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.

mama and me 1954 Peking

In just a week Delhi will vote. As a responsible citizen I will cast my vote. In the recent assembly elections I was elated to know that we had a new option that seemed, if nothing else, to be the much needed counterpoint to the kind of politics we have been subjected to in the past decades. Once upon a time I voted for a particular party because I believed in what they stood for. That was when there still was  a modicum of ideologies so there was a sort of choice and one stuck by it not realising the surreptitious changes that were happening till the rude awakening of realising that the two main parties had become strangely similar and ideologies had taken a back seat. It did not matter who you voted for the end result was the same: corruption, programmes that looked and sounded good but just remained that sounding good and were never implemented. In my wife, mother, professor, conference organiser days, voting was not a top priority. My world was so restricted that I had I guess lost the ability to see with my heart and look beyond the invisible and almost impregnable societal barriers.

Then I lost my parents and went through an inordinate and endless period of mourning that seemed to be a rather pusillanimous coping strategy with my new status of an orphan. I woke up six years later in a small slum lane and opened the eyes of my heart when I saw Manu. Life would never be the same as I had crossed the invisible walls. You may wonder what all this has to do with elections and voting. Well it is quite simple everything that one had heard, read, even believed in and of course never questioned revealed itself in its stark reality. In the words of the Bard something was rotten in the kingdom of.. India. In 2004 when one found out that as a voter one had the right not to vote, I exercised that right to show that I distrusted all candidates.

Today we have the NOTA button. One would think that I would press it with alacrity. But I won’t as it is no solution at all as it actually means nothing. My years in project why have been an eye opener in myriad of ways and have proved beyond doubt that the political parties have let down the people who deserved their attention and wit every year have been only interested in using every trick in the book to meet their vile agendas. To counter them it is time we did something. At least we women who are now known as the power of 49. It is time we exposed the games and machinations of those to whom we entrusted our country and dreams.

Today, more than ever before, I feel the pull and presence of the long lineage of women I descend from and the compelling to reminisce about them as they all played a part in women’s rights and India’s freedom.

 I only have second hand knowledge that I gathered at the feet of Kamala my mother. She spoke of her paternal grandmother who fought for rights within her very traditional home in Varanasi. The only sister of seven brothers she wanted all her brothers had and was willing to do everything in her power to get what she felt was her right. When she wanted to study only Christian teachers were available and the deal was that she had to bather from head to toe everyday after her lesson. Her study table and chair also had to be ‘bathed’! In those days women wore saris without bloused or petticoats but her teacher wore them so she threw a fit and got her blouse and petticoat. When she reached Varanasi as a bride in the heat of summer, her bare feet burnt like hell. Women did not wear shoes then but men did and her brothers who had accompanied her were walking in comfort. You can guess what happened. Madam got her shoes though the cobbler only knew how to make men’s shoes. She wore them with pride. This is also the woman who watched with pride her son burn all his clothes and leave his home with a heavily pregnant 15 year old wife to join the freedom movement. The young woman was my Nani, Lajjawati and the baby she carried was my mother Kamala.

Nani was the daughter of the official priest of the Maharaja of Jodhpur and had led an easy and happy childhood before she was married to a promising and handsome young man who was reading law and who was the son of a police officer in the British Police. They had a sprawling house in Varanasi and all the comforts. Barely a year after her marriage, her husband decide to leave everything to join the Freedom Struggle. This woman left her marital home with nothing but her husband’s chosen destiny that she embraced with joy. She lived years of want and struggle, battling, often alone as my Nana was frequently in jail, to survive without compromising the dignity of the family. When her children wondered what white drink their friends had – milk – she mixed flour and water and gave it to them. She bought the market leftover vegetables sold cheaper at night and the tiniest potatoes that a little girl had to painstakingly peel at night. As women were in purdah, it was the same little girl who rubbed turmeric and oil on her father’s and his companions’ bleeding backs a result of the merciless beatings they suffered at the hands of the British Police. These women were the unsung heroes of the freedom struggle.

