M died yesterday. Another victim of the dreaded crab. Another unsuspecting victim of the medical system that feeds on the patient’s trust and panders false hope. M was not even forty, a mother of 4 children the youngest being just 2. I have known M for almost a decade. A feisty woman with a quick temper that could flare at any moment, M was a survivor, a survivor at any cost. When pwhy was just in its infancy and I still naive, she came to me asking for a job. Upon hearing that she had finished school, I suggested she join the team as a primary teacher.

Two years ago, when she was at the end of her fourth pregnancy – in her case she had 3 sons and wanted a girl – she told me about a suspicious lump in her breast. At that time I was not as knowledgeable as I am now, but still I gave her some advise on nutrition and also asked her to meet my Tibetan doctor which she did. But how can a stem of innocuous pills given after a mere checking of the pulse compete with scanners and toxic potions administered in nuclear war like environment. And though I had entreated her to continue taking her pills even if she opted for conventional therapies, I guess the pills must be still lying in the corner of her home.

I know that M and her husband must have been every angry with my adverse reactions to conventional medicine and my pleas to stop eating meat – M belongs to a community where pork is a must – and eat seasonal vegetables and fruit. Meat in their community is a sign of abundance and wealth, and her I was asking them to take it off their table. I know they never did.

A few days after our ‘chat’, M informed me that they had found a cancer hospital – private of course – that was offering a 100 000 package deal that she was convinced would cure her. I tried again to tell about the way cancer operates and that cure in conventional terms is just five years + one day, but the look on her face made me stop my spiel. She had been seduced and fallen hook, line and sinker for the treatment on offer. She was operated upon and given radio and chemo therapy and suffered all the terrible side effects it entailed, but also lymphedema of one arm which resulted in one of her arms being swollen and practically non functional.

I presume that hospitals do not counsel patients sufficiently and in spite of her swollen arm M though she was cured. I guess the follow up protocol was not followed and the cancer spread rapidly and by the time they realised that she was ill again it was too late.

I felt so sad and helpless and angry when I heard about her death. With the knowledge I have today, I feel confident that had she listened to me, she would have not relapsed so early, but then a person who tells you to eat certain things and give up others becomes non-grata forever.

In the case of people like M, who have no medical insurance and little money, alternative therapies should be an option. Yet they are not. Often such persons feel that we are denying them something we have benefitted from for ages and that they have toiled for and just accessed. Though it makes me sad, I can well understand where they come from. Imagine being told by one form the other side of the divide that you should not opt for swanky machines and expensive drugs but become vegan, chew some cannabis seeds or eat a few apricot seeds. It is humiliating and infuriating I agree. So you watch someone you know die because you could not beat the system whilst retaining the dignity of the other.

This is the power of modern medicine, the stranglehold of the big pharma companies, the result of the millions in marketing a treatment that does not always work, or certainly does not work on its own. I truly wish NGOs dealing with cancer would also propagate the truth about alternative options to the weaker communities. It would make all the difference between life and death.

Cancer is a word, not a sentence!

May M rest in peace and may her children be safe.

I am quite baffled by these elections as I do not think most of us know what we truly want. Early this year the capital of our country took a bold step and decided to vote for a new political party in spite of its being in its infancy. What was remarkable is that the support cut across caste, religion and social strata. I guess the reason was that they positioned themselves as a part that would fight corruption at all levels. Hence the overwhelming support they got form the poorer sections of society was understandable. But I was surprised at the kind of people who told we they were voting AAP: the  owner of a upmarket store, my doctor, my old friend known to be a long time supporter of a political party and so on. It seemed that everyone was fed up with the existing political system and wanted change. People believed in them and gave them their trust. The mood was euphoric. Everyone truly felt that the humble broom would transform into a magic wand at the stroke of midnight and solve all problems. One can understand the elation of the poor who saw dreamt of free water and cheap electricity and the hope of the perennially extended hand of the policemen vanish, but what about us who voted with alacrity, did we stop to ponder before believing?

What happened next is for all to see. Sleeping with the enemy to acquire power. Was it hubris or falling into a well honed trap? Perhaps a bit of both as power is the most potent drug on earth and when it comes so close, few if any can resist it and though they did not expect it, how could they resist. I guess we who casted our vote in favour of this new party, never felt they would come to power. It was a surprise for all. The wise thing would have been to desist from power and have another election that would have given a more definitive result.

The 49 days saw change that unfortunately was forgotten when the party demitted office. Few remember the audit of state run schools and hospitals of the simple fact that corruption at the lower end was contained. But we cannot cry over spilled milk. The reality is that an error of judgement at that time had brought a loss of faith in this party.

What we all forget is that this was a young party pitched against well oiled machines. We also forget that it was a movement that became a political party by force majeure and was perhaps not ready. An excellent article analyses the future of AAP and is worth reading. The author asks: The most important question facing the party is an existential one. It must define again, for its own self as to what role it seeks for itself in politics. Is it a third force challenging the Congress and the BJP or is it the second front challenging all politics? Does it seek power as an instrument of change or does it act as a political conscience keeper for the system as a whole? I believe most of us wanted it to be a political conscience keeper for the system in the first place. Once it had the structure, cadre and experience, then it could have pitched for power. Today it is at the verge of self destruction. The author feels it is important that the AAP experiment continue for it injects a vital element that has been missing in Indian politics. The AAP is attempting to redefine the very idea of democracy by making it a more participative practice. And just for that we must not write it off as such opportunities come once in a lifetime. One should not let it die.

The results are a mere two weeks or so away. Once the campaigning frenzy has died and the numbers are out, the party must do a sincere and honest evaluation of its journey and reinvent itself. Should they fail to do so, then they might just become a line in future history books.

