I miss reading your blogs!

I miss reading your blogs!

by | Apr 15, 2013 | Uncategorized

I miss reading your blogs! I hope you find whatever it is that you are missing very soon.  Writing is who you are 🙂 are the words that greeted me this morning in an email sent by someone very dear to me! It is true that I have been suffering from a bad bout of writer’s block for the past more than few weeks. I have been conscious of this fact and imputed it to my deep concern about a dear one’s health. Sure it has taken a lot of my time but in no way all of it. The remaining time is spent procrastinating and worrying. Every morning I promise to myself that I will pick up my virtual pen, but then the day goes by and the promise fades in a flurry of delaying tactics. It has been going on for far too long as blogs lie unfinished and even work remains incomplete.

My lovely child’s words were a true Epiphany! Writing is who you are she says and she has hit the nail on its head. For the past weeks I had been dealing with my worries by exercising regularly, eating healthy, resting, meditating and so on. And in spite of all this I was not getting active or inspired. Far from that looks now in hindsight that I was wallowing in some kind of self pity. Or simply sinking into a depressive state. What I did not realise is that the panacea to all my ills was, is and will be writing. How could I have forgotten that.

Dear Popples did get written at a time when I was at a very low ebb. Writing lifted the clouds in a jiffy. Since regular writing has kept the blues away till I again encountered a rough patch and simply forgot my wonder drug.

Writing is truly who I am, because writing allows me to share my inner most thoughts, my joy and my pain, my anger and exasperation as well my moments of success and failures. Once they are out there for all to see my happiness increases many fold and my pain gets greatly reduced. It cannot be true that nothing of value has occurred in the past weeks. It is just that I misplaced my ability to look with my heart. It is time that I do just that and hope it has the required effect.


Last week was my 61st and though nothing great was planned at home, how could I forget the wonderful birthday my project family had organised for me. It must admit sheepishly that as I have been doing for some time now, I was ready to head home after my morning tea at Rani’s. I was a tad irritated when Shamika bullied me into climbing the two flight of stairs to the office. As I stepped into the small open space I was greeted by flowers, and the smiles of my team and a lovely cake. It was a lovely moment and most unexpected. But that was not all. The daughter had to do some more bullying to convince to come to her class at noon. I acceded to the request as the special children hold a very special place in my heart. I climbed the three flight of stairs panting and was told that I needed to climb one more and reach the terrace. To my utmost delight the special kids had prepared a succulent meal for me and there were more flowers and streamers. Made me
feel on top of the world but the very special moment that brought  tears to my eyes was when Radha walked towards me in her own inimitable way and handed be the birthday card the special children had made just for me. What truly made my day was the smile she gave me as Radha’s smiles have been rare these days. This was the most perfect gift. The lunch was delectable as it has been made with so much love and care. I could not have wished for a better birthday. But there was more in store as Shamika had prepared a special dinner at home just for us with all my favourite things. And there yet another cake and candles to be blown.



I continued looking again at the past days with my heart. There was so much I had missed. How could I not have jumped in joy at the fortnight Popples spend at home as they was so much to celebrate. His belated birthday and his rite of passage from primary to secondary school. And more than anything else the fact that he had suddenly become a little man. Gone were the tantrums and mood swings. He was a pleasure to have around. All the years of worry and angst vanished in a jiffy. God and I had not had the sagacity to savour all this. This is what happens when you forget to look with your heart. And what was most heartwarming was the fact that Kiran and Popples bonded as best friends once again, just as they were when they were tiny tots.

And there is more. Our children proved again that they were to the manor born as they danced their way into the hearts of hundreds of guests in a 5* Hotel without batting and eyelid. They acted as true professionals and made us very proud. And that was not all, all the children passed their examinations and got promoted to the next class. How could I have let all this pass by!

Today I fee alive once again after a long time. I feel blessed for having so much love and affection and such a big family. I do not have the right to feel gloomy. Problems happen. Personal ones too. They just need to be addressed with hope. What if I were to tell you that I have just come back from a visit to the eye doctor and been told that I would need an operation as I have cataracts in both eyes. I am glad this happened after I received the mail that reminded me that writing was the sovereign remedy to all my a ills and that the essential was to always remember to look with one’s heart. And my way of doing so is by writing.

