I love Utpal’s new school. It is a school after my heart, the kind I would like every child born in India to go to. The first time I visited the school I felt an immediate empathy as you see the Principal is a daughter fulfilling her parent’s dream! But that is far from being the only reason.

When things became out of control in his old school, I had to do something. I suddenly felt transposed to the terrible night way back in 2006 when I scoured the Internet in search of a boarding school for 4 year Utpal. Not easy but I did find one and he spent 8 years in that school. It worked well in initial days when he was still what many would call a baby, younger than what Agastya today. Bu then things did not turn right as grew and understood his reality in bits and pieces and poor child, coped as best he could. He had to deal with the disappearance of his mom, the constant bullying about his scars and a very depleted emotional bank that could only be filled when he was home with us. Things got from bad to worse and the once enabling environment became a depleting one. When all our interventions failed, Utpal auto mutilated himself, thankfully with a blunt metal ruler. It was time to move on.

Another search on the Internet, undoubtedly guided by Utpal’s Angel, helped me find a new school immediately. Utpal, the eternal survivor, took to his new school like a fish to water and once again was to the manor born. The credit goes to his school as much as to him.

There are some very special and probably invisible and intangible elements in his new school. First and foremost in my opinion is the fact that all the children of the school staff from the lowest to the highest have to study in the school as the Founder felt that if anyone thought the school not to be ‘good enough’ for her/his kids then s/he could not give it their best. So the one who cooks, cleans, watches, drives, supervises and teaches ultimately cooks, cleans, watches,  drives, supervises and teaches his/her own child and you always do your best for your child. But that is not all, this non negotiable rule also ensures that children from all walks of life learn together and is thus as close as one can get to my dream school which is the neighbourhood school where children from all walks of life learn under the same roof and bond ties they never would have otherwise. This is a true case of my driver’s kid sharing a bench with my kid, something that is still anathema to many.

The other aspect of this school is that there are kids from across India and some from other countries too! This is a true celebration of diversity.

But the real litmus test of any school, is its ability to highlight the plus points of each child and work on the weaker ones without demeaning the child in anyway. The stunning proof of this is the fact that though Utpal was barely two months in the school which has almost 2000 children, he was part of the Annual Day celebrations where he showcased his skating skills. Need I say more! I am sure that in days to come he will improve in his studies and gain fluency in English. It is only a matter of time.

I have attended two PTMs in this school. The first was barely a few days after Utpal joined. I was overwhelmed to hear his class teacher say that he was an intelligent child, very creative and very polite. In the next PTM, his grades were not bad and again his teacher was full of positive comments. In a short time the school was able to understand the child and work towards boosting his self esteem. The school also has a lovely counsellor who has understood Utpal’s problems.

There are many other things that I have found very impressive in this school: staff quarters are interspersed across the campus so children are always close to adults; the meals that I have share twice are well balanced and varied; children have many sports and physical activities and thus are out in the open for extended period of times.

I hope and pray that Utpal blooms in this school and fulfils both his and my dreams.

Elections results are out. This time I too voted as for many years someone had decided to strike me off the rolls. This time wonders of wonders my name was on the list. On voting day I wrote a post entitled to vote or not to vote, because I truly felt that there was an option to arrogant style of politics we have been subjected to over far too long. Yesterday’s results are witness to the fact that many of us have had enough of the high handed ways, the corrupt ways and the hubris that seems to have engulfed politics in our land.

I have been on the hit list of local politicos for a long time. The reason? Simply that I had the audacity to empower people who were best left ignorant and subservient and thus easily manipulated. There was time when, because of old links, I had sought the help of the very powers that stand defeated today. What I got was false promises after being sent from pillar to post and treated with contempt. When a community centre was made in the very park we taught in and promised to us but given to a page 3 NGO, I had approached the ruling CEO and still remember being told to continue teaching under trees to which I of course retorted I do not need any one’s permission to do that, and would teach on the trees if need be. That is when I decided to find my own ways. The rest is history!

I was asked last week by a friend why I was so disillusioned as Delhi had improved in the last 15 years. My answer was simple: come and see how the other half lives. It is great to talk of the flyovers and malls and other glitzy buildings. But I would like you to look at some pictures which also are from the very city we live in

This is a ‘house’ where a little girl with brittle bones lived for many years with 7 members of her family. This house is barely 4 feet tall. You had to virtually crawl and tuck yourself in it. No wonder Radha got many broken bones when she lived here as the lack of space resulted in everyone having to walk over the other. The family had to pay 500 Rs a month rent and feed the ‘landlord’. There was one saving grace: this house what a street level. When it was razed during one of the famous slum clearing exercise, the family moved into another ‘house’. The house they live in is about one and half feet below street level, in other words a hole! Like all slum dwellings there is no window, no sunlight, no fresh air and let us not talk of bathrooms and toilets.

But people who live in such holes are still house proud and that is the most touching factor of the ‘survival’ story. It is not easy to store your whole life in a hole and yet that is what slum dwellers manage to do with elan. They find space for their Gods, their belongings, their utensils, their clothes and even the odd decorative object. At night, particularly in winter, 6 or 8 people will sleep in this space, but come morning it is transformed into a space than can even welcome guests as the generosity of such people surpasses ours. I am witness to this fact.