The din of the elections is getting unbearable! More so because every day we are assaulted with speeches that sound more life a verbal warfare between individuals that often reach levels that are unacceptable. One would have hoped to hear about visions and plans for the future; about education and health as these are the foundations of any society; about employment and price rise; in a sod about how would things be better for us were to vote for one or the other candidate on the list. But what we are coerced into hearing/reading is personal and below the belt jibes about individuals or abhorrent remarks about communities. I do not care whether a man is married or not. That is his personal life and should remain so. You may remember that the world came to know about the existence of the love child of a President at his funeral and no one cared. Quite the opposite people were touched that all his loved ones were there.

Elections should be about what matters. It should not turn into a free for all where decency and basic courtesy are cast to the wind. I wonder if people really believe that these kind of shenanigans cut ice with anyone. Washing dirty laundry in public, slandering one another, bringing in family and personal relationships is in poor taste.

I am a little concerned about the hubris that seems to have permeated one and all. The nomination filing roadshow of one of then star candidates was quite something. It seemed worthy of Bollywood with a heart wrenching script, pomp and colour, and all the needed props. There was a dangerous frenzy in the whole show that reminded me of some of the worst event of past history where individuals were glorified and deified. It seems that one man has the magic wand that will solve all problems. This is what many think and to me this may just be this person Achille’s heel. If he wins, imagine the victory parade!

What is done is done and cannot be undone. We want to know about the future. How will each one address the matters that concern us as individuals and as a country. How long will we have to hang our heads in shame when we hear about children dying by the minute, rapes occurring each day or when we are asked the question is India safe!

I am also sick and tired hearing about models: the Gujarat model, the toffee model, the son-in-law model and God know what else may still come our way. Some want us to believe that Gujarat is a Shangri La within India and were its model to be projected on the whole country all our problems will vanish. Others want us to believe that this is not the case at all and the reality is quite the opposite and has the worst social indices. I as a normal being am uncomfortable with both views.

I was comforted when I read an article entitled Gujarat- Its Smelly, Its Dusty , Its Poor. Its India. It is worth a read. It shows you that  if  you keep your eyes, ears (and nose) open, Gujarat is just another   smelly, congested, dusty, inept  Indian state stuck firmly to India’s side to its West.

What we need is a model for India. Wonder who will give us that.

Sometimes all it takes to put a big smile on my face is browsing through my almost ten thousands pictures of project why spanning the fourteen past years of my life and finding the one that will lift the cloud of the moment. It can just be a happy face, a tender memory, a funny incident or simply be reason enough for a good pat on my back!

These pictures were taken by a young photographer who posted them on FB – God bless FB – and were snapshots I have never seen. I just could not help smiling and grinning like the proverbial Cheshire cat. It is true that I see these kids, but not as often as I would like in recent times, put I always prompt a hurried and harried: say good morning to Ma’am by the teachers and dutifully the children rise and chorus a rehearsed and droning Good Morning Maaaa’m. Some smiles, but their smiles seem contrived, others – the new ones- look frankly scared. As I am always short of time I beat a hasty retreat.

I sometimes wish I could be a fly on the wall to share real moments with my 1000 kids. As things stand today this seems a pipe dream. But maybe, if I can conjure the miracle of ensuring sufficient funds for pwhy and am still not too old and creaky, I will spend my last days on earth with these kids.

When I ask my staff to get photographs because I need them, they dutifully do so. But not being professionals, again the pictures seem stage managed.

So it is pure delight when a kind photographers offers to offer his/her time and gifts me these precious snapshots and the smiles that go with them.

Thank you Aditya.

Respected Prime Minister,

I chose to write to you today as we still do not know who you will be, though the guesses are few, but somehow writing to a yet anonymous person is easier for me. Let me too remain anonymous though I can tell you that I am a child, who remain anonymous and voiceless. I was born in this city and live in a small shanty house with my family of 6. Our room is so tiny that after fitting one bed there is no place to move but my mother does everything to make it feel like home. Like many others from our village, my parents came to the big city to look for a better life, if not for themselves, at least for their children. They thought that in the big city their children could be educated and have a better chance in life. My parents are illiterate. My father is a daily wager and my mother looks after me and my siblings. 

My home has a tin roof and one small fan but at night we barely fight in it. There are mosquitoes as our slum is tucked away in between factories and a dirty drain goes by it, and we spent many sleepless nights. Last year my brother got malaria and as there is only one quack in our area, he did not treat him right and by the time we rushed to the hospital which is faraway, it was too late for him.
The house is lower than the road so when it rains the room gets flooded. My mother had to fight every day to get enough water and we have to go to the toilet in the open. But at least I can walk and run not like my friend Radha who has a bone disease and walks on her hand. Her house too is very small and when her little brother walks over her, he limbs get broken. In the 12 years of her life she has had more than 50 fractures. Were her house big, this would not have happened. So I guess I am lucky. On my way to school, I see little children begging and looking at them, I feel I should stop complaining. But Sir, do you see them too, and if you do, why don’y you do anything for them?

I do go to school but Sir, how can you study in a class of 80 children and learn anything. My parents cannot afford private tuition and the teachers do not teach us anything. I am lucky because I go to a project before school and they teach me, but my friends move from class to class without learning. I know a boy who is in class VII and cannot even read. I am told that every child has a right to free and quality education so Sir how come I do not get my right. But then at least I go to school. What about the child that begs at the street light. Do you ever look at her when you stop at a light but I forgot big people like you do not stop at lights, you just whizz through. Maybe you should stop at lights and see these children.

I know there have been many schemes to help the poor as we are called, though I do not consider myself as poor as I am better than the beggar child, but they do not reach us. We do not have the papers needed and my parents do not know how to get all that is required to get some cheaper food. You see you need to know people or pay money and we have neither. There are days when my father does not get work and we go to sleep hungry. My mother makes us drink some chilli water and then we have to drink more water and somehow our stomach gets filled. And this goes for every programme that is made for the ‘poor’. The ones who really deserve it remain invisible and anonymous. The reservation you made in good schools for 25% of ‘poor’ children will never reach us.  Wily people become ‘poor’ as they know how to get papers and their children study in these good schools. I see all the nice buses that pass by as I walk to my school which is very far from my slum.

