When I first dreamt of project why, in the days when I was still a green horn and did not know the reality, I conjured a lovely and enabling space where slum children could come and spend time after (or before school as even after 65 years of freedom our capital city has not been able to build sufficient schools for its children and thus the same building runs 2 shifts a day) school. I envisioned a place where there would be some tutors to ‘help’ with the homework and loads of fun and creative activities. Board games, paint and colours, musical instruments, computers and whatever else a growing child and fancies. In hindsight I was a little like Marie Antoinette when she was told about the people not having bread and quipped: Let them eat cake! (Though it is said that it was another princess who uttered these words). You may wonder why I am using this simile. Well the bread and cake of French royalty are   akin to the studies and extra curricular activities of Indian underprivileged children. How could I offer them extra curricular knowledge when they were no way near getting to terms with their basic studies.

The lovely enabling space had to be sacrificed and replaced by a down to earth school support one. So Project Why became what it is! Creativity was quietly laid to rest or so I thought.

A few days ago an organisation contacted us. Their aim was to promote art and institute an Art programme in pwhy. They asked me to write a proposal in which I was to highlight all the artistic pursuits we had undertaken till date. My first answer was almost a loud None but I held myself back and promised to get them what they needed asap. Time to put the thinking cap on and revisit the recesses of my ageing memory. Quite frankly I was not expecting to find much creative activity. When I think of pwhy I see a multitude of little heads bent over books and looking extremely serious. But then    I had to get over this image and delve deeper. It just took a little time and wonders of wonders a found a real treasure trove. How could I have forgotten the three Annual Days we wad in the first three years of our existence. They were a mine of creativity from the unusual decor made with bits and pieces as we was as always short on funds to the terrific performances.

There were dances choreographed by our staff often inspired by evergreen Bollywood but executed to perfection. There were action songs by the tiny tots in an English taught to them by our Ugandan volunteer Stone and sung with great aplomb in an accent that was almost impossible to fathom where circle sounded like socko! And what about the plays written by the older children with the help of the teachers and touching on issues that disturbed them or felt important to them: importance of education for girls, alcoholism and its effects on families and dowry and bride burning. The play had even got a scene where the young bride was burnt. It took a lot of persuasion to made them change the ending and have the young bride saved by her sister-in-law! Talk of creativity! It was there in ample measure. Oops and how can I forget the piece de resistance of one our Annual days. It was a Bollywood dance but three of our senior boys and had been choreographed by the local Michael Jackson, a young man who had christened himself Michael in hommage to his favourite star.

In our shows every one performed and the most touching item was the one presented by our special children often an action song where all the class was on stage. Sometimes a kid or teacher wanted to sing solo and sometimes it was not quite in tune, but who cared, they were ours and deserved a big hand.

But the the project grew and spread out in different locations. Annual Days were given up as they were a drain on our meagre resources. Stage performances had to be abandoned. But creative activities were insidiously present though not center stage. In each of our locations however all festivals were celebrated and children put up small performances in their class space: dances, folk songs and even little plays. There were two plays in English performed by our Okhla kids and our Khader kids. They may not have been the best but they were unique as they had all been written and produced in-house and were loudly applauded.

My memory is on over drive now and long forgotten things surge from everywhere: the lovely friendship bands the children made with the help of some  volunteers and what about the candles and diyas made by the special children Diwali after Diwali? Are they not creative pursuits? And how can I forget the liters and kilos of paint and paper that have been diligently turned into works of art week after week in each class during drawing hour. True it took a long time to graduate from the mountain/river/sun/tree syndrome that seems to be the preferred theme of all Indian kids but we got some stunning paintings along the way. Should have kept them. And what about the brown paper gift bags with a child’s drawing pasted on it that we made one Xmas. They too were one of a kind.

Oh and I just remembered the lovely hand shaped Xmas decoration made by our special children and hung on their tree. A true treasure.

