Next time, don’t look away

by anouradha bakshi | Jan 30, 2026 | Anou's Blog, Uncategorized

When I decided to cross the proverbial Rubicon, to leave the armchair I had sunk in post losing my parents in an almost catatonic state, I did not know where the journey would take me. I just knew I had to step out and so I did. I also knew that it was time to redeem a pledge made on a hot summer day in a village in Bihar to pay back for all that I had been given. Having discovered my ‘roots’ I realised that it was an accident of history that propelled me into this side of the divide.  I should have been on the other. Anyway what matters was that the time had come to walk the talk.

I had no road map then. I had to create one. I had always been disturbed by the plight of children begging at red lights. To me every child had a right to education and a better life but for these kids there seemed to be no hope. Begging was a ‘profession’ a ‘business’ and as long as there were people who would give money, it simply thrived. It was all demand and supply so if one cut the demand… So I thought.

So why not address this issue as part of my paying back journey. After much brainstorming with like minded souls, one came up with, what naive me believed, a programme whereby we would urge people to give nutrition instead of coins. And when the business of using children to beg would not be lucrative, maybe it would stop. How foolish was I! Today a quarter of century later. there are as many children begging at red lights as there were then. You got it right, our nutritive biscuits project died a quick death and we were left to lick our wounds.

For years I drove by the same crossing under the Nehru Place flyover. Many families live under this bridge. Their profession: begging. If you drive past early in the morning you will see women cooking on make shift stoves. The children are already knowing at car windows in the hope of an elusive coin.There use to be a little girl who was a baby in her mother’s arm when I first laid eyes on her. Then she grew up and must have been about 2 or 3 when one Sunday as I drove by I saw her being initiated in the art of begging.

As years went by she grew up and we made friends! She knew I never gave money and most of the time carried fruit or biscuits in my three wheeler. One day  she came running and asked me for chocorate the generic time all the beggar children who knew I did not give money used when they saw. My little girl with huge light eyes is now all grown up and I guess she will be married and soon produce children who will follow her footsteps.

Some years back we started a small outreach for the beggar children of Kalka Mandir. They are the ones in this picture. You would never say they are beggars.  They look just like any other children all smiles and giggles. Kalka Mandir as all temples is home to many beggars. There is a small shelter where women go when they are expecting and about to deliver. As many women come with their older kids, we decided to run our first lass there. For some time it was a dream come true and that is where I met my bucket baby. But then some people did not like what we were doing and threw us out. We tried in two there locations but we sadly had to close. I felt the look more than anyone else. This was not the first time happened to us. We had earlier tried to teach the children under the flyover close to mu house and the children were thrilled, but again we are shooed away by some men. I guess they did not want the children to get the ‘taste’ of anything other than panhandling. They knew that education had the power to rock the boat.

We rarely  look at a beggar in the eye. Maybe because we feel uncomfortable or guilty.  I do not know. However it is a beggar woman who taught me one of the greatest lesson or my life. I was in college and had gone to Connaught Place for some errand. A beggar woman started following me asking me for a few coins. That day my pocket was empty so I stopped, looked her in the eye and told her gently I do not have anything today. I am sorry. She took both my hands in hers and said to me “you have given me more than you can imagine” I was perplexed not quite understanding till she added ” you looked me in the eye; you acknowledged me as a human being”. I can never forget those words and since that day have always looked at beggars in their eyes.

Beggars are human beings first and foremost. Many beggar parents in Kalka Mandir did send their children to school.Should you visit in the morning you will see many children in clean uniforms, their tresses coiffed beautifully ready to go to school. The children. are eager to go to school and learn and parents do their best. I remember a beggar woman sitting on a step with her two school going children and holding a copy book and a pencil. She was helping her kids with their homework. I asked her if she had been to school and she proudly answered, ”I have studied till class III!”. One wonders what brought her to where she is now.

Beggar parents do care for their children. How can I gorget my beggar friend Rani whose compassion touched me. She had a niece who was orphaned and rather than send her back to the village decided to keep her to ensure she get and education! And what was even more touching was the fact that many of the beggars who were sitting around seconded her decision and offered whatever help they could proffer. But what moved me was how the very people we reject and sneer at, the ones that live on our so called ‘charity’  had a heart far larger than those who live behind gates or in impregnable mansions.

