Popples a.k.a. Utpal left yesterday morning. It was heart wrenching as for the very first time after many comings and goings he was sobbing. Normally I got a Bye Maam’ji as he hopped into the car and most of the times did not look back. This time however there were tears an hour before leaving and then in the car. I was deprived of my hug and smile. I would have liked to see him go with a big smile as this is a time when my emotional bank needs to be filled to the brim as I am going through tough times and will need all  the support I can muster. A weeping child was not  what I wanted to see. It almost felt ominous and I quickly brushed the idea aside. I could not afford to go that way.

Later when I was a little calmer I tried to analyse young fellow’s behaviour and it all came to my in a flash. Utpal had spent the whole summer holidays at home and had a great time. But that was not all. I guess for the first time he felt part of the family, a new experience for this little lad whose life till recent times yo-yoed between sordid homes, midway rehab homes, boarding school, our women centre, and many others including mine. But this time he had savoured the comfort and security of a home though he is still battling with relationships, something we need to help him with. Agastya being there made the  departure harder as the last month had been filled with fun and laughter. I guess anyone would have cried his heart out. I could make peace with the tears that were far from being ominous were a sign that we were all hoping for.

Today I went to GK M Block market a favourite haunt of my two little fellows. The reason: the toy shops of course.  But I just needed to purchase some inane need. As I walked into the market I suddenly felt terribly alone. There was no one tagging along, no little hand in mine and no one calling me Nani or Maam’ji! No one dragging me to the ‘toy shop’ and no visit to the the famed toy shop(s) with demands fired at me from both end of the proverbial ‘gun’. Today I could go where I wanted, browse every shop in the market. Today I did not have to halt at the Pizza vendor and order three slices of pizza for my ever hungry big boy, or look for the missing ice cream vendor for my tiny vanilla ice cream lover. Yes I could do what I wanted except rewind the clock and savour one more of those delightful moments.

I miss you!

I was waiting for the rains
The dark clouds to gather
The skies to open
I waited and waited
Holding on to the tears I needed to shed
I wanted to take a long walk
Stomping in the rain
My face turned up to the sky
So that the tears would mingle with the raindrops
And no one would know I cried
But the clouds blew away
And the tears remained unshed
Choking my very soul
Crushing my spirit
Whilst the smile, the brave one, remained
Stuck to my face
Let us not forget
It is showtime

But how long would the tears
Remain unshed
I knew they would swell
Into a torrent
And come gushing out
Ruining the carefully scripted play
And revealing to one and all
The agony I am so painfully trying to hide

I could not wait for the rain Gods
I needed to find another outlet
To mask the tears I so needed to shed

Blissfully I found the way
The daily walk on the treadmill
And the humidity soaked air
Would provide the domino
I so desperately sought
All it would need was a little extra push
Of the ageing body
Would bring the sweat that would hide the tears

So every morning
For the time it takes to complete four kilometers
The tears spill unabashed and freely
Mingle with the sweat that conceals them so well
Providing the relief needed to carry on
Putting up a stellar show for the world to see

There are tears of regret for things of the past
Tears for the fears of things not yet come
Tears for the prayers not answered
Tears for the dreaded reality that brings you full circle
And makes you stand at a place you stood before
Holding the morrows of loved ones in your shaking hands
Knowing your words will seal the fate of all to come

And as the tears spill out ceaselessly
You find yourself in a spinning time machine
That takes you on a ride you never wished for
And all times gone by
All wounds you had thought cured
All hurts you had hoped healed
All you failures and blunders
Come back to haut you seeking answers
You know you do not have.

The flood gates are opened
There is no going back

Don’t lose faith in her were my pa’s final dying words. ‘Her’ in this occurrence is India. That was 21  years ago. I must admit it has been no easy task to keep the faith, specially as for the past 13 years I have seen its underbelly in more ways than one. One often plays the game of comparing persons to animals. In India’s case it would be loads of hyenas and vultures who feed on the helplessness, hopelessness, vulnerability and despair of others. To keep faith is not easy task and yet when you are about to give up, a cameo appears unexpectedly and brings back to your senses. This has happened to me over and over again and perhaps that is why in the midst of corruption, scandals, gimmickry and aberrations one holds on to that little glimmer of hope.

For the past month I have been going to the Temple every morning as I have taken a pledge to do so for the well being of my loved one. Every morning I get a red thread tied on my wrist by a so called priest sitting outside the sanctum sanctorum. Like all Hindu mores, this too has a series of rites prescribed for the last day when you cut all the threads. One of them is of course giving alms to the priest. Imagine my shock this morning when the said priest asked me for a mobile phone as his ‘fee’. I was surprised and outrage. Even religion had its share of hyenas and vultures. I almost swore to myself that I would stop visiting temples once for all.