When we sing patriotic songs at school and salute the flag, I do feel proud of being Indian even though my life looks miserable. But what if I told you that my mother always smiles and tells us that there will be better times and I Sir, am determined to beat the odds whatever they may be. I will make my dreams come true.

But Sir, when you come to power, will you give a thought to us invisible people who are part of this society and give it our best, even if we remain unseen. 

I hope you do. Maybe you could just start by stopping at a red light and looking deep into the eyes of the little girl who will knock at your window. And if you, open the eyes of your heart.

A child of India

These elections have been a reality show in the true sense of the word, unscripted and immensely entertaining. One of the surprises it sprung was the toffee model, where one of the contestant alluded to his opponent having sold land for one rupee, the price of a toffee. All this is jest and bantering but I  would like to share a real fact which would make anyone cry ion despair.

I have recently written about the sports programme the husband would like to initiate for the 2500 children of the nearby Government school. I do not know if he will succeed or not this is one mean obstacle race that may even need at the doors of Justice! I just hope it works

I simply want to share a thought that come to my mind this morning. The school has an annual sports budget of eight thousand rupees for 2500 kids: that is 3.20 rupees per kid per year or 0.26 rupee or 26 paise per child per month. Not even the price of a toffee. Wonder who makes these absurd budgets.

I have recently sent a link to a series of incredible pictures about incredible India! I posted them on my Facebook page, but if you have not seen them please do take a few minutes and treat yourself to something unique. These pictures exemplify all that is great about our wonderful country: its ability to beat all odds, no matter how challenging they may be. Who would have ever thought of perching an iron on two books and boiling your milk. This happens only in India. You may smirk or snigger and say that it was all done for the camera. Maybe so. But I would like to differ as I have been privy over the past 14 years of how the other India, the one forgotten by politicians and crony capitalists, the one mentioned in speeches and made promises to, promises that are never kept but that make good fodder for lining pockets, the one that has learnt to survive in spite of everything and survive with a smile. That is the real India shining, the one that we have all conveniently forgotten.

I am no economist, politician, administrator, decision maker and anything of this kind. I marvel at having been able to create and sustain project why in spite of my total lack of skills. Come on I cannot even manage my house budget. I guess in the case of pwhy someone up there holds the strings and makes me move in the right direction. But even I can see that all the empty speeches and models that one has been/is hearing will never solve all the problems of India.

Over the years I have despaired at the slow death of all the street vendors and hawkers. Once upon a time their cries were part of your day-to-day life. You did not have to step out of your home to mend a shoe, get your silver chain repaired, give your clothes for ironing, buy your bread and eggs, your vegetables and fruits and so on not to forget ice creams, chaat, and more. And then slowly they became rarer, their cries slowly disappearing just like the call of the birds. The rich suddenly decided that letting all these hawkers in their colonies posed a ‘danger’ to their safety. And gates were erected, and certain hawkers given access while others were rejected. Don’t ask me why. I have no answer. I thought we lived in a free country where every citizen could roam wherever he wished. I watch with sadness and anger the rising of swanky gated communities where even lifts are segregated. I wonder which lift a maid takes when she is with the child she cares for. I guess the one for the haves! I must stop as all this makes me mad.

We all know that one of the big problem the country is facing is undoubtedly that of employment. And in my humble opinion unless small enterprises is not given its rightful place, we will never be able to solve the employment issue of over a billion people. I wonder what our young Prime Ministerial aspirant means when he states over and over again: The poor need a launch pad to progress. A poor man cannot eat roads and We want more people involved in the process of nation-building.

One agrees in principle but then a few kilos of grain doled out or a few days a work under some maladministered schemes are not the answer. On the other hand new industries, new malls, big retail outlets etc will only give jobs to those with the right skills. Remember how irritated we get when we have a poor girl or boy answering our call to some call centre or the other and not understanding our English. Next time be a little indulgent. But even with these new promised avenues, there will be still millions who will fall between the cracks: the ones who are not educated, who are to old, who do not have the skills required. But what they have is priceless: a will to survive, sound common sense and an ability to create employment for themselves. No I am not joking. I have seen these kind of people day in and day out and have marvelled at their ingenuity. They are spot on and respond to the market forces far better than you and I, without the need of market studies and the likes of them. I will give you a few examples: when a recruitment examination is on you will have one or two bright larks spreading a sheet outside the venue and selling guide books! If the number of people from a particular community or region settle in sufficient numbers in a place you have people who set up road eateries catering to their local preferences and when their festivals come you have hawkers selling all that is needed. That is what I call enterprise!

But these entrepreneurs are hounded by the police and the administration and have to pay hefty bribes  simply to earn their living. I do not know what I would do were my road side tailor – the successor of the erstwhile veranda tailors of our grandmothers – or my ironing lady who has been ironing our clothes since before I got married and whose hair has greys along with mine, removed. I would feel orphaned!

Everyone wants to empower people but they want to do it their way. Please do build your roads and industries but leave space for people to find their solutions and facilitate these enterprises by giving them space and recognition. They create jobs and care for their families. This is true empowerment and true inventiveness.

In my previous post, I had written about the state of sports in the Government school next to our home and the quasi impossibility of doing ‘anything’ to make things better because of the absurd red tape that exists in our country. In short should you want to improve things and offer free help you will be shown the door and even run the risk of getting sued for trespass!

The state of the school grounds is abysmal and no child can play anything without the risk of being hurt. Teams exist on paper and the authorities wait endlessly for the file too move and for the right department to be finally, if ever, chosen to do the simple task of levelling the ground.

Sports are part of the curriculum. There is a sports teacher and a weekly period assigned to the subject.

You cannot imagine in your wildest dream the annual  budget allocation for sports for 2500 children. Hold your breath! It is 8000 Rupees per year, and no I have not missed out a zero, EIGHT THOUSAND RUPEES or 132 US$ or 95 Euros! That is 3.3 rupees per year per child. Need I say more.