This was the Lohar (gypsy blacksmith) camp next to the Kalkaji bus depot. For many years we ran classes there and were witness to the many razing and rebuilding of this camp. It was almost a cat and mouse game. The authorities came and bulldozed the camp. A day or so later when money exchanged hands, the camp was built again and again, till the fateful day before the Commonwealth games when it was destroyed for good. This community is a nomadic tribe and according to the law should have been resettled. The city gave them and identity as they all had ration cards and voter cards and even a postal address! Every election promised were made to them and never kept.

This is the sad saga of the slum dwellers. They come to the city and find some unused land and put up a shelter of sorts. Instead of the shelter being demolished immediately according to the law as these are illegal encroachments, the corruption drama begins. The authorities ask for money and politicians promise to legalise the settlement. This emboldens the slum dwellers who ‘build’ a better house and even add floors and rent rooms and become ‘landlords’. The whole drama can carry on for decades till one fine day the land is needed and the slums demolished. Some people get relocated but not all. Needless to say that on demolition day no politician is available, they have all gone AWOL. Who cares about what happens to the children, the women, the men; to their schools and livelihood. They are just pushed to some faraway place and given twelve and have square yards of barren land.

I love this picture. It was taken years ago at the Lohar Camp. It proves beyond doubt that every one has a destiny that no one can change. The boy behind me in an orange shirt is Sanjay! He is today a model who walks the ramp not only in India but in Paris! want proof? Here it is.

I had to write about this fairy tale story as many still believe that fairytales do not happen! A much needed breath of fresh air.

But let us move on. The reality is that no one looks at the way the poor live, eat, learn, work, in a word survive. Many slums have been erected next to factories that spew all kinds of toxic smoke and discharge strange coloured chemicals in the drains that flow just in front of tenements, with children playing nearby. I wonder if any study has been done on the health of people who live in close proximity to toxic waste. And talking about health, whilst new swanky hospitals mushroom with alacrity all over town (we have a handful walking distance from my home) nothing new has come up for the poor who have the option of going to local dispensaries if any often to be referred to a bigger hospital miles away, or to visit the local quack who will hand you a set of pills in a plastic pouch without telling you what they are. Often I guess the body takes care of the healing! And if you do have to go to that speciality hospital it means spending the whole day or more and often losing wages for that day.

Instead of building new facilities for the poor, the Government came up with yet again a reservation solution. How we love reservation, it seems to be part of our collective genes. So if you have a BPL card, and let me tell you that this is no easy feat, then you can go to the swanky hospitals. The problem is that many of the poorest of the poor do not have these cards, and most of the poor are unaware of this facility.

Most of the programmes for the poor never reach the really poor as these do not have any documents. Think of the homeless, who should be the first in line for these programmes. On the other hand they are many who hold BLP cards even though they are not poor by any yardstick.

And talking of reservation again, when the Right to Education was adopted, rather than building new schools and improving the existing ones, the Government decide to ‘reserve’ 25% of places in existing public schools from the swankiest to the humblest. Here again the true beneficiaries are either unaware of the scheme or do not have the required documents. However I know of many children from the middle classes who study for free in good public schools as their parents found the ways to get themselves all necessary documentation.

All these populist programmes are just a drain on finances and look good on paper but never reach the intended beneficiaries. If they do, their implementation is a far cry from what is on paper. Just go and visit any of the government run creches under ICDS schemes and you will be horrified.

Corruption is rampant and somehow has become a way of life. Political parties of all hues follow the same practices. Gone are the days of ideologies. It is all about money and power. You will be surprised to know how many bottles of booze and wads of money were lavished on potential voters by all the parties we know.

The arrogance of politicians again of all shades, hues and size is galling. A young widow with three children who works for me told me a shocking tale. When she went to the local Corporator’s office to get the widow’s pension she is entitled to, she was told by one of the minions that she was young and should get remarried. The poor child left and never went back. The reality is that most of the beneficiaries feel that politicians dole these goodies from their pockets. Forget democracy! Feudalism serves politicians better. I always gall at the ‘touching of feet’ syndrome politicians so enjoy. Does it give them a sense of false power

I could carry on and on but I think you get the picture.

So when a new party comes by and does not chose their candidates based on caste, creed and winnability, it is a breath of fresh air. When these unknown candidates trounce old hands then we see a glimmer of hope. One cannot tell whether these motley crew will uphold their principles, but there is no place for cynicism or doubting Cassandras. We have an option. It is up to us to grab this once in a lifetime opportunity.

2013 has been a very special year for Project Why! A watershed year in more ways than one. For 13 years I had been guiding project why at every step. The first few years saw me present almost 24/7 with hours spent on the field and the remaining on my computer or thinking new ways even when I slept. The next years, I withdrew my daily presence which I felt was a hindrance to my senior staff who were unable to grow their own wings as they felt compelled to be the wind beneath mine. I use to go to the field every morning as I could not stay away from the children and then leave after a cup of tea and my daily fix of Good Morning Ma’am and smiles. In the first months I received umpteen calls seeking guidance and reassurance. But as time went by, the number of calls decreased both in duration and number till the time when there ware almost none. I use to to call to find out how things were and was greeted by a cheery: all well!