The mother-in-law daughter-in-law duo was formidable feminists. They intuitively knew that education was the key to real freedom and above education of girls. Kamala my mother was enrolled in the first girls school that opened in Meerut and was roll no 1. The Raghunath Girls ‘School’ now an Inter College still exists. Ma was one of the five initial students mentioned. When she was in class VI, her father thought she had studied enough! But that was not the plan of his mother and wife. The battle for Ma’s education had begun. The tactics were borrowed from the unsuspecting father: hunger strikes! Ma would go on a supposed hunger strike though she was gorged at night by her supporters, and then the two battle axes would stand in front of my Nana with sad faces and in maudlin voices would say: Kamala has eaten nothing just as he was about to take his first bite. This happened over and over again and Ma finished school, went to Banaras Hindu University’s as a hosteler and do her BA, MA and LLB. Later in Prague she would complete a PHD.

When the issue of Ma’s marriage came up a deal was made with her father. She would not get married before India’s Independence. The reason was she preferred to live life as a spinster then give life to a slave child. She was 30+ when she got married and the free child is me. Thanks to these formidable women I was born with the proverbial silver spoon but also smothered with values and a love for the country that gave me life. When did I lose my way?

Today more than ever before I feel the weight of the legacy of these women who believed in equal rights for all genders, who were willing to give up everything, sleep hungry, wear ungainly clothes but never let their spirit die. How will I face them when we meet again and what will I tell them when I am asked how is the India we gave you.

I have no answer.

(to be continued)

From the instant I found the strength to look deep into Manu‘s eyes and made him part of my morrows, I took the irrevocable decision of making the dreams of others mine. From that moment there was no coming back. That was also the day I felt the weight of a Damocles’s sword hanging above my head. That was because to make these dreams come true I would have to depend on others till the day I could attain what is known as sustainability. I assure you that I tried everything under the sun to reach that sustainability but failed. The Damocles sword inched closer and closer.

In the past years there have been times when the sword has almost fallen but was stopped in time as some miracle occurred and we were able to carry on unscathed. But a mail that dropped in my box yesterday gave the final push granting me a short reprieve to put my house in order. In this case it means closing some of our centres. Easy peasy some would say. But not for me.

Today I am faced with a Sophie’s choice. I need to send one or more of my children to the slaughter house. The Cartesian in me would say: look at the figure that will be withdrawn, look at the costs of each centre, assess the value of each programme and do the maths. If I do that, then the axe falls on the tiniest ones: the creche. Why is is that these Cornelian dilemmas where one is obliged to choose between two courses of action either of which having a detrimental effect on ourselves or on someone near and dear to us always affect the ones who have no voice. I cannot begin to imagine how these tiny tots aged between 2 and 5 will feel when they are told one fine morning that the three wheeler will never come to fetch them again. What have they done to deserve this. They do not even have a voice to say what they feel. No more singing and dancing; no more picnics in the parks, no more cartoons on the big TV no more joy or laughter.

The reason for this cut is that India is no more the flavour of the day. Rape cases and a negative international press has taken us off the tourism map. And of course there is donor fatigue. All this is understandable when you think with your head but when the heart jumps in then you are bound to say: what did these little kids do to deserve this.

I knew this day would come. I knew it from the moment I realised that Planet Why could never become a reality and that we would have to remain dependent on the generosity of others, a generosity that one cannot expect to be limitless. And yet these little children cost a bauble for many, less than a dinner in a starred restaurant.

Today I sit helpless and bewildered. Do I even have the right to pray for another miracle. Only time will tell. 

A few months ago, when a new party that promised to clean up our political system arrived upon, it sounded like a breath of fresh air. Sadly the air has become stale faster than one would have thought. It has become difficult if not impossible to defend this new kid on the block who now threatens to send media persons to jail if a probe found them guilty. It almost sounds like the Queen in Alice in Wonderland and her Off with their heads! Somehow this new political kid believes that chopping off heads will solve all India’s problems.