Food for thought… soup kicthens

Food for thought… soup kicthens

by | Apr 9, 2013 | Uncategorized

I have finished reading Ash in the Belly! It was an eye opener in more ways than one! It validated many notions that were quite nebulous. But what is more important, it gave a human face to  the very notions that were till then more academic than anything else. I have been writing about malnutrition and hunger for quite some time. But before Ash in the Belly, my writings were conjectural. True I quoted statistics of children dying but the pain and anguish of a moribund malnourished child, or the agony and despair of its mother were far removed. The true stories narrated by Harsh Mander have put an end to that supposed comfort. From now on a hungry child is no more an abstract notion but conjures the image of a woman foraging a rat’s burrow or cow dung to seek a few grains that could quell the hunger pangs of her baby. I agree with the author when he says that every child who dies of hunger is an act or murder not only by the State but by each one of us who leave a grain of rice on our plates, throw a half eaten roti or waste any kind of food.
Hunger in a land of plenty is a true statement. From grain rotting in the open, to food wasted at weddings, parties and in homes, each act is nothing short of criminal, a crime that we carry on with impunity, perhaps because none of us has truly felt a hunger pang, the kind that robs you of everything, even your dignity.
This book requires several readings. I have just read it once. I wonder how many questions will come to mind when I read it again and again.
One thing that is clear when one reads this book is that as things stand now, none of the present schemes, however numerous, reach the poorest of the poor: the old, the disabled, the widows, the street child, the beggar, the dalits and tribals. These are and will remain invisible. The reason being the totally inefficient and absurd way of defining the poor. If we are to go by the preposterous figures our rulers brandish time and again stating that if you spend  20, or 32, or 28 rupees a day, then you are not poor. That amount is meant to suffice for all you need: food, transport, housing, education, health etc. I wonder if anyone of us would survive for an hour, let alone a day! Two young Indians did just that. Their experiences are worth a read.

Let me share some startling statistics. India is home to a quarter of the world’s hungry! 40% of our children are underweight! About 5000 children die EVERY DAY of malnutrition in India. That is 1.7 million every year. Does that not make you sick, enraged and disturb you? No it does not but because there are not our kids. But these deaths are preventable. Clean drinking water and toilets are what is needed. But then who will raise their voices to demand these facilities. Those who suffer have no voice. They need someone to lend them theirs.

We are all set to see the passing of the Food Security Bill. Many of us will not bother enlightening ourselves about its content. According to experts , on paper the PDS meets the food requirement of 900 million people. If is true then there should be no hunger in India, yet we are rank 66th among 88 vulnerable countries. According to experts again the Food Bill will cost more and make no difference. What is needed is a multi pronged approach. Food security problems differ from State to State and one cannot have a one size fits all. What may happen is that the FSB will just be a big cash cow for the corrupt.

Hunger has to be tackled both long term and short term. One of the short term options that has been tried in some countries is setting up soup kitchens for the poorest of the poor. Just like the midday meals for children. But here again things may go awry if the community does not get involved. Instead of getting a hot meal, children may simply get some supposedly nutritive biscuit or supplement made by some multi national having greased the right palms. The idea of soup kitchens has been dropped. And yet it could have been a great option for the most vulnerable: the old and indigent, the disabled, the sick and so on. For me it is the only form of freebie that should be given.

We are a land replete with fabulous programmes and projects for the poor. They sound good on paper but that is where it all stops. We have a pathetic record when it comes to implementation and delivery. I for one believe that even if 50% of all the social schemes mooted over the years had been implemented, India would have been a different land.

Actually what one is compelled to think is that these fab sounding projects and programmes are introduced not for the benefit of the poor but for hidden political agendas by seducing the electorate. All the better if a  side effect being that they are manna  for the corrupt. These schemes also aim at keeping control on the masses. In an interesting article Gurcharan Das denounces the proposed FSB. According to him the food security bill, on the other hand, will condemn India’s poor to perpetual poverty. Giving people virtually free food will keep them dependent on a ‘mai baap party’, trapping them into a permanent vote bank. Had the same amount been spent on roads, schools etc to encourage people to start businesses and thus more jobs, allowing people to break the cycle of poverty in which there were born, things would change. But that is not what the powers that be want.

On startling example is education. Why oh why is it that  a Government that can run ace schools like the central school also runs schools that are nothing short of abysmal and where not even the brightest child can acquire learning of any kind. Why does compulsory education end midway, at 14 when a child has not even acquired a recognised certificate. With the no fail policy, you can spend the stipulated 8 years in school without even needing the 33% that is the ludicrous pass percentage again laid down by the State. All this is nothing short of phoney and leads one to believe that the State wants a large illiterate mass that can be an exploitable vote bank. Maybe the first honest thing to do would be to transform schools into an enabling space for children.