My task was a bit little the one of the King in the Mother Goose famous nursery rhyme: Sing a song of sixpence. Substitute ‘finding’ to ‘counting’ and you got it right. My duty was to keep the coffers full now and forever. The now bit worked, the forever sadly is still on the anvil with the iron barely warm. It was an comfortable solution that worked well for all and soon became a habit. Researchers have found that it takes 66 days for anything to become a habit. I discovered this fascinating theory a short while back. Hence we were all set in our ‘habits’ and comfort zones. 2013 was to be a rude awakening that would require creating new habits.

My husband who had been unwell for quite some time took a turn for the worst. The problem was that no one was able to diagnose the cause of his slow fading away. For me, the year began with innumerable visits to innumerable doctors of all kind, and even soothsayers and star gazers. With every day my worry and fears grew my quantum leaps. My presence at the project was severely truncated as most of my time was spent accompanying my husband to all hues of the medical fraternity. Every test was inconclusive or within parameters. We groped in the dark till the fateful day when the final diagnosis was made: cancer. It was a turning point for me as I knew that for some months to come, I would have to give all my attention and time to my husband.

I convened a quick meeting of my senior staff and handed them project why to run till the time I was emotionally and physically able to return. My incredible team had no hesitation in telling me that I should do what my heart dictated and not worry at all. They were true to their word and I am deeply grateful to them.

Last week I requested them to give me a quick rundown on how the year had gone and this is what I want to share with you today. Over and above the day-to-day running of the Project I was astounded to learn about the multitude of things that had been achieved during the year. It goes without saying that every child passed her/his examination and that once again we got good results in the Board exams. But that is not all.

All festivals were celebrated in each and every centre. In March, April and May our children performed a show in the Ashoka and Hyatt hotels for foreign guests. The dances were perfect as workshops had been held prior to the shows.

A group for Stanford University ran workshops with the students of all our centres in based on their SMILE (Stanford Mobile Inquiry-based Learning Environment) and mobile phone were donated to our children. The children are using this learning approach every week and really enjoy it.

Gender equality and adolescent issues workshops were also held in every centre and a sex education workshop was organised for the teachers.

An adult education programme for women has been set up at our women centre and is doing well.

A partnership with Vintage Rides gave our Okhla children the the opportunity to learn about Royal Enfield bikes. Selected students from Okhla school were given  mechanical classes and training in which they learnt about the construction and function of bikes. Vintage Rides has also offered internships to interested students.

A science workshop was organised in all centres as well as a magic show. This was thanks to our favourite volunteers from New Zealand Alan & Em!

A photography workshop was also held with our Govindpuri children as well as an animation workshop with some of our computer kids.

The Khader children were taught to care for plants and our special kids have their little kitchen garden.

Many in house awareness programmes were also held. The topics were water, hygiene, gender equality, pollution etc. Posters, drawing competition and essays were held in all centres.

Some outings were also organised and the children loved them.

The Okhla children painted their school for Diwali and the brave special kids painted their classes and decorated them. Awesome.

And let us not forget the lovely diyas painted by the special children!

There is much more, I am sure. What is overwhelming is the fact that the project ran without any glitch and that is the greatest gift I could have wished for.

I am so proud of my team!

Here are some pictures that will give you an idea of it all.

Dharmendra, Shamika, Rani and Mamaji

And very a very proud Maam’ji

I have not voted in the past 3 elections as my name had mysteriously disappeared from the voting list. This time it surprisingly reappeared. Wonder why! Actually the last time I voted was when I exercised my right not to vote and made it to the newspapers! I guess that was when someone decided to strike my name off the rolls. Now I am on the rolls again. Things have changed since and we even have the NOTA option. But quite frankly what is the use of this option as nothing comes out of it. We need to give the None of the Above option some teeth.

Voting is our duty, specially we who have been given the intellectual capacity to truly understand what democracy means and the responsibility it entails. It is not enough to vote for someone who has given us infrastructure and glitzy malls with the desire to make our city as beautiful as Singapore or some other fancy city. when we vote, we also need to think about the children begging at red lights, the children working in abysmal conditions when they should be in school. When we vote we should also think about the millions in our city who lived in dreadful and disgraceful conditions rucked away in cramped damp and dark holes because no one ever thought of proper habitat for what we call poor, but who are an integral part of the life of a city. When we vote we need to think of the school children who are packed in classes like sardines in a box, who have no drinking water or basic facilities. When we vote me must keep in mind all the unfulfilled promises as well as all the wily agendas and vote back manipulations.

I have witnessed several elections where candidates go make promises to unsuspecting people, promises they know they cannot ever honour. How many times have I not heard that slums will legalised if you press the right button or tick the right box, slums that I have then seen raised before my eyes while the candidate goes AWOL and his phone rings and is not answered.

When we vote we must think about the children who die of malnutrition every day in our very own city, of the innumerable homeless who sleep in the winter nights. There is so much that is wrong around us. It is time something changed.