I began this blog a while back and then somehow stopped writing as I watched helplessly and with a tinge of sadness the shenanigans we are being treated to in this rather baffling election campaign.

A few months back the emergence of the AAP seemed God sent and we all went out to support them. They seemed like a breath of fresh air, an option we could honestly vote for. And more than that, we all felt, I certainly did, that they would provide a new force that could compel the well greased political parties to relook at themselves and clean their stables. The euphoria died too soon and we watched helplessly as hubris that seems to be in osmosis with power, hijacked the new face of Indian politics.

I wonder what brought this change? Dealing with corruption and ending it is no mean task and cannot be done in a day. It certainly cannot be done by sending every one to jail! Corruption has become second nature and almost a way of life. To root it out would necessitate finding the neck of this hydra headed monster whose numerous heads have to be killed one by one, till one finally gets at its vulnerable neck. Off with their heads is no panacea here.

For David to take on Goliath is a tough task that Goliath can only achieve with wisdom, restraint and above all cunning. as it is a matter of beating them in games they are masters at. In my humble opinion they fell into a well laid trap when they decided to form a Government without having the numbers and with the support of the very people they were seen to despise. In hindsight, they would have been better off not forming any government even if that meant another election. It was still honeymoon period and they would have come back with a bang. For the next 49 days I watched with woe the games the opponents played as they reeled out the rope that would ultimately hang them. They left a city that had entrusted its hopes rudderless. Promises made were forgotten and we will soon be paying the price as from April 1st – and this is no April Fool – our electricity bills will soar. I am now contemplating solar energy panels on my roof.

Has David been seduced by hubris. It looks like it as one watches the AAP story enfold. One cannot begin to imagine what their plan is. The sagacious way would have been to remain a counterpoint to other well entrenched political parties. A kind of pressure group that would have compelled them to mend their ways. A waiting time that would have helped them develop the ruses and stratagems needed to slay all the heads of the corruption and poor governance Hydra. The hurried jump into national politics seems very premature and leaves us voters perplexed to say the least.

So what are we going to do come election day. My heart still tells me to give them a chance as it maybe a long time before an alternative comes our way. True one is a little worried about their programmes and strategies and most of all their ability to run a country as vast and complex as India, but if would be refreshing, again in my humble opinion, to have them form a substantial pressure group within the hallowed halls of Parliament to ensure that Parliament works and bills are passed. One would hope that it would also give them time to learn.

If not they, then who? That is a big question. What we have seen in the last weeks is a real masterpiece of the theatre of of absurd. Can one hold on to ideologies anymore? The answer is no. Every day we see people from one party joining their bitter rivals. It is almost the flavour of election 2014. Winnability is the key word, sleeping with the enemy is kosher and sulking is a new entrant. You do not get a ticket, you sulk and either crossover the other side or stand as an independent. Anything to spoil the game. Over the past weeks one has not heard any politician spell out its vision for India. Will they build new schools, new hospitals. No one knows. At present everyone is busy pulling out the other and the dirty department tricks is in full swing.

Everyone had shouted loud and clear about denying tickets to ‘corrupt’ candidates. It seems that the word corruption is interpreted in a very different manner by politicians. It is not a matter of perception but a convoluted set of legalese that is nothing short of absurd. Many of the people contesting are corrupt and no jargon can whitewash them. Yet they have found tickets with all political parties. Winnability again! It is also carpe diem for all relatives: son, daughters, brothers and all else. If the father is suspect let the son get a ticket, it is all in the family.

Do political parties think that a few glib slogans, page long advertisements and extended and dramatic commercials on the idiot box suffice to convince voters who are fully aware of the day-to-day live drama behind the scenes? What it all looks like is a bunch of unruly kids fighting for a share of the pie.

The latest act in this absurd and unending play was the induction of the leader of a rabid religious party whose 3 minutes of fame came courtesy a shameful attack on young people in a pub. The man was accepted then refused by one party and if that was not enough, the rival party induced a member of the same gang to boot him out hours later. It almost seemed orchestrated.