The children you see in the picture are children just like ours. They deserve a childhood, an education and much more. When will we get outraged at the kids who knocks at our car window at a red light and wake up and do something. I do not know.

I only know that it is the plight of a young beggar that shook me out of my torpor and compelled me to act. if not for  Manu there may have not been Project Why. The lesson he taught me was to never say die, but more than, that that no life, no matter how wretched it may seem, is without purpose. Every life has a meaning and needs to be respected and celebrated. Manu’s was to see I set up Project Why. To most Manu would simply be an annoying mentally and physically challenged beggar, but to me he was my inspiration, my mirror and the one who showed me the way. He taught me to respect every human being that came my way. I live by his maxim.

So next time a beggar child knocks at your car window, don’t look away. You do not know what miracle is hidden in her eyes.

The length of a lifetime

by anouradha bakshi | Jan 24, 2026 | Anou's Blog, Uncategorized

“Child abuse casts a shadow the length of a lifetime” wrote Herbert Ward.

Let me tell you a story.

A little girl, not more than 11, has been standing at a red light hoping to sell all the flowers her mother has entrusted her with.She knows the evening meal depends on it. She knocks at darkened windows of cars that stop not able to see who is inside.The rich like to remain invisible. Most of the windows remain shut, the light turns green and she moves away a tad disappointed. It has been a bad day. She has not sold many flowers. A e-rickshaw stops by and drops its passengers. The little girl approaches the driver in the hope of selling him a flew flowers. He tells her he will help het to sell ALL her flowers and makes her sit in his vehicle. The little girl desperate to sell her roses agrees. The man takes her to a nearby forest rapes her and believing her dead leaves her bleeding and unconscious and flees. The little girl regains consciousness and manages to reach her family. Her parents rush to the hospital and contact the police. The girl still shell shocked  cannot narrate anything coherently. She is now undergoing medical treatment and counselling. Rape leaves scars not only on the body but deep within the mind, spirit and the soul.

This is not an imaginary story. This incident happened in Delhi on January 21, 2026!

The police has managed to arrest the perpetrator who confessed that he has seen the little girl many times and had planned the abduction. He is 40 year old. She was 11!

We all know that the accused will at best  spend some time in jail and will be set free. The  little girl will carry this pain for the length of a life time.

When we started our work over two decades ago, there was a young girl who use to attend our classes but always sat away from the others and no one talked to her. I watched this for a while then decided to find out why this happened. The young girl in question had be raped when she was 3 by her neighbour. The man spent 5 years in jail and then was released to carry on his life as if nothing happened. The girl however was ostracised and branded as the ‘raped one’ as if she was responsible for the rape. This terrible unfair and abhorrent treatment was meted out to her for no fault of hers. That is why no one talked to her in class. I saw red and set out to rectify the situation by explaining things to her peers. Soon the issue was sorted and the girl sat with her friends.

This is the stark reality. Rape victims are often targeted. It seems to always be the fault of the woman: the way she was dressed, the fact that she was out at night. Recently a Chief Minister, who is also a woman held the same discourse.

I have recently been perusing the over 2000 blogs I have written over the past two decades. I realised with dismay that over 150 of them are about rape.

Way back in 2011  a young woman was raped in a bus in India’s capital city. There was a hue and cry. Civil society ‘woke’ up from its habitual torpor and some action was taken. But then we all retreated back and rapes continued mercilessly. From babies a few months old to women above 70, every one was rape material!

There are 92 rapes in India every day or a rape every 15 minutes, that is a whopping number of rapes between December 2011 and January 2026. ( 92 x 365 x 15 = 503700).

Does it take 503700 rapes to wake us up!

A little girl was raped last week. Quietly, without fuss. She was a flower girl and no one cares about flower girls at red lights. So there will be no lighting candles, holding placards, writing soul stirring poems, marching on the street, making noise, clamouring for death penalty and fast track courts. Just silence and a small snippet on page 5 of one newspaper.

When I expressed outrage on social media on the brutalisation, rape and murder of another child and asked the question we all want an answer to” WHEN WILL IT END?” a friend wrote back: never in India. I was shocked and angered but mulled the answer and realised that what he wrote was true.

