I’m not proud of it, but I cannot deny it: I’m angry at God!

I wrote these words 4 days ago when I heard that Utpal’s mom had reappeared. But then for some strange almost eerie reason, my fingers froze and I just could not add a single word. And though the anger still simmered in my had, I could hear a soft almost ethereal voice whispering what is best called my father’s mantra: the big picture, the big picture. I just switched off my computer and walked away. I needed to take a pause and take another look at the situation which had made me utter blasphemous words. I am glad I did. But I must confess not before I had sent out some seething mails!

Need to put all this in context for those reading this blog. On Friday last, as Dharmendra and I were coming back from the hospital after leaving Ranjan with his best friend in the chemo day care, Dharmendra got a call. I could see from his face that it was unexpected news, and not a pleasant one. And I was right. The Damocles sword that had been hanging on our heads for almost 4 years now, and indirectly on Popple’s head though he did not quite realise it had fallen. Utpal’s mother was back from the boondocks she had vanished to. In that split moment I was assailed by zillion questions needing answers I did not have and felt my anger rising as I asked myself why and how much more would this child have to suffer. What kind of God in the heavens scripted such unfair and hurtful lives where children were hurt time and agin and in every way possible.

Utpal is going through a very difficult time. When he needed his mother most she vanished. I cannot begin to make you understand the pain of a 7 year old who wonders why his mom has gone AWOL, and the total helplessness of the one who had to find the right words to answer questions without lying or fabricating a story that would make it easier for the child. I can never forget the innumerable times when the little lad floored me with one liners that broke my heart. You know why I eat so many biscuits he would say when I checked him on his gargantuan ability of gobbling down biscuits, it is because my mother always bought me biscuits!

When he did not get the answers he wanted, Utpal had a meltdown. It took us a long time to I would not say heal, but I guess the word would be mend or soothe his pain with the help of a child psychiatrist, regular counselling and medication, laced with as much love as one could give, to make him better. Then when we thought that things were finally getting back on course, he revealed to his counsellor how much he was being bullied by his peers in school because of his scars. In spite of several interventions with the school authorities, we decided that he needed a change of school as the enabling environment he needed to bloom was not possible in these conditions.

Miraculously we found a new school and were in the process of getting admission when this news blew us all of our shaky feet. Utpal will not be able to deal with the reappearance of his mom at this moment of his life, and more so because we knew that with her alcoholic ways and bipolar disorder she may just vanish again. Just imagine what would happened to the child.

Utpal’s mom is a very unstable person. True she has had an abusive life. But in many ways she is a very selfish person, almost childlike. She is what we call spaced out, batty! I could have bet my bottom dollar that her turning up out of the blue had nothing to do with maternal love, though knowing her, she is a great actress and would/will put up a great show when he meets he son next.

I am never one to separate a child from his mother. I did not want it for Utpal. For about five years we tried every trick in the book to stabilise her and give her a second chance in life. She was admitted in psychiatric care, went through many rehab programmes, spent almost a year in residential care. We set up our residential women centre primarily so that she could have a job and a place to stay where she would be safe and cared for. That would also be the place her son could spend his holidays with her. But she blew it all. Her Nemesis was/is? the man she ran away from leaving her daughter from her first husband behind. She had two children who died of neglect and then came Utpal. He too would have succumbed to his burns had we not been there to take care of him.

When her psychiatric suggested we help her set up home with her ‘husband’ we did, sparing no cost. They drank all the money and tools! They felt that because of Utpal they could extort anything they wanted. It was pure hell. That is when we approached the Child Welfare Committee and I got his guardianship. Realising that the hen that laid golden eggs was dead, they vanished.

I am willing to bet not only by proverbial bottom dollar but even my last shirt, that she had come back with a plan and not because of her child. Let us not forget that she did not make a single call since March 2010 to enquire about the well being of her son. So I did not fall of my chair when she announced quite merrily to one and wall that she was getting married and she wanted help to open a small cigarette shop! She would be willing to perform all the melodramas needed to get what she wants!

For some time I was mad, and hence the first lines of this blog, but then the big picture theory took over and I began counting my blessings. This time we are not alone, we have the law on our side. This is the time to get rid of the Damocles sword once for all. I wrote a letter to the CWC explaining the situation. As luck would have it most of the bench was present and free so I could discuss the case with them. It was time we found a permanent solution. I presented the case to the best of my ability and told them that Utpal is in no emotional state to meet his mom at this time as he as his emotional immunity was very low and he had to settle in a new school.