I would like to believe that the Indian electorate has come of age. I hope it comes out to vote with sagacity. But the question remains: who do we vote for this time.

About a decade ago two beautiful children were born at about the same time, one somewhere in India and the other somewhere in the United States. One was a little boy and the other a little girl. One was named Ethan and the other Meher! No one would have ever thought that their paths would cross some day, as not only did thousands of miles across land and sea separate them but they belonged to very different worlds. You see in our time and age we put people in boxes often according to how rich and well off they are and if Ethan belonged to what one calls the privileged world, little Meher was from a very poor one. But there was someone, the one who lives upstairs, who was smiling as he had set a miracle in motion, a miracle that would take a decade to enfold.

The miracle in question could possibly have sprung because of a mistake – intended or inadvertent – that our man upstairs wanted to correct. Whilst Ethan’s life was set on course, Meher’s was not quite so. When she was just a baby her cot caught fire and she suffered terrible burns. Her face and head were badly burnt and her tiny fingers fused together. This meant she would never be able to lead a normal life and most of all never be able to hold a pencil. The doors of learning closed for her.

Ethan grew up and went to school but Meher played in the graveyard next to her home in the village and was made fun of by her peers because of her ungainly scars. That is when the man upstairs decided to set his miracle in motion. Meher was brought to Delhi and and the tiny hovel in which her family moved was located next to our centre. Her mother use to let Meher wander around and one day our coordinator saw her rummaging the garbage that lay around a sweet shop, looking for scraps to eat. Meher entered the project why world and life would never be the same.

A volunteer with a huge heart decided to take matters in hand. The rest is history. We all realised that the only salvation for this little girl was through education and the first thing to do was to give her her hands back. For that to happen her story had to be told and it was and somewhere thousands of miles away people got touched by her story and decided to make it theirs.

A series of corrective surgeries done by a kind doctor and lots of chess games made the miracle a reality. Meher could go to school and she did. Today she is in Class IV and top of her class. A few days ago I met Ethan for the first time. A beautiful picture landed on my screen. I was informed that this young man had been instrumental in collecting the funds for her school fees. I was moved to tears but not a surprised as one would have thought because I know that children see with their hearts instinctively till adults mess around with them. Blessed are those whose parents also see with their hearts.

Meher saw Ethan’s picture and wrote him a letter. I hope and pray that these two children meet some day. I know that they hold the key to many more miracles. Who said fairy tales do not exist.

Wednesday was Popples’s birthday. He is 12 now. How time flies. This was his first birthday in his new school and unlike his other school, birthdays are celebrated with style here. Something we did not know. Utpal had called me last week and given me a list of things he wanted me to bring: a cake baked by Shamika, fruit juices, sweets to give his pals and of course his present. What he forgot to tell us was that we had to reach before the day boarders left so that we could all celebrate together. I thought that we could only meet him after school hours. I was told that he was in tears as he wanted to take all his friends to the ‘party room’ he had ‘booked’. I felt like a rat and kicked myself hard. Next year I would be there an hour before time.

We reached as school was over so his day boarder friends were leaving. We had nevertheless ensured that he was given sweets to distribute. We finally got to see him and he stood out as in this school kids are allowed to wear home clothes on their birthdays. One more point to remember: next birthday I will make sure he gets new clothes to wear!

After a big hug he told us about the party room and the fact that he had to go and get the key and we should follow his pals who would guide us. We gathered all our wares and followed meekly. I was a little worried as I did not know if we had enough to eat but mercifully the school has a lovely canteen run by a set of resourceful ladies. Mamaji who had accompanied us was commandeered to go to the canteen and pick up whatever we could. The loot was 15 hot dogs and 14 patties all yum. The key and lady in charge were found and the room opened. It had a long table and many chairs and though the lights were dim, our enthusiasm made up for all the shortcomings. We were a merry band with Utpal the perfect host. His little pals were settled. They came not only from far corners of India but form Afghanistan and the Maldives. Quite an international gathering. The cake was brought out, candles lit and happy birthday sung with fervour. The cake was cut amidst song and laughter.