The RTE Act that prescribed that 25% seats in all schools should be reserved for the poor has again missed the target. The complex red tape required had defeated many aspirants. Furthermore the true beneficiaries do not even know about the scheme. I know many middle class families who have managed to get all the certificates needed – fraudulent of course – to avail of this facility. They now have kids studying in the best of schools at no cost.

The food security bill will go the way the PDS or ICDS schemes went. The true beneficiaries will remain invisible. As Gurcharan Das rightly says 83 per cent of Karnataka’s people call themselves poor based on BPL cards when less than a quarter of the state is, in fact, poor. West Bengal discovered last year that 40 per cent of its BPL cards were fake. A law that turns people into liars would have horrified our founding fathers. They had a profoundly moral vision of the Indian republic — so much so that they placed the wheel of dharma, the Ashok Chakra, in the nation’s flag. When a government forces people to become dishonest, it wounds public dharma and undermines the trust between the rulers and the ruled. I find it difficult to believe that a fairy will appear and with a flick of her wand turn  everyone into honest, caring and compassionate rulers. Far from that. All that will happen is that OUR hard  money will help line some more pockets!

We all agree that any self respecting country, particularly one that strives to become a world power can have a child dying every four minutes because of poor nutrition. A policy has to be put in place to prevent this. But highfalutin programmes controlled by the centre are not the solution. The solution is grass root interventions keeping in mind ground realities. But that is not the way things work in our land.

A wonderful gift may not be wrapped as you expect

A wonderful gift may not be wrapped as you expect

by | Apr 2, 2013 | Uncategorized

A wonderful gift may not be wrapped as you expect wrote  Jonathan Lockwood Huie. And nothing can be more true as Ihave experienced once again. It is the time of the year when gifts come my way as it is soon my birthday. When I was a child I always got a new dress as toys were gifted at Xmas only. Then came a slew of offerings in sync with age: records, books, perfumes and so on. There was even a time when one bought the gift one’s self and gave it to the person concerned. There were also surprise gifts, one in particular. At a time when I was going through a rough financial patch I remember telling my best friend how nice it would be if people gave you a month’s groceries as a birthday gift rather than some artefact or no utility. Imagine my utter surprise when she brought me just that on my next birthday: boxes and boxes of groceries!

Then as one grew greyer and wiser it was always difficult to identify what one wanted when one was asked the question: what do you want for your birthday? Somehow my 50th was a watershed year. Just a few weeks before my birthday little Utpal came into my life: scalded and moribund. Everyone thought he would die except I! He had to live no matter what. And live he did, with might and main. That year he was my birthday present and what a unique  present that was, one I would enjoy for the remaining years of my life. That is when I realised that I had been chosen for a mission by the One we call by innumerable names, the one who crafts our destiny. From that day one my birthday gifts changed altogether. Sure I still got the usual knick-knacks but that was not the real gifts. My real ones could be wishes that I expressed, a unique party with a special guest list, poems sent by a friend, an assignment by my staff, Manu coming home after a stay at the hospital. The list is endless, each one a little miracle. And of course a very stunning 60th!

From a very tender age I have been accused of being naive and with a heart as soft as a marshmallow. It is true that even today anyone can ‘move’ me. All you need is a few tears and a story to go with it. Many reproach me this attitude but I defend it in my own way. For me anyone who crossed my threshold with a need has been sent to me by the one I call the God of Lesser Beings and hence each one has to be listened to and all effort has to be made to help. I have been like this all my life and I do not think I can or will change. This way of looking at life works for me. So what if some think I am naive or even a sucker.

With my birthday approaching I wondered what would be my surprise gift this year or whether one would come my way. It all seemed very calm. But yesterday a man came out of the blue needing help for his young wife. Even though I tried to act against my grain as it had been some time since we sponsored a surgery and had lost most of those who helped us, I quickly ‘melted’ and took the papers from the man. I wanted to give it a try. My words and the magic of the Internet did the rest and shortly after having posted an appeal a kind soul reached out to help. I was overwhelmed and moved to tears. It felt wonderful to know that there were people out there with their hearts in the right place.
 name
I got my gift and it is a huge one. First and foremost the life of a young woman will be saved and four little children will have their mom to love them. But there is more. My naive ways stand vindicated. Good exists even if it is a little harder to find. I know it is also means that I cannot ‘retire’ or give up as long as someone up there still needs me.

But more than anything the fact that the young woman is named Noori makes her special. My grandson’s middle name is Noor.

So as you see a wonderful gift may not be wrapped as you expect. You just need to look with your heart to find it.

