive human beings we are outraged. Now as the same supposedly concerned citizens and sensitive human beings what should our reaction be in the face of kids walking ramps and raising slogans? Many have reacted to the news and rightly so. One such comment is: my fear is that these kids would be taken advantage of, & then thrown away when they won’t be needed any longer! This world can be really brutal! This probably sums it all up.
Are we not witnessing an insidious forms of child abuse, one that is so well packaged that it becomes acceptable and even laudable. The designer in question said making the young kids walk the ramp was an endeavour to bridge the gap between the glamorous and theunglamorous, the rich and the poor. The politicians too have their answers ready to be lobbed at the right time. Stop! I am ready to throw up! Enough is enough.
I guess I have acquired the right to voice my opinion. For the past 10 years now I have been trying to bridge the gap between the rich and the poor. For the past ten years I have toiled to get the glamorous to reach out to the unglamorous. And for the past ten years I have banged my head against impregnable walls. True I did not have any glamour to barter: no Oscar winning movie or acclaimed achievement. I simply had innumerable slumpups with incredible potential. I simply had many simple scripts that would help them realise their dreams. The most ambitious one was to give a handful of these kids a real future: a sound and upmarket education. What I got when I asked for help was a harsh rap on my knuckles: one was not supposed to dare disturb the existing social pattern. We did and today four little kids have begun their journey to glory and we are really proud of it.
But coming back to ramps and election campaigns, what we seem to be witnessing is another kind of child abuse, and my heart goes out to these two little slum kids who are being used and abused to perpetrate selfish agendas. If anyone, be it the glam designers or the famed politicians, truly held their interest at heart, the children should have been quietly sent to a good school and not flaunted like circus animals. If mileage had to be sought, then it could have been done in a discreet manner, after the children where happily settled and on their way to fulfilling their destiny.
It kind of trails off after the holidays. We would love to keep the issue in the front of everyone and that child abuse happens all year long. Abuse doesn’t take a holiday, doesn’t take a day off, and we can’t either. (Jane Donovan)
The it referred to in the quote is child abuse.
It was in the news again yesterday in abundance: a father raping his daughter for 9 years with the tacit consent of the mother because a voodoo man told him to do so, a bunch of caretakers raping their visually and hearing impaired and mentally challenged wards, an thousands of miles a way another father simply getting 15 years of prison for the heinous crime committed against his won child. One again we were treated or should I say subjected to an array of debates of discussions about a range of issues. The whole drama seemed stale and played out, something we had heard over and over again each time a crime of this kind was perpetrated. Remember the Ghaziabad Girls?
We were the whistle blowers then. Sadly nothing much happened: the tormentor, a so called holy man walks free (he is on bail) and the little girls live in different poorly run homes lonely and lost. Every effort we made to try and see them to give them some much needed healing failed as we knocked helplessly on the heartless door of an insensitive administration.
Child abuse does not take a day off, it simply continues to cast its shadow for the length of many lifetimes. And we watch mute and helpless for reasons that are nothing short of unacceptable. Just like the mother of the young girl too scared to go against her husband or too mesmerised by the so called holy men who lurk at every corner looking for prey. Or simply because we feel unconcerned.
Abused children, specially challenged ones, are not vote banks and hence not interesting to our law makers and protectors. The stories makes good TRPs and award material. We all feel outraged for the day till some new story takes over and we forget the abused children. We hang our heads in shame, but is that enough. Is there not something more we need to do.
In my last post I wrote that every Every new born child is a message from God that he has not lost faith in man. Perhaps it is more than that. The innocent and trustful eyes of the child urge us to look deep within ourselves and find the courage and determination to be worthy of the man God has not lost faith in.
When Manu spent his first night in his own bed in our foster care after sharing a hot meal with his roommates, I felt I had reached home after a journey that had taken almost a decade. Had I not fulfilled the silent promise I had made to myself the day I had set eyes on him as he rummaged garbage heaps for food and let out heart wrenching cries: to see him one day sleep in a clean and warm bed.