I would love to know what our aspiring politicians intend to do about this. Oops I forgot, children are not vote banks!

Today I write an India Story. The reason why I entitle this blog so is that this little story reflects how things work in our beloved land. In an earlier blog I had mentioned how the husband was all excited about starting a sports project in the neighbourhood and how thrilled I was at his finding a project that I truly felt/feel will give him a new lease of life. His first visit to the school went on well as I was told by him. According to him, the Principal was amenable to Ranjan’s ideas and Ranjan who is quite a greenhorn at dealing with the likes of the Principal thought all was hunky dory. Any reasonable person would feel that way. Why should anyone in their right mind refuse free help for their children. Ranjan was ready to make a state of the art facility for the 2500 kids of the school and that too for free. But darling, this is India, and things do not quite work like that. Before he ventured too far in the wrong direction, I knew I had to intervene. You see he had gone to see the Principal of the school with one of my coordinators and must have spoken in an English the poor man could barely comprehend and as things go in India, the man must have nodded along and been lost. For Ranjan it was all spot on and he was busy calling people who would help in his project.

It took me two days to convince Ranjan to make one more trip to the school, this time with me. The ploy I used was that people like the Principal needed a bit of PR or else they would think that one had forgotten them. The real reason was that I wanted to make the Principal talk and state the real picture. The man was all smiles and very welcoming and called his PT teacher to join the talk. It did not take me a minute to have them say that they could do nothing without written permission from the top, whatever the top was. This was still quite incomprehensible to Ranjan as, like any sane person, he could not accept the fact that a Principal could not allow someone to do good for his children for FREE. Ultimately we had to cross the Ts ad dot the Is. The problem was that should the Principal give his permission the powers that be would come down on him and ask him what he got out of the deal and how much money he made. This was a shock to Ranjan but as I said this is India.

The PT teacher then told us that a well wisher had tried to do the same and the then Principal had agreed but sometime later when the activities were well under way they had to be stopped and not only was the Principal called to task and transferred, a case was instituted against the poor man for trespassing on Government land!  Ranjan was shocked and I was relieved. And there is more: the school has been trying to get the grounds levelled for months now but the file is stuck somewhere as no one seems to know which agency will do that: the PWD says it is the Horticultural Department who says they only plant grass and so on and so forth. In the mean time, and this is heart wrenching and infuriating, the children cannot partake in any sorting activity though we were told the school has a cricket team, a hockey team, a kabbadi team, a football team and so on. This is what we do to our children.

Ranjan is determined to beat the system and I know is anyone can it is my man! I want him to because I know that this project will do him immense good. I just hope and pray it happens. I know how hard it is and how you have to dig your heels and not give up.

Sports is an integral part of a sound education system. We have our own India story to tell. The picture you see was taken circa 2004 when we organised our own Sports Day. As you see most of the kids do not have shoes! The ground is uneven and only determined and motivated kids would accept to run in such conditions. The ground is part of a building complex that once housed the Labour Court and then lay unused and empty. Sometimes it became a wedding venue. We even had two of our Annual Days in the hall of the building which must have been the court room. Still naive and credulous I had made a project report to transform the place into a community centre with all kind of activities sports being one of them. Of course the file is still lost in transit but what happened was something else. One fine day the place was spruced up and we were told some swanky NGO was moving in. A board was erected that stated that the NGO did everything under the sun that could get UN and other funding. For a few days it housed destitute women that were poorly treated but even that stopped and the building does again once all funds had been collected. Needless to say the NGO belonged to the progeny of a very important person. Today the building lies unused and children have nowhere to play.

These elections look more and more like the Mad hatter’s Tea Party with toffees and balloons. This is what elections have come too. Toffees and Balloons and a tea party! This is what it has come down to: slandering and more slandering. And let us not forget the sprinkling’s of ‘off with their heads’!  We are really in wonderland or rather its very antonym: dread sea! The whole show is absurd. They are now even borrowing catchy lines from popular TV ads to make their point! I wonder what we can expect next.

Though I agree with one of the star campaigners that these elections are or should be for the heart of India, my take is somewhat different.

In the past decade or so I have seen, felt, fallen in love and embraced the heart of India. The heart of India is the slum kid who smiles, the little child who begs at a red light, the millions who survive despite every politician and do so with rare dignity and courage. Th heart of India is the desperate mother who ferrets rat holes to ensure that she does not have to once again lull a her hungry child to sleep, it is the mother who sprinkles large amount of chillies on the family’s only meal to ensure that they drink so much water that next meal can be skipped. The heart of India is the young boy whose eyes glinted with joy when I told him this morning that maybe we would be starting sports activities in on the neglected grounds of his school, the heart of India lies in the vegetable vendor calls out in my street in the sweltering heat or the bone chilling cold. The heart of India lies in the millions who find ingenious ways to earn a living even if it means being hounded by cops and officials who claim their right on part of his meagre earnings. The heart of India lies in the woman who sits at her door step late in the evening waiting for her man to come back with the day’s earnings and hoping he will not stop by the watering hole; the heart of India lies in my little Radha who sleeps in a hole with her brittle bones hoping that she will survive one more day without a fracture. I could go on but I guess you get the picture.

Why should I not be enraged when one of the aspiring PM candidate whose party has been in power for the best part of Independent India, states in a speech after more than 6 decades: Our top three priorities after the elections are “free medicines and free hospitalisation by law, a roof for everyone, and pension to all senior citizens. Does it take 60+ years to realise that everyone needs a roof on their heads and access to basic health care not to forget schools. What the hell were you doing till now.