But someone had other plans. As I walked back the long alley that leads to the temple I saw a mother combing the hair of her elder daughter while her two younger daughters stood by. What was striking was that all three were in their school uniforms. I could not resists asking if they went to school and the mother proudly said that they did. A simple glance at the two large plastic bags stuffed with things confirmed that I had suspected. They were beggars who lived in the Temple and slept on the long covered interspersed with a few fans. That is in fact the 5* sleeping place for beggars. The woman and her husband begged during the day but sent their three daughters to school. I asked the little girl if she went to tuition as without tuition there is scant learning in our schools. The mother proudly said that her elder one did and she paid 600 rs a month! I told them about project why and will ensure that the girls get admission as soon as possible. Just for this one could not give up on India!

But India – as represented by its rulers and administrators as well as by the likes of us – has given up on these children who have the same rights as any other child. Who will be their voice? Makes one hang our heads in shame.

But what is really striking to me about India, much more than most other countries I have been to, is the indifference of privileged sectors to the misery of others. These words are an excerpt of a recent interview Noam Chomsky gave to a leading magazine. If one[ could do a word or rather thought search of the almost 1500 blogs I have written over the least 7 years, one would find this thought echoed a zillion times!

In the very same issue of the magazine there is another interview of an eminent sociologist. The book in question is Dipankar Gupta’ s Revolution from Above. In his opinion the much needed social change can only come from above, from what he calls the ‘citizen elite’. I guess people like you and me. And empathy is the condition of social change. I can but agree. I have just purchased the book and may share further thoughts when I finish reading it.

Turning Indifference to Empathy seems to be the way to change India. But the question is how do you do this. In the Chomsky interview there is a very telling incident that I would like to quote here. It speaks volumes about how indifferent we have become. But what is really striking to me about India, much more than most other countries I have been to, is the indifference of privileged sectors to the misery of others. You walk through Delhi and cannot miss it, but people just don’t seem to see it. Everyone is talking about ‘Shining India’ and yet people are starving. I had an interesting experience with this once. I was in a car in Delhi and with me was (activist) Aruna Roy, and we were driving towards a demonstration. And I noticed that she wasn’t looking outside the window of the car. I asked her why. She said, “If you live in India, you just can’t look outside the window. Because if you do, you’d rather commit suicide. It’s too horrible. So you just don’t look.” So people don’t look, they put themselves in a bubble and then don’t see it. And those words are from somebody who has devoted her life to the lives of the poor, and you can see why she said that — the misery and the oppression are so striking, much worse than in any country I have ever seen. And it is so dramatic.

When will we garner the courage to look outside the window and not feel like committing suicide, but feel like screaming, feel like getting out of comfort zone and do something, however small. I presume that will be the day when the ‘citizen elite’ Dipankar Gupta talks about will be born. As long as we hide inside gated communities, as long as we refuse to look outside the window as we zip towards our favourite mall, as long as we continue to ‘shield’ our children from children from the other side of the divide, as long as we waste food with impunity, as long as we continue believing that India is ‘shining’ or ‘incredible’ nothing will change in this country. Children will continue to die of malnutrition @ 3 per minute. Rights like the one to education, or health or dignity will only reach the chosen few. And the divide between rich and poor will deepen by the second.

Some time back a relative conveyed to me trough the convenient  sms medium that I was  incapable of valuing relationships because I had no siblings. I blogged my hurt as writing out in the open is the best form of catharsis I know. The truth is I had a sibling, an older one. He lived for barely 48 hours and then gently flew away. And yet he was and remains an integral part of my life. He would have been 63 tomorrow. Last year, for the very first time, I felt the need to acknowledge his existence and wrote a letter to him! That letter made me realise that his little life of barely a few hours had made a huge difference to mine, and had he not died there would have been project why!Project why was started with the my parents bequeathed me; had he been around then things would have been different. I am sure he would have head a better head for finances and invested wisely. His bird brained sister simply used the capital. What came out of it is for all to see is a 13 year old project why and lots of happy smiles. So because a little life was truncated thousands of lives were bettered. Somehow I believe he is the little Angel who watches us from the Heavens. No life, however short or however wretched is in vain.

Take Manu. He lived almost 3 decades before we met on one scorching day 13 summers ago. Who would have thought that a pathetic and godforsaken soul like him could play such a huge role in making an ageing woman see her calling. Yet he did. If not for him project why may not have existed!

No life is too short, or too miserable. Every life has to be celebrated.

Today I celebrate a tiny life that made all the difference. Happy Birthday Ramesh Goburdhun!