The known political parties are sides of the same coin. Corruption is rampant and out of control. Money power is everywhere. This year people were paid 300 rs a day to participate in rallies and the much preferred padh yatras or walks. We had one come by the project why lane. You first hear drums beat from far and then an ‘advance’ party rushes with garlands they thrust in your hands so that you garland the candidate. Then comes the candidate followed by some workers and an army of paid campaigners. This time we had a lady volunteer from France who was given a garland and played the game. I was most amused when I was told that the candidate asked for her vote. She looked European to the hilt. The candidate seemed in a daze and playing a well rehearsed script. Bottles of hooch have flooded the slums and I believe money is abundant.

Till this election, I really did not want to vote. More so because I was experiencing first hand the lies that had been carefully woven to entice voters. This time we have a third option. It may not be the best but it is at least a beginning. If they put up a respectable show then we may see a new breed of people coming into politics, people who can at least act as watchdogs and ensure that things run better. If they fail then it will be a long time till we see a change in our political scenario. So this time we have to vote, and vote consciously.

The choice is ours!

PS: I just cast my vote. The booth was in the local Government school. I was appalled at the state of the classrooms, the broken window panes, the desks and chairs that looked like a legacy of a Dickensian novel, the neglected play ground! This one of the better schools. I can only admire the kids who study there and their motivation. I would have run away. What is worse is the fact that these classes are in one floor barracks. All that needs to be done is build a proper multi storied school. Are we not paying a cess on education. It is time to ask where our money goes.

A couple of months ago we were horrified when Radha’s mother came one morning to the project and told us that the Doctors of the hospital that has been treating her for years now had suggested that Radha’s leg be amputated. The reason a festering wound on her shin that cannot heal as her bon has become thin and as sharp as a scalpel and the skin taunt. For those of you of may not remember or do not know who Radha is, let me give you some background. Radha has brittle bone disease or to use jargon osteogenis imperfecta. She came to us in 2008 when she is just 7. She is the most beautiful child I have ever seen and a very brave and spirited young lady. I cannot forget how my grandson reacted when he first saw her. His only question to me was: but she will walk tomorrow! Radha lost her father a few years back and lives in a tiny hole with her mother and 3 siblings plus of course a nomadic population of relatives. Her mother runs a food cart to support the family.

Since we have know her, Radha must have had scores of falls, each resulting in a broken bone and a huge plaster. By now she even knows how to cut her plaster when the stipulated time has been completed. I get dismayed and awed by the matter of fact manned in which she handles the situation. I guess this is what is called: survival.

Radha has the most endearing smile, infinite grace and a gentle demeanour but also a quick temper when needed! She dances like a star!

She came back last week, leg intact. Thank God for that as though her little lugs are useless, they are part of who she is. I hope the amputation never takes back.

We know she will not be with us forever. We only want her to keep smiling all the way.

If you have a moment watch her dance. It will warm the cockles of your heart.

It is easy to talk of one’s successes and achievements. It takes more guts to talk about failures and take responsibility for them. And yet it is the way in which you handle your failures that really defines you.  Churchill said: Success is not final, failure is not fatal: it is the courage to continue that counts. You may wonder why I am writing about my failures today. Let me elucidate.

A few days back I got an email from a young Indian living in a foreign country. He and two others have decided that is was time to do something for their less privileged brethren and set up an organisation called Pankh. Their mission: to provide unskilled men and women with valuable skills, enabling them to build a sustainable source of income. I was touched by their ingenuous fervour and at the same time frightened by what awaited them as I had walked the same path with stars in my eyes more than a decade ago and it had/has taken all my wits and doggedness to survive in the world I had decided to enter and make mine. Charity, for want of a better word, is fraught with hurdles and sustainability is a far away pipe dream that I have still not been able to conquer. I had a long phone chat with one of the founders and tried to share my failures in the hope not to scare them, but make them aware of the possible pitfalls they may encounter. Quite frankly they would have to dare to jump in the void without a parachute and see whether they have the wings needed to fly. After I put down the phone it struck me that I have never really sat down and listed the failures that we have faced in the last 13 years and more importantly analysed the reasons behind these failures. Come to think of it people would learn more from our mistakes than our successes.

I will try and rely on a tired mind which is in its own chemo fog for the past months. Maybe one of the good side effects of my husband’s cancer would be to force myself to take a long walk down memory lane looking not for ah ha and eureka moments but for the blunders and disasters and above all the reasons therein.

One that comes straight to mind before even going into details is that most of our botch ups were either due to my being naive and easily taken in, or to my passionate nature that often acts before it thinks. Some of this could have been avoided if I had selected to have a professional team. But being instinctive and a little marginal by nature I wanted to select my entire team from within the community I worked for. This is a decision I have never regretted. The only minuscule flip side I now think occurred was that it took some time for my team leaders to understand that I was open to criticism and new ideas. Till they figured out that, they felt compelled to do whatever I said even if they in their hearts knew it would not work. Once they crossed the imaginary barrier they have guided me and made sure I do not make more boo boos! Today they have a free hand in running the day-to-day activities and do it better than I could have dreamt of. I must admit I have given up my zany ideas and gone by their wisdom.