 I have being watching  a TV programme called Election Yatra, were reporters visit remote areas and interview ordinary people and politicians and ask them to share their views. Yesterday they visited Uttar Pradesh. Should you wish to watch it here is the link. I was shocked to find out about a village that in its late found wisdom has decided not to vote this time. The reason is that every aspiring candidate from any and every party promised them a road and never fulfilled their promise. They actually never came back. This time NO ONE has visited this remote and lost village. You may wonder why a simple road is so crucial. Let me enlighten you. During the rains, the mud road – if one may call it so – gets flooded and the village turns into an island. Children cannot go to school and in an emergency you cannot reach the hospital in time. Two people from the same family died last year as they could not reach help in time. So this time first ROAD then VOTE. Maybe the real meaning of democracy is finally filtering down. The village is called Nada and the district is Etawah. The story is some 8 minutes into the programme. I forgot too mention that the village has a hand water pump that never functioned.

To me it is shocking that the constituencies of the top politicians look the most neglected. One would have expected the opposite and thought they would be models of development. I am at a total loss to find out the reason for the neglect. I am talking of constituencies who have diligently voted one family back for years. I hope they too get the message this time.

The probable winning candidate for the top post of the country has till now scared me. I know the country needs a kind of a  dictator but a benign one and I am a little weary of how power may alter all good intentions. I was however comforted to hear in his latest interview that he will not be vindictive. On cleaning politics this is what he said: What is the solution? That political parties do not give tickets to such people? But frankly, such a situation is not feasible just now. I am determined that candidates, MPs from whichever party, including the BJP, against who cases are already lodged, I will request the Supreme Court to dispose of their cases within a year’s time. So that if they are guilty, they go to jail and vacate the seat for a non-criminal. Makes sense and I hope that he will stand by his words and do just that.

I would like to know though what he will do to ensure that every child has access to quality education we as a country would not have to bear the shame of watching 5000 children die everyday of malnutrition.

And hove all, what he will do for what I call the heart of India.

I am one happy biddy today. Utpal alias Popples is up in the mountains on a school trip. It is a one week trip with rock climbing, rope climbing, trekking, sleeping in tents and even in a three star hotel! He told me about staying in a hotel when he called one day asking for new inner wear and socks and felt the old ones would blot do. he is becoming quite a little man.

I am over the moon. Of course like the old worrying and dotty Maam’ji enquired about the details over and over but yesterday night he called me all excited and told me about his day and his sitting around a campfire and having snacks! And then he would be sleeping in a tent. He had rope climbed, just like in movies he told me, and also climbed rocks. I hope someone is taking pictures.

This is the first time Utpal has been in a big bus, seen mountains, slept in a tent, sat around a bonfire and had fun. God bless him always.

Watching what one could truly call the biggest reality show on the planet a.k.a the Elections leaves me bewildered and saddened. No matter which way you look at it, it all seems wrong as no one is willing to address the real questions that plague our country: malnutrition, education, health and most of all the poor. One of the candidates for what may be called a 5* constituency as it has returned a Prime Minister and now has an aspiring one in the fray, stated that no development is  visible and the people feel betrayed. Logic would make us believe that a high profile constituency should be made a model for development, but this is not the case. Here, just like everywhere else, you see the candidate once in 5 years and hear promises forgotten before the dust of his departing cavalcade has settled.

For the past weeks we have been ‘treated’ to a script worthy of the best soap opera script writer as is proved by the twists and turns in the plot. Beats the Hunger Games. You have the case of the forgotten wife and her reappearance after half a century, the episode where you are told that boys are boys and can rape with impunity, followed by the one who prescribes death for anyone who has had consensual relationships outside marriage reminding me of the Bob Dylan lyrics: every body must get stoned! What about the slaps, punches, ink and egg throwing? The slandering matches are priceless and often absurd. It almost seems like all our aspiring Parliamentarians are simply interested in oneupmanship of the wrong kind. And what about the advertising campaign: the posters, the songs, the TV clips, the caps and God knows what else. Even the simple and normally pleasing act of reading your morning newspaper has become polluted by the aggressive PR campaign on each and every page. And then the TV debates, the India wants to know, the can I get a minute to answer. These prolonged and seemingly never ending elections makes one want to hibernate. I miss the days when elections were wrapped up in a day and then the results took two days of viewing Hindi films on TV with news flashes in between. Those were happy days!

But what truly upsets me is the lack of connect between this election soap and reality. Having spend almost a decade and a half in the field, for want of another word, I have seen reality. I am not talking of faraway villages or disturbed tribal belts but of slums in the nation’s capital city, just a stone’s throw away from where we live our privileged life. I recently visited the house of the husband’s acquaintance and have no words to describe it. Let me simply say I wished I had sunglasses on to protect me from the glare. Every item in  the house comes from Italy or some other hallowed land and the only words in my lexicon to describe the place is gaudy, over the top and nauseating. More so as the family lives most of the year abroad. Now for the show stopper that says it all. The house is replete with surveillance cameras right down to the kitchen and viewed from the master bedroom.

Barely 2 km away little Radha – the girl in the picture -, her brittle bones and her family of five live in a sunken dark hole that can barely hold a bed. This is how most of the pwhy children live. And what is galling is that in every election political parties promise them regularisation of their homes if they vote them in. Needless to say this saga has been going on for decades. I would like to ask these politicians if they can live one day in these conditions. Need I say more. This is India.

So what went wrong. A recent article aptly entitled Decolonisation of the Mind make interesting reading. The article begins with these words: Mirror, mirror on the wall, who is the least independent of us all? Or, to put it in more familiar terms, Macaulay ke asli aulad kaun hain (Who are Macaulay’s real children)? To find out read the article as somewhat we all stand guilty. Homosexuality is still a crime, we still have or had till recent days criminal tribes and our Penal Code relies on anachronistic Victorian values and legislation. And yet no political party has the b**** to change things. Both our minds and our politics remain in thrall to colonialism. The article shows us what the parties in the fray stand for. It is scary, particularly if you have your heart in the right place.

Who will bell the cat?

I will end by simply quoting the concluding words of the said article: Now is a good time to reflect on the colonial racism which infects mainstream India’s view of Adivasis as primitive savages who can be deprived of land and livelihood with impunity. Dalit and Adivasi perspectives should not be footnotes to envisioning a decolonised India free of hunger, disease, environmental degradation and deprivation: they should be central to it. Only then will we have a truly independent country with no family resemblances to the late Lord Macaulay’s vision.