The Chairperson, a wonderful lady, gave me a patient hearing. I told her about Utpal of course but also about the possibility of further blackmail by the mother. She has asked to meet Utpal’s counsellor before she decides whether or not he should meet his mom at this time or later. She also added that any meeting will the at the CWC under the supervision of a social worker. She has also summoned the mother and will tell her that asking any monetary or other help from the people/organisation who look after her son is akin to child trafficking!

The convocation is tomorrow. In Scarlett O’ Hara’s words: Tomorrow is another day!

For the past months now I have been on a kind of sabbatical, one I did not really ask for and definitely did not want. Ranjan’s cancer has altered my life in more ways than one, some for the better, some for the worst but all in the game I guess as life’s journey is not always what we would wish for. Anyway one of the downsides is the fact that I am not as present as I would like to be for project why. I guess I could find the time if I did not have to battle my own demons and need to have a new kind of parallel personal life to the one that has made me into a poor ersatz of Florie Nightingale! But I do get my glimpses into my dear project, albeit indirectly and surreptitiously. It could be a picture I am asked to download or bribes of a conversation when my core team drops in. So this post is dedicated to the children of project why and their incredible spirit.

It is Diwali soon and as every year my very special kids are painting their diyas. This is one of their ways of earning a little money and celebrating Diwali together. To many of you the diyas in this picture may look shoddy but when I tell you that they have been painted by children who have a wide range of disabilities where some can barely hold still, let alone hold a paint brush without shaking, they take on a whole new dimension. These diyas are lamps of hope and love. Each one is painstakingly crafted by our kids in the expectation that they would all be bought. For them this is a matter of being recognised and accepted by the very people who think of them as hopeless. They are heart broken when no orders came by. I guess everybody does not see with his/her heart!

But believe me these diyas are special as they come to you from the heart of those that people have shunned but who are the children of a very special God. The one you see in this picture was made by Manu for me the Diwali before he left us. Manu was the quintessential example of the reality that no life is worthless, and every life a gift of God. Had we not met, there would have been no project why. His wretched existence was what stirred a soul I had thought dead after the demise of my parents. I guess it had just frozen, waiting for a tear to kick back to life. For a moment, after his death, I was ready to give up but then I realised that the only way to honour him was to ensure that the show goes on, in homage to this saintly soul. I am so happy to see that once again diyas are being painted just as they were when Manu was around. I hope those of you in Delhi will see with your heart and order a few. I promise they come with the magic of making dreams come true.

TO ORDER PLEASE CALL SHAMIKA 9899134340 OE EMAIL US AT: projectwhy@ymail.com

A child is God’s opinion that the world should go on wrote Carl Sandburg. The highlight of my day is the few minutes we Skype with Agastya my grandson and the days we don’t are not ‘nice’! We have been Skyping since the day he was born when just seeing him sleeping in his mother’s arms was enough to make the old fuddy- duddies (read nani and nanou) was enough make our day. Then smiles were added on, gurgles, nonsensical words and finally coherent phrases. Now our little fellow has turned four an a half and has his own takes, some very profound on the world and life. The lad has been in New Orleans for the past 4 days and we have not seen as much as we would have liked of him but he has appeared a few times and delighted us in is inimitable ways. Now our little chap is a great globetrotter and has seen more places than one could imagine so his concept of countries and cities are quite clear. He has also learnt many languages and at some point decided to speak like Elmer Fudd.

His opening lines when we connect are often: how are you guys in India? Is everything good there? and we respond with Good and how is Paris, St Louis, London  depending on where he is at that precise moment. And the conversation goes on. Last time we connected we asked him which place did he like most and pat came the answer: I like all countries and cities I go to. We were speechless. Though these words may be taken lightly, tome they were profound and touching. Here was a child that saw beyond colours, races, languages and all that divides. Maybe there is a lesson in these simple words for all of us and a true vindication of Sandburg’s words: A child is God’s opinion that the world should go on!

Need I say more?

Recently a staff member’s parents fell ill. This staff member has been with me for many years and over these years she and her family have moved up the social ladder slowly but steadily and are now what one would call a lower middle class family. They still live in the same ‘house’, but this house has been spruced up and extended. The children attend a good public school and the family’s life has changed in more ways than one be it the food they eat or the clothes they wear. I think their wardrobe is larger than mine! Gadgets have found their way in the home and from survival mode they have moved on to urban living mode and are empowered.