Our kids have made papier mache masks, terracota objects, bead jewels, finger and vegetable printing, face painting, murals and much more. The special children do face painting once a week and the results are really something!  The Khader children even painted pictures of two fairy tales for a Pantomime in Bedford (UK) and have made many drawings that were used for greeting cards. We have had a dance teacher come and work with the children. Praveen a young student from our Khader centre expressed his desire to learn singing and is now attending regular singing classes sponsored by a friend.

We have also held drawing competitions of specific themes, one of them being pollution. The results were truly impressive.

And that is not all. Some children of Khader and Okhla participated in photo workshops and mastered the art perfectly. They gave us some stunning pictures. I am sure that if I had time to scroll the tens of thousands of pictures I have, I would find more examples of the creative ventures of project why. It is simply that they got forgotten and ignored in the face of the dreaded exams and ensuing studies. We are truly all stars!

A few months back I got a mail from two globe trotters from France. They were passing through Delhi and wanted to spend two weeks at project why. To use Charlotte’s words: we want to bring our smiles and share our time and do something for your children. Charlotte and Matthieu landed at project why promised smiles in place and a host of ideas one of them being to make  a film where the pwhy kids will be the stars. The song they chose was Imagine, John Lennon’s moving Imagine. They also had plans to teach English and hold craft workshops with the small children. Ambitious? Read on.

They set to work in the most professional manner getting the words of the song photocopied. The idea was to teach one phrase of the song to different classes and put it all together. They had no idea what awaited them. It just took a day for them to realise that it would be a very uphill task keeping in mind the pronunciation of the kids, their poor singing ability and their self-consciousness in front of a camera and the shortage of time. It was soon decided that craft workshops and English classes would have to be abandoned. The film was a real handful. The first two days or so were spent in ‘auditioning’ and working of the ‘script’! But then disaster struck. Charlotte was diagnosed with dengue. We all thought Imagine would remain a dream. Not at all. Charlotte, a real trouper, proved a mettle. The show would go on! In between blood tests, visits to the doctor, bouts of fever, the bane of rashes and drops in energy, she directed the show from the wings – in this case a bedroom in my home-. Matthieu followed instructions to the T and thankfully dear old Jon’s  brilliant camera skills came to the rescue. After innumerable  takes and retakes – the maximum being mine – and so much footage as to saturate the computer’s hard disk, the film was completed in time.

I have not seen Oh My God, the recent movie about something that touches all of us: religion! I believe  it shows us how from God lover we have become God fearing and how religion has become a business. I think most of realise this or am I being too optimist?

For the past 2 days, thousands and thousands from all walk of life are fervently washing feet of nine  little girls to mark the end of Durga puja. This is done as a mark of respect of the Goddess the symbol of the purest creative force. There are many interpretations of this ritual but one thing is certain: young girls are meant to be the image of the Goddess. So  they worshipped, venerated, idolized just for the few minutes of a ritual whose meaning everyone had forgotten. Come the said morning and in every Hindu home pressure cookers whistle, potatoes are peeled and cooked into a spicy dish and sweet halwa is eagerly stirred in large woks, flat breads are rolled and deep fried. The food is then served in nine containers and money or gifts as is the fashion now – pencil cases, lunch boxes, hair clips – are added.The feast for the Goddess(es) is ready. Every family has ‘booked’ their goddesses of the day – children of neighbours in slums and shanties, children of those who work for you and so on. The little girls are sat in a row, their feet are washed by all members of the family, then they are given the food and the gifts. Often little girls are seen going from home to home collecting their bounty of the day. It is not every day that girls are feted in India! No wonder project why classes are quasi empty on these days.

The status of women has known many mutations in India. From having equal status to men in ancient India their history has been eventful. It sad to learn that according to a recent study by Reuters India is the “fourth most dangerous country” in the world for women today. And though the are supposed to enjoy equal right to men the reality is different. In a male dominated society women suffer immensely. So is not hypocritical to worship little girls and the next moment forget that they are the image of the Goddess you venerate with so much false piety.