It is not that ‘rape’ does not make news. It does time and again when the rape is brutal or when the victim is a child or even a baby. But still we do not take to the streets every time we hear of a rape. When the rape is laced with other overtones like politics or religion then it makes good copy for the TRP hungry media we hear about it relentlessly  for a few days. But what happens. Nothing. A few empty promises by the powers that be, some noise by the opposition in true electoral game mode and we naively believe them and go back to our comfort zones while somewhere in India someone is raped every 15 minutes. No one is held responsible, neither we the civil society nor politicians and rulers. Our outrage is short lived. Or memory even shorter.

We are actually barking up the wrong tree.

It is not severe punishment like hanging, or even stringent laws that will bring the change we seek. We have ample proof of that. The journey is within, within each one of us, within our social mores, our so called traditions, our skewed beliefs, our education system, our ‘values’ etc. That is hallowed ground everyone is scared to touch. Who will bell the cat.

Our politicians? No way! This is the best electoral game fodder and no political party would want to lose it. It could bring down a government. So they use it to the maximum and will continue to do so. It has all the ingredients for the most toxic brew: caste and creed, who would want to give that up.

Our so called religious leaders? No way again. First many indulge in such acts in the name of faith. But there are more pernicious reasons: they need to maintain status quo, or else their power may decrease. I often wonder why our religious Godmen who have congregations of millions of followers, TV channels and so on never talk of gender equality, child marriage etc? They could bring a sea change. But they need to play to the gallery too!

No one wants to rock the boat.

To end rapes one has to address uncomfortable issues. Rape is about power. A power instilled in a male child from the moment he is conceived. he is born superior, superior to his female siblings, the ones living or the ones killed in the womb. The first person responsible for making him aware of his power is his mother, a woman. That is how it begins, across social classes, across religion, across caste. Genders are not equal. The boy is brought up differently: better food, clothes, schools; more freedom; more of everything. His escapades are forgotten, his aberrations too. Boys will be boys! he is brought up in an environment where girls/women are considered inferior. He sees it everyday. That is what he learns. That is the only value system he is made aware of.

Look at our blessings: may you have thousand sons! Never a thousand daughters. It is time we treated our daughters and sons equally.

Then there is the matter of honour! Who decided to burden the tender shoulder of a girl with the weight of the family’s honour. It is too heavy a burden. It usurps her right to childhood. It hijacks her right to laugh and run and play like her brothers do. Why does she have to bear te burden of a veil, the need to cover her heard, hide her ankles, sit demurely. Why is the subjected to the deafening code of silence should she dare mention any sexual abuse. Why is she made to be the victim.Why!

And if she dares break the code then why is she always asked what she wore, where she was, what she drank, what time was it as if each of these can condone rape. No perp is ever asked that is he. Boys will be boys and men will be men.

And then let us look at education. Surreptitiously and zealously sex education, the only weapon a child can have to protect herself, was taken off the curriculum in the name of tradition, of samskaras. I ask is rape in our samskaras! In our DNA. It is time we reinstate age appropriate sex education in every school. Growing children have to understand how their bodies change, what is normal, what is age appropriate. It is time to bring sex out of the CLOSET.

This will not happen in a day or maybe not even in a generation, but the ball has to be set rolling. Or else we can continue to cry RAPE every 503700 rapes ad infinitum as nauseam.

