by Anuradha Bakshi | Dec 8, 2007 | Uncategorized
Yesterday a leading TV channel called asking whether they could film lunchtime at pwhy! This was for a segment in a daily lunchtime programme that highlights the lunch hour in different parts of the city. I guess someone decided that it would be good copy to go and peep at the other side of the fence: the slum kids.
Now at pwhy the only kids who stay the full day are the special ones and they are the ones who have lunch. So I told the young ebullient reporter that we would love to have them come by and share a meal with our special bacchas! Though we were on talking on the phone, I could sense the moment of hesitation and ensuing awkwardness. I could imagine the million unformulated questions that were crowding his mind as sadly one knows what images the word special or disabled or even handicapped – however politically incorrect – conjure in people’s mind. But I was not the one to give up.
After a mumbled I will get back to you the phone went dead. Shamika who is a very possessive mother figure to her brood of 20, was up in arms but I held on and redialled the number as I remembered that Saturday was cooking day at the special section and delectable aloo paranthas were on the menu. I also told the reporter that these children were just like other kids and though they may not have the same way of communicating as us, they were totally able to express their feelings. Less than a month back they had hosted a group of special children from France and shared a great meal with them!
There was another I need to check with my producer and will get back to you but blissfully some time later a confirmation call came and our bacchas will hopefully be part of that programme.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Dec 6, 2007 | women centre
Today is a very special day at the women centre as Utpal’s mom is coming back home! It is true that for a brief instant in the heat of the moment and the haste to succeed one had allowed one’s self to fleetingly forget the reason of our existence: giving women a second chance.
Today as Jhunnu makes her way home we all can redeem ourselves.
It has been a long ride home for this diminutive woman as she moved from place to place for long years nursing an ailment no one understood, but one that was slowly gnawing at her very soul. She battled her undiagnosed disease as best she could even at times when everyone turned against her. But her spirit never gave up.
Even why failed to recognise what truly debilitated her and spent two years treating the symptoms. It is only a few weeks back that the penny dropped.
This morning Sophie, a young nurse from France who is at present living at the women centre, decided to take a staff meeting and explain to all concerned what bipolar disorder was, as she felt that unless everyone understood the nature of the ailment, Jhunnu’s recovery would not be possible. As she described the signs and symptoms and stressed upon the fact that they were involuntary we all realised the pain and suffering that she had gone through.
As I listened on, I became aware of another fact that many of us may have overlooked: Jhunnu had no home but the women centre and no family but the motley crew that sat on the cold floor listening to Sophie. At that moment Christian Morgenstern’s words Home is not where you live, but where they understand you rang terribly true.
It was now for each one of us to make sure that this was truly home for one who had suffered too long and whose beautiful son waited patiently for a healed mother.
Welcome home Jhunnu!
by Anuradha Bakshi | Dec 3, 2007 | common school, utpal
Sunday December 2nd dawned as just another day for many. For a bunch of us it promised to be a special day but none of us could have imagined what it was to be.
At 9.30 am a tempo traveller reached our doorstep to take us to Utpal’s school. Us today was quite a party: there was Kim and Fen who had made a huge detour to come and spend a day with us, Barbara, our lovely senior volunteer who adopted us, Sophie our young volunteer who just came by, and of course our die hards Utpal supporters: Dharmendra, Amit, Kiran and maamji!
At 10. 20 am, we had a rendez vous with our sunshine man and his lovely family who joined the party. A few minutes later we entered the gates of Utpal’s school. My thoughts went back to the time when I had been asked by the school authorities whether someone would attend the monthly PTMs. I knew I would be there – God willing- but never imagined what Utpal’s parents would turn out to be!
Of the many incredible tings that have happened at project why, I feel that utpal’s story eptomises the essence and spirit of project why. This wondrous child has walked into so many hearts and proved beyond doubt that everything is possible if you just learn to look with your heart.
What we did that day would perhaps seem mundane to some: visited the school, watched children play, ambled in the winter sun, drove to a neighborhood market, ate pizza at a mediocre fast food joint, bought a woollen beanie cap, captured some moments on camera… This is how the day seemed when you looked just with your eyes and as my friend the fox from the Little Prince would say you would have missed out the essential.