Once again the Supreme Court has stayed all nursery admissions in Delhi and once again little children are paying for the total inefficiency of the administration. It makes us shudder at the kind of state machinery we have. They are not even able to get their act together to ensure the first step of the Right to Education Act: nursery admissions.

When the Act was promulgated I knew that it would encounter huge obstacles as it just did not make sense. The state takes full responsibility of providing free and equitable education to ALL children in India and this can only be done if they make ALL state run schools centre of excellence or they let keep the status quo: poorly government schools and a vast spectrum of private schools from modest to uber rich with their criteria and rules of admission and management. Mixing the two is a recipe for disaster as is the case now.

Many lauded the absurd solution of reserving 20% seats in every private school for underprivileged kids and the equally absurd points system for nursery admission which they heralded as their solution to the neighbourhood school option. The implementation has been a total failure as we all know. On the one hand it is not the poor who have availed of the reservation but the middle class who though able to afford the fees, have instead manufactured all the needed documents and pushed their children in. The main problem is the fact that good schools are not available in every area and that state run schools that proliferate the city are abysmal.

When the husband, who got his epiphany after casting his vote in the government school and taking a walk on the immense but neglected grounds, went to meet the school Principal and offer to run sports activities in the school, he pointed out the cobwebs and broken windows to the Principal. The Principal told him that all cleaning staff was contracted and thus he did not have any hold on them. This is yet another example of the again much lauded Public Private Partnership where huge amounts find their way in greedy pockets and the work remains undone. Why is the Government always abdicating its responsibilities.

For the Right to Education to truly become a Right for every child born in India, then the State has to assume its responsibility and set up quality schools at walking distance. I have always been an advocate of the State run neighbourhood school imparting quality education and where any child from the said neighbourhood can study. State run schools should not be of poor quality and hence an option only for the poorest children. Sadly that is the case and yet there was a time when State run schools imparted quality education. The proof lies in the biodatas of many who are today in high posts across the board.

True we need to deal with the present social barriers where the so called ‘rich’ would shudder at the thought of sending their progeny to a State run school and have her share her school bench with the maid’s daughter. But that is what school is all about: a level playing ground where all children learn together. I am sure that if all State run schools were of the quality of the State run Central schools, many of us would have no problem sending our kids there.

Next time my home two schools share a common wall. One is a secondary state run school – the one the husband visited and the other is a known Public school one of many across the city. The former has a pathetic building with some classes mere barracks and humongous but neglected grounds. The other has a swanky building but hardly any place to play. The logic is simple: the later being a commercial enterprise will try and stuff in as many classes as possible as every student is a source of income and follows market forces. The demand is far higher than the supply as is well proved by the numbers of Public schools mushrooming in our city.

Now let us talk admission. The points system for nursery admission was established to counter what was perceived as the high handedness of certain schools who set up their own criteria and even demanded large donations. The idea was to to simplify and fine tune the criteria of admissions to nursery in private schools and do away with interviews both of parents and children which was undoubtedly unfair. But we not forget one crucial recommendation of the committee set up for this purpose:it said the concept of neighbourhood school would slowly gain momentum in the capital and would set an example for the rest of the country. “If we can help the government schools improve their quality, then our vision will get a great impetus”.

As always we do things in half measures. The point system began to be followed and amended along the way with regular intervention of PILs and subsequent court orders. The absurdity of the whole system is now evident as nursery school admissions which should have ended by now as school resumes on April 1st, has not even begun as groups of parents risk to the Courts to defend their rights.   What will happen is a mystery. The other measure that needed attention: namely improvement of the government schools was lost in translation.

We have just learnt or rather been reminded of the fact that the most favoured contender to the top job in India is married. This is what he declared in his poll affidavit in Vadodara. A hasty explanation was proffered by his elder brother   who stated that the marriage was forced on Modi by his parents when he was a teenager in keeping with the old orthodox tradition of fixing marriages between children and that it was never consummated as Modi walked out of the marriage soon after it was solemnised. What is worrying is that he has left the field for “spouse” blank in four Assembly polls. Of late, he has also flaunted his single status at rallies, saying that he was single and had no one to be corrupt for.

In an interview earlier this year she claims he is still her husband and wishes him well. She never married again.

Another ‘leader’ declared yesterday that boys make mistakes and hence should not be ‘hanged’ for rapes they commit. His statement is nothing short of outrageous :Boys and girls ….later they had differences, and the girl went and gave a statement that I have been raped. And then the poor fellows, three of them have been sentenced to death. Should rape cases lead to hanging? They are boys, they make mistakes. Two or three have been given the death sentence in Mumbai. We will try and change such laws…we will also ensure punishment of those who report false cases. 

Boys make mistakes you see. They get married and then decide to lead the life of dedication to nation minus wife so in a land where a woman once married, even if she is a child, and discarded does not have a second chance at making a home. Today’s headline is proof of this fact as the lady in question never get marries and if that was not enough she still does penance for the success of her ‘husband’. She  has given up eating rice for some months now as a penance to see Modi as PM. And if that was not enough she gave up wearing footwear for four months seeking PM candidature for her husband. To our politicians she must be the ideal woman, the kind lauded in our epics or portrayed in the all time Bollywood block buster Mother India!

I am sure there may still be women like that but in today’s India there are women like us who claim equal rights in every which way. And we need politicians who can represent such women and accept and respect the laws that protect women.

Rape can not be brushed aside as a boy’s slip up pr boo-boo. Rape is the vilest form of assault against a woman and scars the survivor for life. For that matter any form of abuse leaves life long scars and should be punished by law. Rape can never be mistake. I wonder if the said politician would feel the same should anyone dear to him be raped. He belongs to the party where one of his Minister moved heaven and earth when his buffaloes went missing. What would he do if someone raped his kin. Would he simply say boys and boys…

One voted without quite knowing what the views of parties were on matters that are important to us. One party released its manifesto on the day voting began. This year one simply tried to work out in one’s head the best option possible. Time will tell us if we did right.