Then Utpal told me that they wanted to dance so we needed to go outside. We did and Utpal danced while Nawab, his Afghan pal sang. It was a memorable experience that brought tears to my eyes. Then everyone danced to the sound of a cell phone. We would have wanted to stay longer but could not and left the boys in a happy mood.

I was moved and happy. God bless my darling Popples.

Dear India Women, you are condemned to play second fiddle as your  biological and natural constraints preclude you from attaining certain goals. These words are not mine but those of our Air Chief who believes that these ‘constraints’ is what makes it impossible for us women become fighter pilots and go into combat mode. The reason is, and again it is not my opinion but his, that flying fighter planes is concerned, it’s a very challenging job. Women are by nature not physically suited for flying fighters for long hours, especially when they are pregnant or have other health problems. I must quickly state that this does not apply to women from the US, Russia, Turkey, Malaysia, Srilanka, Bangladesh et al. This is only for us Indian women. Are we biologically different to our sisters in other lands. 

This is absurd and ridiculous but so in sync with our patriarchal society. We are not even accorded with having the minimum amount of common sense to understand the demands of such jobs before we decide to go for them. No, like in all matters, a man will decide how we feel, how strong we are, what are our biological limitations and so on. And we must demurely accept their diktats. That is called PATRIARCHY and we women are bound to live under its tyranny.

Who are men to understand our biological and natural constraints. Does any man know what menstruation feels like, what menstrual cramps or labour pain are? An dear Air Chief if you think that a flying job is challenging than what would you say about the job that is thrust at us just because we are women. I mean housewife though I find the term derogatory and would prefer to call it home management. And what about motherhood when you become and are held responsible for a life you create, nurture and tend to till death does you part. Have you not, like so many fathers, quipped ‘your child’ when faced with a challenging situation. You are only there for the good times and strangely absent for the difficult ones. The wonderful job every woman has to fulfil is that of a cook, cleaner, wife, mother, partner, sexual gratifier, hostess, doctor, psychologist, teacher, finance manager, human resource manager and many more. Who do you run to when you have a problem at your work? Who do you go to when you feel insecure and inadequate? And you expect quite merrily that one woman, yes just one single woman does all that with a smile and with no room for error. Have you ever wondered who she runs to? I wish every man could walk into a woman shoes for just a day, maybe that would earn us their respect. Being a woman is challenging.

You take our multi-tasking for granted. We work without leave or absence even when we are ill and hurting. We cannot quit our job. How does one quit being a woman when you are reminded everyday that you just that a woman. I forgot to mention that above all that I have stated women are also working and contributing to the family kitty. So we too have a 9 to 5  job but cannot come and demand a meal or a cuppa when we come back tired after a hard day at work. So looks like our biological and natural constraints are not constraints after all but quite the opposite. We must be having helluva body and spirit to manage all that after all!

And no one lets us forget that we are a woman. Each time we step out of the house we are ogled at, pinched or abused in some way or the other. We may not by nature not physically suited for flying fighters but it seems we are good fodder for abuse, abuse of all kinds, insidious or open. We are also a good commodity to trade and of course rape material as we ‘invite’ rape by the way we dress, talk, look even if we are three and half year old. 

You think I am talking a load of c***.  Read this article about trafficking where women are sold, yes sold, to vegetable processing units @ 100 rs, a soap bar and a bottle of oil a month! That is what we are worth a soap bar and a bottle of oil and yet we survive and help others. That is what a woman is all about a survivor, no matter what you throw at her face.

I am proud of being a woman and if I were to be born again I would want to be a woman.

So you can keep your cockpit, ours is far more challenging!