But if we looked with our heart than the day became different. The tone was set at first by the protagonists of the moment who should not have been together as what do an emiment journalist, a famous photographer, a slum kid, a retired civil servant, a young professional. a business man, a french nurse and an ageing lady have in common. And why should they chose to spend a Sunday attending a PTM! It almost seemed as if St Exupery’s tale had come to life in its XXIst century version with its own little prince who strutted with a swagger as he set upon making each one of us rediscover things his way.
The day was filled with Kodak moments that beat any description. Utpal showed us his new antics as he rolled in the grass and ran up the slide and sashayed across the school. He then had a serious lesson in photography with Fen as he discovered the magic of a profesional camera that he handled with a confidence beyond his years. The mediocre fast food became a gourmet meal and the beanie cap a shopping spree. And the ride in the traveler a magic carpet ride.
When it was time to leave, only I could see the fleeting twitch of sadness in his beautiful eyes as he waved us bye bye. As we drove back in silence, my heart was overflowing with gratitude for all that I had been blessed simply because a little child had walked into my arid heart and allowed it to bloom again.
You can share some of those special moments here
by Anuradha Bakshi | Nov 29, 2007 | women centre
It is a a man’s world and even we women sometimes start believing this biased sexist view of life. Utpal’s mom is still in the psychiatric ward of a hospital and though she is better and fit to go home – read women’s centre – we have been dilly dallying about the date of her return. The reason: a medley of misconceptions, half baked truths, misguided rumblings that occurred after her departure. A typical reaction of male oriented society that revels in demeaning any woman who has slipped or just behaved in an atypical manner.
Utpal’s mom was deeply disturbed and ill. She needed compassion and understanding. But everyone decided otherwise walking what they thought was the high moral ground. And even I for an instant found myself nodding at what was being said.
Later that night, when I sat with myself as I normally do reviewing the day gone by,I realised what I had done and must confess that I was not proud of what I saw. How could I have sat silently and not reacted. But then it is a man’s world…
When I set out to create the women centre, it was to enable women who had a past to rebuild their lives. It was to reunite a mother and a child, it was to defend women who had been wronged. I knew that I had to fight tooth and nail and see that she returns home as I more than anyone else knew who she truly was.
The next morning my stand was vindicated when a mail from a volunteer – a male – vindicated what I felt. It said: The latter ( Jhunnu) is a petite lady who has never-ending energy, but who has to suppress her regular mood swings due to alcoholism in the past with medicine. It has always been my wish that Utpal returns to his mother’s side as soon as possible, and this desire simply grew when I witnessed the exemplification of life’s vigor in her. I knew truly that this was not sympathy, but exhilaration at the strength demonstrated against the heartlessness of fate. May we all live to experience the joyous celebration of reunion between mother and child.
How could I even for an instant forget that reunion. It all began almost 2 years ago when J was admitted into a rehab centre. it is true that the journey has not been a bed of roses, and that there have many ups and downs, many challenges, many dark moments but there have also been many glorious moments when for brief instants the Utpal found the arms of his mom and each one made us believe that we would reach our final destination.
Utpal has not broken a single rule and I more than anyone else owe it to him to meet every challenge that comes my way head on and with determination. I beat myself for having slipped for that tiny moment and wonder what made me do do. Was it the fear of social acceptance. Or was it the fright of seeing my work undone. Or was it old age catching up. Where was the woman who had written a passionate post entitled she stood alone in march 2004 and that read:
An incident occured today. Strange or prophetic that it should concern a woman. We had been wanting to shift Utpal’s family from the area they lived for a long time. Both parents drink and the surroundings were conducive to their weakness. I have never sat in judgement as I believe that each one of us has something we are not always proud of It is also true that circumstances play a large part in such matters. But anyway I felt that the family would have better chances close to us.
We found them a little room near my office and I thought that matters were settled.
However society is far more cruel than I could have imagined and when they reached the new place with their luggage, many women started abusing Jhunu saying that they did not want their neighborhood sullied. I was called and my heart went out to this poor woman, standing quietly next to her bags, in total silence. What is it that makes us act in such a manner?