But that does not mean it has all been smooth sailing. We have had some difficult times where staff hastily recruitedwere manipulated by local politicos and wily trade unions and got us into trouble. We came out of these thankfully almost unscathed.

The one thing I have found difficult to accept as it went against the grain of my beliefs was the lack of gratitude – for want of a better word – and at least acknowledgement from beneficiaries. I was brought up with a certain values, and expressing gratitude was one of them, and I guess I judged everyone from that platform. It was difficult for me to palate some of the unkind words and even insults from people one had helped in ample measure. It took me some time to understand where that came from. Actually it seems logical that people who have been denied the basics do want to grab as much as they can at any cost. When they feel let down they do nor have the wherewithal to deal with the situation in a calm manner. We work with people from what is unfortunately clubbed as ‘backward’ classes and they have an enormous complex and even anger towards those of us who have all. I guess it will take time for things to change. Till then one has to have the grit and patience to bear and keep smiling. What one has to understand is they are few among many who have stood by us, but humane nature makes you always look at the bad through magnifying glasses.

However our biggest failure has been in our sustainability efforts. Right from the outset making the project sustainable was first and foremost in our minds. Our mission statement did emphasise that we wanted to empower the community to take ownership of the project and run it themselves. This turned out to be utopian. Even getting one rupee a day from the beneficiaries proved impossible. It is difficult to assess why this happened. I guess the one thing that all NGOs have to encounter is the mistrust people have in you. The moment you say you run an NGO, you are looked at in a strange way. I understand that many NGOs have dubious intentions and are often set up for wily reasons, but to colour every one with the same black brush is not fair. Our biggest detractors have been the local politicos who tried every trick in the book and outside to make us pack our bags and go. This was of course after they tried to take us over by wanting to impose some of their kin in our Board. I can never forget the horrible man who use to visit us time and again first to ingratiate himself and then threaten us. At one time my short hair made me a Christian who had come to evangelise the flock. Then I became the one who received millions of dollars and pocketed most of them. This was in some way aggravated because of my foreign connection which resulted in many volunteers coming to my Project. Most of them were poorer then a church mouse, often friends of my daughter or kids of old friends but the politicos spread the rumour that each came with a bag full of greenbacks! There came a time when I use to make them open their bags in full public view and shout: no dollar, no dollar.

It would have been alright if it stopped at that. One would have thought they would give up. But no! Which set me thinking of the reasons that made one old woman trying to educate a bunch of children so dangerous. What comes to mind in hindsight is the fact that one was not only teaching children but empowering people from the day one. My decision to select to employ local people did not sit well with politicians who need vote banks they can manipulate. They need people to remain illiterate. I guess the watershed moment was when the local councillor realised that one of my students could speak and read English better than he could. And when some of my staff decided to exercise their right not to vote in an election, I was was branded enemy no 1. What followed was threats to me and my daughter and razing our school several times when we taught in parks and on street corners. Ultimately one wore them down, or rather made them change tactics.

When we decided to raise money from within the community be it by making nutritious snacks for children to carry to school, recycled paper copy books sold at a pittance or soap that we made from milled Pongamia seeds, our detractors roped in the wily trade unions that are set up by them and we were hauled to the labour court and it was nothing short of a nightmare. We finally managed to settle matters but our idea of raising money from the local community had to take a back seat. Even the one rupee a day was put on hold. So sustainability from within the community was not a valid option. I think it will take more than a generation to do that, particularly in urban slums. Coming to the city does give a chip on the shoulder and a misguided dream of getting a government job.

We then turned to what many NGOs day: card, candles, Diwali diyas, costume jewellery, paper bags etc and the market was the numerous melas and fairs organised by diplomats and expats. We soon realised that we could not compete with larger organisations and that every one seemed to be selling the same things in different shades. We spent more than we made so that too was abandoned. We then tried making chocolates and believe me they were excellent but again the rich and famous did not like the idea of buying chocolates made by slum people.

We also realised that such projects could never make us sustainable. At best we just made even. We needed a bigger project that would rake in big money. The increase of what is known as voluntourism or tourism with a heart made us zero in on building a green guest house the proceeds of which would run our education and other programmes. It would also enable us to take our students to the next level by teaching them skills linked to hospitality which is a growing market.  It seemed such a great idea and we even had a promoter. We managed to find and purchase a piece of land, get a design and a business plan duly vetted . But then our promoter ditched us and in spite of our best efforts we were unable to raise the funds needed to build. After 3 years we had to bury this idea altogether. We were unable to find the funds. The amount needed was way beyond our league. The fault was perhaps ours, or rather mine, as I did not make PR an integral part of our organisation and did not have a fund raising wing. I have always felt uncomfortable with NGOs that are run like corporates. It maybe the way to go, but not mine. Maybe my inheritors will select this option.