My husband informed me yesterday that he has to go to Manipur next month. I was thrilled as this means that he is back to normal, or a new normal as they say, after a harrowing battle with lymphoma. My only worry was: what will he eat, as part of his recovery has been a well balanced and near organic diet. Last month he had visited Calcutta many times and after much thought we had zeroed in on fish as the best alternative for him. I know nothing about Manipuri food but what I know is that I am weary and suspicious about him eating food that has travelled miles and miles and food that has been subjected to a cold chain as we in India have still not fathomed the basic tenets of refrigeration and cold storage. I know how difficult is is for me to explain to my staff that one cannot defrost and re-frost with alacrity. Thus I decided to find out, bless be Google, what the locals in Manipur ate, feeling a tad ashamed at my near to nil knowledge of foods of the North East. I am glad this opportunity came by.

If you Google for foods from Manipur you are faced with exotic names you do not recognise: Ngari, Iromba, Chamfoot, Morok! A little further reading reveals what these are: fermented fish and lots of local herbs. Manipuris like their food spicy hot. The staple diet of Manipur consists of rice, large varieties of leafy vegetables (of both aquatic and terrestrial) and fishes. Manipuris typically raise vegetables in a kitchen garden and rear fishes in small ponds around their house. Since the vegetables are either grown at home or obtained from local markets the cuisines are very seasonal, each season having its own special vegetables and preparations. They hardly use any oil and the food is near organic.  It should be cause to celebrate only I do not see my husband eating fish with bones or vegetables that seemed simply boiled with herbs. I wish he did as it would be a perfect diet for him. Must try and find out a way out.

It is sad that we do not know anything about local cuisines around our land as these are the ones that are healthy and nutritious. Globalisation has ensured the slow death of local food. An interesting article in a magazine entitled the culture of eating right, unravels the richness of tribal cuisine in India, where over, hold your breath, 1582 food kinds were on display and 972 of them for uncultivated. Organic in its purest form! How silly we look with our limited grocery bag that looks pathetically the same week after week, month after month. The festival was a celebration of traditional food cultures linked to age-old farming practices that not only provide these tribes nutritional security, but also protects and conserves nature’s bounty.

This is real food security, one that has withstood the test of time and is in sharp contrast with the Food security the Government wants to dole out and that is limited to 5 paltry kilos of rice, wheat or millet. As a tribal rightly said: “We don’t need your food security system, the more ration shops you open in our villages, the more you force us to abandon our own food security system so painstakingly built by our forefathers.” I wish law makers understood this, but they are so high on hubris that they want to be God and Nature at the same time. Sadly it does not work that way. By taking away traditions, we are going against nature in a shameless way.

A single traditional plant has multiples uses and no waste. He is is just one example:  Kusum koli leaves are used for fodder, its fruits eaten raw, the plant is used as firewood and oil is extracted from the seeds. The seed oil serves as a mosquito repellent and also treats certain skin diseases. So you have food for humans and animals, fuel for cooking and medicine. There are hundreds of such examples. If you read the whole article you will understand what true Food security means. How can 5 kilos of rice replace what the forest gives. It is impossible to view food security without a proper understanding of our traditional food systems and feeling a sense of pride in them. The short cut and thoughtless approach aimed at gaining votes has to be abandoned. The fast food frenzy has to be denounced, the dangers of genetically modified food need to be assessed.

We need to imbibe the wonderful knowledge of tribal traditions and embrace them. 1582 kinds of foods cannot be shunned and cast away. We, and I include myself in the we, are quick to adopt and even champion foods coming from ancient traditions of other lands like quinoa and chia seeds and shitake mushrooms and pay exorbitant prices for them but unwilling to look at the foods of our own ancient traditions. What if I were to tell you that Kanglayen, a mushroom found in Manipur is shitake mushroom. I am sure that there is a cornucopia of super foods waiting to be discovered and I intend to do so.

What can be more organic than a meal of vegetables grown in your backyard and fish from your pond! And look at the picture above, each bowl is a different food. I wonder if the best 5* Michelin chef could conjure such a plate.