The anatomy of a blog

by anouradha bakshi | Jan 18, 2026 | Anou's Blog, Uncategorized

I start blogging in April 2005. That makes it 21 years and over 2000 blogs. It all started like this. It must have been circa 2003 when I realised that the proverbial ‘pockets’ I easily dug into whenever extra funds were needed were emptying at the speed of light or even faster. All the people one knew had been tapped and thus it was time to seek new pastures. At that time I was slowly discovering the magical word of the world wide web and it must have been around then that the first pwhy website went on line. Actually 2003 was quite a fateful year. It was the year when Utpal fell into the boiling cauldron and entered our lives; when two of our creche children died in strange circumstances and we discovered the apathy of the police who never wanted to register a case; when we were successful in raising funds for Raju’s open heart surgery. It was also the year when we were at the top of our page 3 days and the darling of many who organised stunning evenings and balls to help us raise funds. It was also a time when we were at the height of our fairy tale existence. It was also at the time when someone suggested I join a social network called Ryze. I must confess that I had a tough time building my page and it looked very puerile. But I managed to get quite a few contacts and thus began the pwhy network that is so precious to us today. We had a website that was not quite what I would have liked and I realised to my horror what the cost of maintaining would be. I had 2 options: not to have a site at all – not really an option -, or learn how to maintain it myself. I cannot remember how many nights it took to learn a new language – HTML – but I did. The other things I began doing was sending individual emails to all the people I knew. I had not yet discovered mass mailing or just BCC option. That is when a kind person – God bless him – suggested I start a blog. It would change my life forever.
It was a hesitant beginning but I had a forum where I could share the life of pwhy, the stories of our kids, the little things that happened everyday. I thought of it like a sea captain’s logbook that would preserve the chronicles of pwhy. True it started being just that but somehow mutated almost insidiously into a record of happenings in India viewed through a different prism: that of someone passionately in love with her country and often at a loss in comprehending the stark inequalities between rich and poor, the hidden agendas and corrupt games of the powers that be, the dignified and touching survival modes of the poor. The project why stories took on a larger meaning and I found myself writing about issues I felt important. The tone became harsher, the criticism more acerbic and the mood somber.
Simply making a difference in the lives of the hundreds and more children who came to project why was not enough. True it was important as it was tangible and thus valorising but I felt the need to add my voice to those of others fighting for causes I empathised with. And slowly the fairy tale like stories of project why became far and few. There were more important issues to address.
For me this became a platform to share my thoughts, my anger, my distress, my anguish, my horror and my opinions to aberrations that seemed more the rule than the exception. I wanted to be heard.
In 2009 I began writing my second book. This one was about the project why story. Once I again I opted to write it in the form of letters to a child and entitled it Dear Popples II. The bye line was ‘the project why story’. I wrote about 100 pages without any problem in a very short time. And then one day I simply could not continue. The story stopped circa 2004. It was a strange writer’s block that refused to go. I tried many times to pick up the threads but to no avail. I decided to let it be till the time was right.
One day, maybe in 2013 I found myself opening the abandoned file and reread what I had written and see if I could move on or if not at least figure out what had happened. It took me some time to realise that my pen had stopped at what I call the fairy tale years and that somehow the approach that seemed right for the first 100 pages did not and would not work for the remainder of the story. The bye line could not be ‘the project why story’ but had to become something like ‘India song’. I had two choices either rewrite the whole book or make it in two parts. I opted for the later as only this way will the reader fully appreciate the dynamic and organic nature of project why but also share the changes such an experience has on a human soul. For I cannot shy from the fact that I am in no way the same person I was when it all began. Have I changed for the better? I do not know. I do miss the naive and trusting being I was then and something do not like the bitter and splenetic woman I sometimes seem to have become. Maybe the truth lies in between the two.
Even though I will have to sneak time to write the book, I will continue to blog, as blogging is an immense catharsis for me and I need to rant and rave or else I would blow a fuse,  The blogs were not only an account of the trials and tribulations of project why, but also a personal journey where I too have learnt to shed my cynicism and look with my heart no matter what I saw.

But the writer’s block did not go away. Some difficult occurrences in my life saw to that. Be the heart wrenching decision to destroy my parent’s. home due to financial issues in 2017 or the terrible news that befell upon us in 2020 when I was diagnosed with multiple myeloma. The following months were harrowing with chemo et al and then all side effects that robbed me of the ability to read and write.

It is only at the beginning of this year – 2026 – that I have picked up my virtual pen again, albeit hesitantly and am now busy going through all the blogs to refresh an ageing memory!

It is time to finish: Dear Popples II – an India Song.

Before I end I Ould like to share what a reader had written way back in 2013

Today I want to write about a blog which energize me each time I visit it. The blog, Projectwhy drowns my cynicism and taunts me too. I often lament about things but don’t do much about it, other than blog. But at projectwhy, one sees the other side of life and the way it is dealt with, in such a sincere manner. The author touches so many lives and continues to shine ever so brightly for them. I also love the way she deals with many of our current issues..