It was back to the drawing board after a lengthy postmortem to figure out what had gone wrong. What was evident was that we did not have the profile needed to access large donors and our page 3 was practically non-existent. Maybe many were not convinced by hospitality as a sound sustainability option. Sustainability can only come from a market where the demand remains constant. When we conceived planet why we felt that a green and not-for profit  guest house was something that would attract a niche market. I still think it would as in spite of the proliferation of guest houses at ever street corner, I have still not seen a totally green one, or one that is not a commercial enterprise. But this was not to be for us.

We now need to come up with plan B. For us it will have to be something that is low on investment and high on returns. What comes to mind is imparting skills at a competitive price. The skills have to be those that would help students get employment. They could range from IT skills and spoken English to technical skills like computer repair, electronic repair etc. For women stitching and beauty remain the preferred ones. We would need to do a market survey to find out what the good options are.

That is where we stand today. Unfortunately, due to personal reasons, 2013 turned out to be a sabbatical for me. I do hope that 2014 will get us the answers we seek.

It is the courage to continue that counts.

I normally do not like writing about scandals and wrong doings but today I feel compelled to give my two penny bit for whatever it is worth as two troubling occurrences are hogging the headlines. The first one is the judgement on the double murder of a child and a servant in 2005 and the other is of the sexual assault of a young journalist by her boss. Both are very troubling in more ways than one. In the first case the killing of a young spirited teenager by her own parents seems difficult to accept. more so if the motive is her relationship with a servant old enough to be her father. Somehow the whole trial seems botched and the idea that two parents, who may be innocent, can be accused of the crime is somewhat preposterous. But this is India my darlings and everything is possible in the name of misplaced morality and righteousness. I am not privy to what occurred in the case of the teenager, but I can tell you first hand how a 12 year old was accused of having loose moral character in order to whitewash an elder who molested her. I just hope that today’s judgement is fair to the parents as I would not like to begin to imagine how a mother and a father would feel if they had to live with the accusation of killing their only child if that were not true. And if that was the case then the murderers roams free. What is also perturbing is that this case was given great importance by the media who had a field day and great TRPs. It was as if the whole country was sitting in judgement. As the same child whom I mentioned earlier said: Only God, the victim and the perpetrator know the truth, everything else is suspect.

The other case is as disquieting. A case of sexual assault by a employer has become everybody’s business. It almost seems as if no one is truly concerned about what the victim wants. In the case of perpetrator known to the victim, the later may not want to send the person to prison at all. However in this case the everyone wants to play judge and pronounce the sentence. The fact that the letter in which the victim describes almost graphically what occurred is now on the net reeks of voyeurism and makes me sick.

Abuse is something you have to live on for your entire life. It remains with you however hard you try to wish it away. It lurks in the recesses of your mind and a small trigger is all it needs to open the flood gates. I do not know if a victim really wants the whole world to take the cudgels on her behalf, more so when one knows that for many it is just a way of forwarding wily agendas. The first thing is to ask what the victim wants and respect her wishes.

Is anyone listening!

In a world where every excuse is used and abused to create chasms between people, where religion creates walls built by politicians and others comes a heart touching story I experienced today.

On the spur of the moment I decided to go and wish Utpal a happy Diwali as he had decided to stay in school with his new friends. I bought some sweets and goodies and a few board games that he has asked for. It was a delight to see him run to us with a broad smile and a happy gait, something I had not seen for long. He was all excited and could barely express his thoughts as he told us everything that had been happening. You could feel his happiness. He then wanted us to meet his best friend. So we all marched in search of the best friend who turned out to be a delightful boy from Afghanistan. His Altaf if I recollect correctly. The two boys share a dorm and are in the same class and are both skaters. They showed us their bruises.

After some time Utpal asked us to buy him some crackers are a small stall of Diwali items had been opened in the school for the staff. We did not quite know if we were breaking rules but the boys’ enthusiasm was irresistible and we gave in. Both the lads chose their crackers as they made plans about how they would celebrate Diwali in the evening. It did not matter what religion they were, all barriers are conquered when you are best friends!

We left them both plotting about how they would light the crackers as matches are only allowed for class XI and XII kids but then Altaf’s brother is in class XII!

We tiptoed out of a world that was not to be disturbed with moist eyes and a happy smile.

Keeping up two blogs and being a cancer buddy is taking up more waking hours than I have, and if I were to give up any more sleep I would collapse! Not to forget remote controlling project why and brain wrecking about its future. More than enough for even superwoman and I am far from that. The unexpected news about Ranjan’s cancer has also made me realise that we are not masters of our time. That is a secret only God is privy to. In trying to juggle all the roles I have had to suspend writing my second book after 100 odd pages. However this has to be done too, as is recounts the Project Why story and that is only in my head. So I beg your indulgence in case you do not see as many posts as usual as i plan, like any self respecting writer, to write for at least 3 hours a day. Hope you will understand!