I for one do not wash feet of little girls once a year. I would rather continue in silence the work I do where I worship them in my own way every day by giving them what they need to fight for the rights so many of us have usurped.

To the idiosyncratic remark that stated that 90% of rapes are consensual, there was the added one that rapes are a conspiracy against the ruling party. I cannot begin to imagine where all this will end. But what is reality is that rapes are continuing unabashedly. Yesterday a 50 year old was gang raped by 4 men. For a person of the female sex is do not matter what age you are: 15 months or 50, you still run the risk of being raped. And that is not all, the 62 year old rapist of the 13 year old child is now being shielded by his community by offering the victim’s family money. 35K is the price of innocence.

There is seems to be no justice for the innocent victims. Instead of immediate and punitive actions against the perpetrators, one what sees is shielding the rapist, finding ludicrous explanations ( consensual rape, eating chowmein), blaming the victim (the way she dresses, she drinks, she goes out at night etc) and so on. Everyone is on a single mission: protect the perpetrator! It is time to stop this nonsense. But how? That is the question.

What all the above shows is that in the mind of the law makers, protectors and enforcers rape is a trivial crime where the victim is a much if not more to blame than the perp.

When a little girl is born she has the same rights as her male counterparts. She has the right to live, to laugh, to play, to grow, to study, to work. She has the right to be loved, respected, cared for and protected. She has the right to dream about her morrows and to see them become reality. Sadly in India all these rights are usurped in the name of false honour, false morality and social mores made by a male dominated society. Her life is controlled by a series of males: her father, her brother, her husband and even her sons. She has not much say in anything. Is she steps out of the line drawn by these male relatives she is reigned in and even branded. Her dreams remain dreams shared with no one.

When she hurts or is hurt by anyone, she is far too often held responsible and ordered to step back in line. The extreme instance is rape where the first accusation falls on her: why did she step out, why did she wear ‘revealing’ clothes, why did she stay out late etc. She seems to be the custodian not only of her family’s honour but of the honour of the entire world.

Trivialising rape is the highest insult to women. It is time this stopped!

Today is the first day of Navratri or the nine nights in which we will worship the Goddess Durga .We will worship her in each and every form from the young Kumari, to Parvati to Kali to Lakshmi to Saraswati and along the way we will beseech her to protect us, to give us wealth and prosperity and knowledge and wisdom. We will end our devotion by worshipping nine little girls whose feet we will wash and who will endow with gifts and blessings. The we I refer to here is all of us Hindus, men and women. It is also all those who normally deride and dismiss women, treat them like second class citizens, who rape them with impunity, who use and abuse them without mercy, who even kill them in the womb! The disparity between the way we revere our Goddesses and treat our women every day is glaring.  Is it not hypocritical?

True some of us do not feel or act that way but do we hot keep strangely mum and behave like ostriches when aberrations occur? What right do we have to worship Goddess Durga if we are unable to protect girls and women? Why should she bestow anything on us when we forget once the nine nights have passed that she resides in every woman?

For the next none nights Durga will be adored and worshiped in every way imaginable. On the eight or night day nine little girls will also be worshipped as many will wash their feet as a mark of respect to the Goddess, each one symbolising one of the Goddess. Yet once the festivities over these very little girls will go back to the reality of not being wanted and treated respect and love. Every little girl has the right to ask why she is being worshipped once a year and abused for the rest of time.

I guess I am a believer though I cannot accept to be part of a show that his to say the last hypocritical. I have in days gone by been guilty of falling prey to the lure of ritualism. I guess it had to be a rite of passage, mercifully a short one. I was blessed to have had the privilege of entering a world that may seem alien to many but that brought straight back to reality and showed me the way I sought.

Today I do not go seeking the elusive God I believe in, in temples and faraway pilgrimage sites. I see Her everyday in the eyes of the little children who have been forgotten by all, and yet who open their hearts to anyone fortunate enough to look into their eyes with their hearts.

For the next nine days I will worship all the little project why girls and seek protection, prosperity and wisdom.