Ranjan and I just voted. For Ranjan it was the first time as for years his name was not on the voter’s list but this time it was, as it seems to be part of God’s plan for R’s recovery. Coming to the vote, I did not get the epiphany I so wanted. I simply voted for what I felt was the best option. Only time will tell if I did the right thing. Ranjan, on the other hand had his plan and voted accordingly. So you may be wondering why this post is entitled: An epiphany and a prayer answered. Bear with me as all this is rather convoluted and has to be explained as logically as possible. I will give it my best try!

The polling booth was in the secondary school next door, a school we all pass each time we leave or come back home. Most of us never look at it let alone see it with our eyes, seeing with the heart is a pipe dream. The school is not the one our kids go to and at best we get irritated by the students who crowd the road when school is out and slow us down. But today was different, not so for me, as after 14 years of working with children who come from such schools and hearing their horror stories, I am almost inured as I expect the worse. However Ranjan has never entered a Government school and was more than horrified at what he saw. For the uninitiated it is just about everything: desks that are broken with shards that can hurt the child sitting at it and that are so narrow that they would that one cannot place a note book let alone a register straight across it, filthy walls with peeling paint, ceilings that are falling apart or in some classes asbestos sheets that must be hell in summer. I could go on but I guess you get the picture.

Ranjan was truly appalled and decided to walk through the school and as he walked around I could see him opening the eyes of his heart. He was amazed at the sheer size of what is called the playground but where no child plays as it is not maintained and filled with stones. However Ranjan the sportsman saw the possibility of innumerable hockey and football fields and even a cricket ground. That is when he had his epiphany: let us do something. This was further reinforced when we found out from the guard that this was a one shift school and thus all this lovely space that should be filled with children playing lay empty from 1.30 pm onwards. On the way back Ranjan and I talked about what could be done and to every caveat I put forward based on my experience of 14 years, he had an answer ready and was willing to go to the highest authority if need be. His idea is to begin sports activities for the kids by making proper grounds and giving proper coaching. So that was the epiphany bit.

Now you may wonder what the prayer is all about. That is where I come in. When I was totally broken after the death of my parents and had sunk into a dark depression that lasted years, it is project why that lifted me again and gave me a second lease of life. I have been wrecking my brain for a project for Ranjan that would give him what pwhy gave me: a reason to live and more than that a way to give back something to those who are less privileged.

God works wonders. I will beat the iron while it is hot and take Ranjan to meet the Principal – hope this one is not too much of a sourpuss – and set the ball rolling. Who knows? By this summer itself we may have kids playing football in the grounds that lie empty waiting for children to run on it.

So help me God.

Voting is tomorrow and I still do not know who I will vote for. I have been trying to hear between the lines all the screaming debates that have invaded our homes in the past months/weeks. I have been scouring magazines and the net for articles that would help me decide. I have talked to friends and mere acquaintances and even unknown people. Every one had a different point of view.

I recently received a link to an open letter to Modi, Rahul and   by Veer Das which quite sums up what I feel. It all bhakt up as he says in his own ignitable style! But vote we must and intelligently if possible in the present scenario as pressing the NOTA button gets you nowhere. So let me try and get some order in my thoughts and share with you some of the very unexpected views I have come across in the past few days. I was told that a person I know well and who has entry into the hallowed circle of the dynasty, is voting AAP and has asked his staff to do the same. Another lady whose wisdom I respect is doing the same and so his her staff. A sikh shopkeeper told me he would vote Congress as one of the other options scared him and the other would not be good for his business. I leave you to guess which is which. I just got a call urging me to vote BJP as if they did not come with all the numbers then we would have elections again and that was not good for stability. I guess everyone has their point but I am still confused.

For many years I voted Congress as that was the party whose ideology was closest to mine but then it got diluted, dictatorial and then simply greedy. Wonderful projects that never saw the light of day. I strongly believe even today that if 50% of all social programmes are implemented as they should, India would look healthy! My nana was a Congressman in the days when the Congress had one agenda: freedom from the British. It was undoubtedly a motley crew held together by one dream. When India did become independent many thought that the Congress as it was then should be disbanded as they had achieved what they set out to. My nana was one of them. Many attempts were made to make him agree to join the Government but he wouldn’t budge from his point of view. Later he would contest elections, municipal ones, but as an Independent candidate whose symbol was a pair of scales and won many times. It is believed that he did a lot for the city he made his home. Maybe people like him were right as history shows that the Congress has gone through several mutations. I did not vote in a couple of elections, being out of the country or again a tad lost. In 2004 when the option ‘refused to vote’ was possible, I exercised it. However I dot feel comfortable pressing the NOTA button this time.

This election is a whole new ball game. Early this year a new political party again with a one point agenda – end corruption – changed the equation and I voted for them in the Assembly Elections. We all know what happened next and how in my humble opinion, they were manipulated by political stalwarts and Humpty Dumpty had a great fall. They picked up the pieces but the harm was done. The husband is of the opinion that they should be given a few seats to act as watchdogs in Parliament.

A recent article on the necessity or rather the urgency of having a political alternative makes interesting reading. It ends by stating and no matter how regular, free and fair our elections, democracy cannot flourish without dissent. Many have criticised the fact that the AAP is contesting a large number of seats but as a friend quoting a political analyst said, it is the only way for this young Party with few resources to establish a pan Indian presence. Do read the article for a different point of view. Let me reproduce the first paras to tempt you into reading it:

In India at the time of a national election, it’s usually considered fair for politicians and political parties to make promises that everyone knows will not necessarily be kept; for electoral contestants to make claims, counter-claims and allegations that are exaggerated and sometimes completely preposterous; for ticket-seekers to switch parties and allegiances at the last minute depending on the patronage they receive or are denied; and in general, for language to be used loosely, excessively and rhetorically during campaigning. The usual rules about how we speak and what we mean are suspended for a few months, after which things once again return to normal. Odd as that sounds, the exceptional use of language is part of the routine of any big Indian election, and this is probably true in most other democracies as well.