Election time is looming large over us with almost daily rallies, shrill speeches that not say much more than one leader attacking the other in a perpetual cat and mouse game that turns annoying. Every party is blowing its bugle and enumerating its achievements and seeking our seal of approval that should translate in our vote on the right symbol. Some statements are so ludicrous that one does not know of one needs to laugh or cry. In a recent speech a young aspirant to the highest office stated: that when he had first come to the region, he had suffered mosquito bites and when he had consumed water in a village, it had got his stomach upset. “But I was happy. Politicians should know the hardships faced by people“. I heard the speech and it made me jump. To many questions begged to be answered: why after 60 years of Independence when the said politician’s party has been in the seat of power for decades does one not have clean drinking water for every citizen; did he know that it is this very water that gave him a stomach upset quickly cured by the best doctors, that kills 5000 children a day! And will having faced this hardship for one day make him do something to make things better. What he suffered for one day, millions have to bear everyday. Do our politicians realise how many of their voters spend their lives in survival mode in silence and dignity, pursuing small goals that they strive to realise? Not many, if any!

A well known magazine celebrates its 18th anniversary and in its special issue includes and article entitled: Eighteen yellow roses in a bouquet. They are the thoughts from 18-year-olds who have much to prove, to themselves and to the generations before them. They are stories of gentle and simple hope and I urge you to read them. I will profile the two that touched me the most.

Shamsher ( I chose to place his photo as his face touched me deeply), is a lad who had to drop out of school because of illness and poverty. He wants all Indians to be happy. His goal is to be a tailor and his idol the tailor master who is teaching him stitching.

Sunita was born in a Naxalite infested Gadchiroli and at 12 had to chose between marriage or forced employment with the Naxals. She chose neither and ran away and joined a boarding school. Her dream to be a police officer and her fantasy: to fly in the sky!

They are young Indians with simple dreams, dreams that could be fulfilled if anyone cared. Shamsher and Sunita are the true faces of India, the ones that have been let down but have not given up hope. The ones that build a life in spite of all odds. The ones we should all care for. But do we?

An article entitled Hands off do gooders caught my attention this week. It begins with the words: come April, big corporations in India will be mandated to spend 2 per cent of their profits on being responsible citizens. Even a person like me who has no head or concept of figures can work out that this is a hefty amount. This caught my eye as I have been deeply disturbed by the future of project why, more so in the wake of the present situation at home that has made death to real to me. As you know we were not able to raise funds to build our guest house cum children centre we had fondly called planet why! Then it may have seemed to many as complete silence. Yes silence it was, but not in my head where new options churned madly amidst a feeling of failure at not having been able to raise the funds we needed. Quite frankly it was a paltry sum for many, yet one that was as inaccessible as the moon for us.

The fault was mine as I should have put on my designer (sic) clothes and fluttered my eyelashes at page 3 does and maybe would have got a percentile of the big profits of corporate houses. This may have been possible in the era before project why, but when the need arose I had already mutated into a recluse. The big planet why dream had to be quietly entombed. Since project why has been running on auto pilot (not a bad thing). Every end of month the heart flutters a little when salaries and rents have to be paid and one heaves a sigh of relief when all monthly payments are made. Yet this cannot go on. We have to become sustainable and also have our own building as being at the mercy of landlords is not a solution.

What you see in the picture is a plot of land close to our women centre and to the Madanpur Khader rehabilitation colony. This means the it is legal and the people who all belong to underprivileged sections of society will not be moved (or so one hopes). Actually most of them were relocated from the Nehru Place slum and other South Delhi slums. This is not the case with Okhla where slums clusters can be razed any time and all our kids moved.

The plan that is churning in my mind is to sell our plot in Najafgarh as it has appreciated substantially and purchase a smaller plot. The remaining money would be used to build a centre tailored to the amount in hand. I believe it will be easier to raise funds for one additional room at a time according to the needs. At present we would like the centre to accommodate roughly what we run at the women centre in addition to a day care for special needs children and a creche. And in keeping with the sustainability need, have space allocated to activities that can be offered at reasonable prices. Though one has to yet defined those as this would be done after a survey of the area and the needs of the target audience, one is thinking on the lines of TV and AC repair, spoken English etc. These classes could also be held after working hours and on Sundays.

So to those who may feel that I am AWOL, believe me Project Why is on my mind day and night. I watch it running perfectly with a sense of pride and humility. What an incredible team we have! I must make sure to leave them a solid legacy, particularly to those who have stood by me through trials and tribulations over the past years. Something they can build on as no matter how hubristic one may be the saying: The King is dead Long Live the King is so true!

This picture may look a bit incongruous to illustrate any post. It was taken at Utpal’s sports day when the children released balloons in the air and one was a little late in clicking the camera. But the balloons triggered my involuntary memory and to took me back to my childhood and to a lovely movie that I saw many times: Le Ballon Rouge or the Red Balloon. It is a must watch film even after half a century! It i a movie that makes you laugh and cry at the same time.As a little girl the the red balloon had magic properties and the ability to follow and lead his friend the little boy. It had a mind of its own and yet got destroyed by an gang of bullies. But then when all hope is lost, balloons appear from nowhere and take the little boy on a balloon ride over the city. When I first saw the film I remember now how the smile came on a face where tears had not yet dried!

When the balloons flew over the hazy Delhi sky, I felt transposed to the moment when I first saw the film and all the balloons that came to wipe the little boy’s tears. I knew I had to take a picture of the moment, even if it was not a great one.