When you move up the social ladder you feel compelled to give up certain things that you had accepted for long and that is medical facilities. 10 years back they went to the local quacks when they were ill or doctors who are not really doctors but glorified compounders. There is even one whose boards states that he was trained in Vienna! When your were truly unwell, then you strutted to the closest government hospital.  Strangely or perhaps this is part of the social mobility, the first thing they lose faith in  are state run hospitals, even the ones I would prefer if I had the right contact, and rush to private hospitals that are expensive and with poor medical ethics if any. In this case they shelled out more than 100 000 rupees for the both parents! They did not have any medical insurance.

But let us talk about this new kid on the block: medical insurance! If you pause and think you will realise that  medical insurance covers only hospital stay. Now I cannot state a figure but based on my life I thing we as a family have not been admitted for more than 30 days in the last 40 years in a hospital. Papa, being a Freemason, went to their clinic for his tests and spent 9 days in hospital for his cancer surgery. Mama never went to hospitals and anyway in those time there were very few private hospitals and nursing homes. Having a dear friend in AIIMS, my parents had access to the best. Papa being a government servant could have used the Wellington hospital but never did. This was in the seventies and eighties. I spent 10 days in hospital for the delivery of my two girls. So the need of hospitalisation is very minute. But what we spend on are doctor’s visits, occasional blood tests and other medical investigations and medicines. And as we all know this is a substantial amount. Every visit to the doctor plus medicines cost a bomb that no insurance pays.

So who does this great new private insurance truly benefit! Certainly not the patient. Private insurances benefit the big medical business and fraternity. Have you seen how many new fancy hospitals are mushrooming each and every day! I am astounded! Once you cross the threshold of any of these fancy portals, you are drawn into an infernal spiral. Now let us do some maths! let us say you have a 600 000 insurance cover that you pay 15 000 rs per year and you never get hospitalised, then it is sound business! I wonder what the percentage is! Should you get admitted then everything is done to hold on to you and inflate the bill. My cousin brother was according to me DOA after a huge heat attack but was kept ‘alive’ and multiple surgeries performed on him. He was declared dead the next morning and strangely the bill handed to us was very close to his insurance cover. There was a client who would not get back so let us make the max we can!

So medical insurances cover only hospital stay. That is how it goes. I am sure more doctors are recommending hospitalisation! But today I could not repress a smile when I read a news headline: Insurers in spot as medical advances push up treatment costs! The once quite lucrative business seemed to be taking a beating as new and expensive techniques were available and as the patient did not pay from his pocket he sought the best provided it fell within his insurance. If I am insured for 6 lacs, then why should I take the 70 000 option, I will go for the 3 lac one! But as is said in the article, the insurers are now plotting ways to limit their costs. As I said it is all a matter of making money, who cares about the patient!

Kalki Koechlin’s video as gone viral! The purpose of this clip is a response to the jaded and sated explanation given after every rape: “Every sexual assault case in India inspires a string of stupid and hateful remarks against women. This is our response to those remarks”. It is worth watching and also pondering about our own guilt if any. Open magazine takes us to another level when it shares in a article entitle Misogyny, Rape and Medicine, the terrible and unacceptable that rape is treated by the very ones who should heal all scars. The author is a doctor and she recounts the horror she witnessed when a child rape victim was brought to the hospital she worked in. I quote her words. They are chilling:

That morning I had been urgently summoned by a senior colleague. Her cheeks were flushed. Her eyes were shining.
“Come on! There’s a rape case, it’s really exciting!”
I followed her into the ward. A crowd ringed a cot on which, cowering in misery, and pulling her blood-stained frock down tight over her crossed ankles, was a child about the same age as my colleague’s daughter.
The other doctors who surrounded the cot were men. They were chuckling over a joke. The rapist had bitten the child’s face in his frenzy, leaving a gaping hole in one cheek through which her teeth showed. The joke that had the doctors in splits was about that gash.
Once the child’s frock was off, there were other, broader, jokes. They bet on the likely positions the rapist had taken. They rolled her over and inspected her like a piece of meat.

Will hanging a few rapists take care of mindsets? I really do not think so… It will be another come on! they are hanging the rapists, it’s really exciting!