But the 2014 Lok Sabha election in India appears to be unfolding in a way that distorts the use of campaign language as well as the language of election analysis more than usual. It is not just about exaggeration, false accusations and dithering, but rather about serious ideological about-turns and self-censorship on the part of many contestants as well as commentators.

I think we cannot but agree. This election has been the most strident one, a real cacophony.

I have still not made up my mind. I pray for an Epiphany!

In the past years I have come up with many bye lines for project why. Because it makes that little difference is the one that seems to have stuck! Where children dare to dream, however, is my all time favourite though it made a short appearance in our lives. To me it encompasses the spirit of project why in more ways than one as I believe that if a person like me can create something like project why then nothing is impossible. I remember the early days when we began our field project in the gypsy camp now razed to the ground, I told the children there that they had to dream big dreams, dreams bigger than they could imagine.

Sanjay circa 2002

Sanjay walking in Paris for AgnesB

 He dared to dream!
One young boy heard me loud and clear. It is Sanjay the boy in the orange shirt in the picture on the right. Today he is an international model who walks for designers in Paris and of course India. He dared to dream big and maybe things did not turn quite as he had at first imagined but his success story is remarkable to say the least! He even has a movie about his life aptly entitled Bollywood Boulevard! Before he hit success he spent some time as a primary teacher at project why!

Young Anita comes with her own success story. Today she proudly teaches primary and secondary classes at our Govindpuri and in the picture above is leading her brood to an outing at the Railway museum. Would you believe me if I told you that she was one of our first students in 2002 in our creche! But that is the reality. When she passed her class XII she came to us asking us for a job. She told us that she wanted to do a B Com from the Open University but that her parents who are very poor could not afford the fees. But that was not all. Being very conservative, her father would not allow hurt to work anywhere but at project why. You guessed right, she got her job like  a shot! This year she will finish her B Com. I do hope she does a B Ed as that would allow her to become a teacher in a good school as that was always a dram, even as a little girl: to be a teacher! We would have to let her go then as our salaries as paltry! I hope her father allows her to continue working and marries her to a man sensitive enough to understand her and help her fulfil her dreams.

It is amusing but whenever you ask one of the project why’s girls what she wants to be pat comes the answer: a teacher or a singer. I guess this is the only world they know: Project Why+Bollywood as even the poorest home’s prize possession is a TV. When Suzie, a young and motivated volunteer asked them this very question she got the same answer.

But Suzie is a feisty woman and thought she had to widen their horizons in her own inimitable style. I requested to give me a short summary in her own words and this is what she wrote: Well I wasn’t having any of it; I decided to put together a list of 11 famous women who achieved so much throughout History, from scientists to writers to politicians, and show the girls that there is more out there for them if they put their mind to it.

We learned about Joan of Arc, Marie Curie, Jane Goodall, Anne Frank; I asked the girls to read out to each other texts about all these women and their achievements, to ask each other questions about them; we spent three afternoons, learning about Sampat Pal Devi’s gang of Pink Saris; about Mathilde Anneke’s first newspaper dedicated to women; about the work of Mother Theresa in 133 countries; about Florence Nightingale and her revolution of the world of nursing; and about how JK Rowling thought up Harry Potter on a train to Manchester… 

We made a wall hanging, with photos of all of them in chronological order, ending with a banner that read “YOU COULD BE NEXT – We can all be scientists, activists, writers, if we get an education! 

It was an amazing project and I must admit it got me thinking. Maybe we needed to add something to our teaching to help children widen their horizons and confirmed beyond doubt my belief that with education you can DARE TO DREAM!

The girls love dancing and are mean dancers. Here is proof.

In my last post, I wondered as I reach what I call my twilight years and prepare for the next world where we all head one day, what I would tell the three extraordinary women I descend from when they ask me whether the land whose freedom they fought for had become what they had hoped for and whether all the sacrifices they had made had been worthwhile. And above all what would I say when these three feminists and women’s rights activists would enquire about the status of women in free India.

How can I tell them that we have let them down all the way and hijacked and destroyed all their dreams. Do I tell them who fought for women’s rights when scarcely any one did, that in free India women are abused by the minute; that little girls are raped, that no woman feels safe.

Do I tell them who went to sleep hungry so that there men could fight to free India by languishing in jail on never ending hunger strikes, that mothers have to ferret in rat holes for grains to feed their hungry children; that lullabies that women now sing extol the virtue of sleeping in spite of hunger pangs.

 Do I tell the one who was willing to live life as spinster rather than give give birth to a slave child, that 5000 children die everyday of malnutrition, that millions have no roofs on their heads. Do I tell the ones who fought hard so that their grandchild/daughter could get maximum education,  that all girls still do not go to school and if they do they learn nothing as schools do not teach. Do I tell them of children begging on the streets? Do I tell them of young women being killed because they dared to love? Do I tell them that girls foetuses are killed in the wombs and baby girls thrown in dustbins? And yet that is the reality after 60+ years of Independence, a celebration all these three women took part in. How do I tell them that we have crushed every dream they had and let them down in every way possible.

How do I tell these upright and honest to a fault women that today it is corruption that begets success; that every politician is only interested in acquiring wealth that has no end; that Parliament has become a fish market; that the rulers have divided us far more than those who colonised us; that religion is used to pursue revolting agendas. Do I tell them that India is hurting and crying. Do I tell them that India is not free.

And should they ask me what did I do, I have no great answer. Educate a few kids? It seems pitiful and makes me ashamed. I am part of who they were the picture above is proof of it. The baby in the her mom’s arms is me. This is no vague and far legacy that can be ignored. I am one of them and need prove that I have the right to be in the picture.