To be a woman.. a mother… ailing.. in India

To be a woman.. a mother… ailing.. in India

by | Apr 1, 2013 | Uncategorized

Life throws challenges at you, when you expect them least or when you have sunk too contently into your comfort zones. It happened to me today. For some time now things have been running smoothly at pwhy, and due to some personal worries, I must admit I have been playing the role of an absent landlord. I do show my face every morning, but then leave to carry on other activities, many related to pwhy of course. This morning I was all set to repeat the daily routine and had climbed into the auto rickshaw when a man, in his late twenties I guess, came to me  and mumbled something while handling me some papers. I was perplexed when my driver tried to explain that the man’s wife was sick and needed help.

My first reaction was to tell him that unfortunately we were not sponsoring medical emergencies any more have lost the persons who once helped us do that. But something in the eyes of man stopped me half way. There was desperation of the kind I had not seen. He told me that he had knocked at every door and gone from pillar to post for the past 8 months hoping to find the funds to treat his wife. He seemed to be at the end of his tether and looked at me with a supplication I could not ignore. Somehow the fact that the man had not given up touched me deeply.

I looked at the papers and found out that Noori Praveen – that is her name – had a cerebro vascular condition and her treatment would require 100 000 Rs- roughly 2000 US$ -. He had papers to prove that. I knew from looking at him that there was no way he could raise that amount. I wish I had deep pockets and could have reached into them but alas that is not the case. But I knew I would not be able to look at myself if I did not try to raise the amount.

Noori is a woman born in this land just as I am. But she was born on the wrong side of the fence. She was denied all the rights that we appropriate ourselves so easily. Nobody must have asked her whether she wanted to get married. Nobody told her that she had right over her body. She had no choices. She must have been married in her teens and become a mother soon after that. She started having headaches  but would have ignored them till they became unbearable. Some quack in the village must have treated her. Then, when nothing seemed to have worked, she would have been taken to a close by town and then ultimately to the portals of the last hope: the All India Institute of Medical Sciences in New Delhi.

In a land where swanky hospitals are mushrooming by the day, the poor have no option but to go to the State run facilities. And even there free treatment is only partial. There comes a time when you have to pay, and pay big! Noori is at that juncture. Her husband has not given up and is still knocking at doors in the hope that someone wil hear. Noori sits waiting hugging her children and her excruciating pain.

I could not pass by. I only had the power of my words to be her voice and hope against hope that someone out there will hear he pain and reach out.

I can only hope and pray that the fact that a man stopped my this morning was because someone had heard the prayers of this young woman and her little children.

The soul is healed by being with children

The soul is healed by being with children

by | Mar 26, 2013 | Uncategorized

The soul is healed by being with children wrote Fyodor Dostoyevsky. I for one second that with conviction. The first kid that came into my life was my elder daughter. She turned a spoilt somewhat selfish only child into a mom. Looking at her for the first time I felt a surge of abundant love of the kind I had never felt before. We both grew together one day at a time as I tried to teach about life and she taught me what life was all about. Till today she is my most articulate critic and my most reliable advisor. Even though I sometimes resent her counsel, I know it is in my best interest. The second child that came into my life was my second born. She taught me that I my heart had an overload of love, and that a mom’s heart was so made that it had different compartments for each child. This little one taught me compassion and empathy and the importance of reaching out to those in need. She is the one who made pwhy happen and brought into my existence the smiles of so many children. Boy my soul was healed!
Along the way came two little boys: one that had lost everything and needed me to reassemble his broken life and the other who had it all and made a grandmother and taught me unconditional love.
These two fellows do rule my life in more ways than one and delight me in the most unexpected way.
Skype is a magical invention for nanas whose grandchildren are in far away lands. Wish it existed when my kids were growing up and my parents were still alive. But in those days it was still booked trunk calls with infuriating operators. But now we have Skype and my grandson and I chat every morning and evening. There is an almost 12 hours difference between the two cities so it the morning here and night there and vice versa. My little fellow has a lovely way of explaining the situation. Every evening when the sun sets in St Louis, he sends it to me in Delhi! When we are on line, we play games or I tell him a bedtime story just before my day begins. I must confess that these are very special moments. Time and again he delights me with a new expression. To try and explain me that he had forgotten his Hindi he simply told me: Nani, my Hindi is broken!

My other little fellow is with me only when his boarding school is shut. For the past few months I have watched him surreptitiously building bonds with everyone in the family. It is happening very slowly and one step at a time. One cannot rush this fragile effort. A single slip can take us back and cause irreparable damage. I observe his every move with bated breath: his wanting to sit at the table when he earlier preferred eating in his room, his attempts at conversation with those he never talked to earlier… each step going a long way in building his confidence and filling the huge gaps life threw his way.
I am blessed to have so many children in my life.