I just stood by her, and held her and let my silence convey what I felt. Soon, someone came and told me they had found a new place in an adjacent slum we all helped them move and stayed with the little family for a long time. I remembered Mary Magdalene…
As I lay awake, late that night, I had just one thought in mind: to make Jhunu independent and have her learn a skill that would give her back a rightful place in society.
How could I have forgotten that the idea women centre actually took seed on that very day and that its very basis was to stand by any woman shunned by the rest of the world. I would rather think of this as being a sign that helps us chart our course of action for the future and makes us aware of the challenges that await us. So help me God!
This is a man’s world as the James Brown song says but how can we forget the next lines of the same song But it wouldn’t be nothing, nothing without a woman or …. a child.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Nov 29, 2007 | Uncategorized
Today is November 29th.
Exactly 15 years ago papa left this world leaving behind a huge hole that nothing could fill for many years.
Seven years ago project why began its first hesitant spoken English Class in a tiny shack with 20 eager eyed kids and I instinctively knew that the emptiness that had been gnawing at me for so many years was slowly going to be filled.
Ram taught me many things. From absolute surrender to a greater force, to unwavering faith in the destiny of India; from the delights of life king size to the undiluted joy of sharing a humble meal, from erudite books of diverse culture to the soothing lilt of a bhojpuri lullaby. But the greatest lesson I still think he gave me was a the answer to a simple question I had asked as a child: where do I find God. His answer was simply: in the eyes of the poorest, most deprived child.
When I look back at the last seven years I feel blessed and overwhelmed. To many pwhy may look like any other organisation that dot the planet in a world where charity has become a lucrative business. But that is not quite the case. Pwhy is and has been a deep seated journey that had to be undertaken to give meaning and substance to the greatest gift we are all endowed with: life! To many again it may seem haphazard and undefined albeit rudderless particularly in a world where everything has to have a mission, a goal, a structure and is then evaluated by statistics and returns. If one were to adopt this canon than pwhy would fail miserably one many accounts as it often defies all logic. I must confess that at times I too have had difficulties in explaining what and who we are.
But this morning, almost ominously a volunteer who had spent a month with us this summer shared some the entries of his journal. As I read an account of pwhy through other eyes I realised the essence of what it truly was:
A little boy started crying after his father left him at school. Seeing this, Komal (age one) went over and tried to wipe the boy’s tears with her hands. When that didn’t work, she began patting the boy’s head like a big sister. The comforting went on for 15minutes, but the boy didn’t stop. At last, Komal sat beside him and started crying with him. That did wonders – the boy stopped crying,and Komal dried her tears too. That brought a sense of warmth to my stale heart, and a smile that was truly radiated from within. Komal’s bright eyes filled with curiosity and innocence made me realize what I was missing out in these past 2 weeks.
I had come to India in the hope of finding spiritual inspiration and perhaps even enlightenment, yet all I experienced was a dead soul amidst the daily buzz and “cultural immersion”. In reality, God has been everywhere around, in the winds of the morning, the rustle of the leaves, the colourfulsarees, the buffalos on the streets, the crows and pigeons, the partying flies, the filth of the slums, the stares of the locals, and most importantly, the laughter and tears of all the children I have come across. In trying to do “something constructive” and paying too much focus on the language barrier, I’ve neglected the fact that baby angels are valued for their purity (even innocent evil), and teachers appreciate it when I push on with them everyday in the hot and stuffy room when the electricity gets cut, drowning in my own sweat without any complaints.
For a moment it felt like I was the protagonist in Tagore’s Gitanjali– the one who sought Him but couldn’t find him anywhere, and eventually found it in the workers and the stone cutters. India’s poetic appeal – and perhaps its spirituality- is that beauty in the ugliest or most trivial of reality, under the harshest circumstances.
These simple words coming from the heart of a young sensitive man showed me what pwhy really truly was and filled my heart with peace and joy as I knew that I could finally give up my half hearted attempts at trying to fit it in restrictive boxes and allow it to flow freely. Just like a river it would take the shape of the land it crossed till it reached its final destination and merged in a greater entity.
And I also knew that the huge hole that had crept into my heart when Ram left had been finally truly filled. A wonderful gift Ram gave me before he left this world.