Project Why is my Ballon Rouge. It came one day into my life one day when I was lost and when all my feelings had frozen and led me for the past 13 years on a magical expedition that made me discover things are never knew existed but more than that on a journey within myself where I discovered strengths that I never knew I had. Today I fear for my Ballon Rouge. A simple prick could kill it. The balloons in the sky were a reminder of the fact that I need to anchor Project Why as soon as I can.

If you have 34 minutes, do see the film and try to imagine what your Ballon Rouge is!

Over the moon part 1 was on my other blog! It was about one man in my life. This one is about the other : Popples. Today was his sports day and PTM in his new school. The programme was from 9 am to 3 pm. I must admit I was a little apprehensive as the old biddy gets tired and the prospect of watching races was not very appealing as the day promised to be hot and Popples was not participating as he has been in school for less than a week. We reached around 10.30 am and tried to find our way to the grounds. We thought we would sneak into the back row as I do not like being late and Mamaji as usual had arrived late! Imagine my surprise bordering on shock when I saw the Principal’s Secretary heading our way. God I was embarrassed. She led us to the podium and Shaku Maa’m the Principal got up to greet us and sat us next to her in the VIP podium. I was giving dirty looks to Mamaji for having not got us there on time. Mayla, a young volunteer from Germany was with us. We watched the races and clapped with enthusiasm. I spotted Utpal distributing bananas at the other side of the ground where the children were seated. But that was not all, the three of us were even requested to hand out medals and cups. It was a great moment.

After the programme we were escorted to the Principal’s house where a table for 12 was laid and we ate a wonderful meal, the same one that was served to the children and the other parents.  On the way we briefly saw Utpal who looked a little perplexed. I wondered why. After lunch it was PTM time but I spent a moment with Popples and he was all excited about the school. My worries were allayed. The Principal had told me that I could take him home for the night and he could come back on the school bus that comes near our house, but he decided not to. You see there was chicken on the menu tonight. He also told us that he would spend Diwali with his friends. He introduced us to some of them. I was over the moon. But there was more.

When we finally got to his teacher and I tried to be a little diffident in talking about his academic performance, his lovely class teacher told me was good in maths, very creative, excellent in art and a very obedient and helpful child. I could not stop my eyes from welling up. Was this the same child about whom I had been told just a few weeks ago that he was a liar!

The Colonel Satsangi’s Kiran Memorial school is a school with a heart. You see it was set up in the memory of a loved one and taken over by a daughter to honour her wonderful parents. To me it has the same spirit as Project Why.

I know Utpal will bloom in this school and find the right direction to fulfil his destiny.

It has been a blessed day.

I normally never get over excited during election. Often I only realise it is election time when posters and banners (thankfully not many now) are erected or when politicians gather in car convoys while one is going to work or when noisy cavalcades headed by drum beaters and preceded by party workers handing flower garlands to bystanders urging them to loop them around the already garland laden neck of the candidate who normally walks in a trance hands folded and a beatific smile on his lips. The whole thing looks farcical and makes me wonder how such a parade helps voters in deciding who to vote for. Today’s voters, even the illiterate ones are quite savvy though a bottle of hooch and a roasted chicken led could make them vote for you!

This time, I was reminded of forthcoming elections well in advance when two uniformed  cops landed home with a letter asking that I deposit my gun (before I go further I must state that I inherited a small pistol that pa gave mama way back in 1950; I do not think it has ever been fired. For me it is simply a memento of my parents and I have no ammunition. It have not got rid of it because I do not want it to in the wrong hands.) at the police station till the end of elections. This has never happened earlier and I wonder how it will help in containing violence when there are so many illegal arms around. Anyway this is just to tell you how I became aware of the Delhi elections well before the posters and cavalcades.

I have normally voted each time I have been in town and on the list, as being on the list has varied from election to election and all my efforts have not got us a voter’s card yet! Anyway let us see what happens this time. What I know is that I am no more the candid and naive person who voted with stars in her eyes. I did come from a nationalist freedom fighter family and Congress was the house mantra. My husband use to make fun of us by saying that in our home even the ants were Congress followers. My childhood had been replete with freedom stories that were more than real as the protagonists were my own blood and flesh. Congress was a hallowed word. When still a little girl I came to know that Pandit Nehru was the one to have coaxed my father to leave his judicial career in Mauritius and join the Indian Foreign Service. I still remember the breakfast we had at Teen Murti House where I was witness to Nehru’s proverbial temper as the omelette he was served was overdone. When I came to voting age there was no question of my not voting Congress.

The next chapter of my ‘political’ life was when I was called upon to be Mrs Indira Gandhi’s interpreter and was interviewed by her. When she came to know I was Kamala’s daughter she laughed and said had she known that she would not have bothered to call me. Being her interpreter revealed a very humane side of this iron lady. I remember her being the only dignitary I interpreted for who made sure that I was fed, even if that meant a few minutes delay in the programme. I must admit I mastered the art of eating faster than I do and that is saying a lot. When I accompanied her to Srinagar in May 1974, I was clueless about the weather in Kashmir and no one had told me it would be cold. I just went with Delhi summer clothes. When we got off the plane she saw me turning blue and asked me if I had any warm clothes. I told her I did not but would get something. When I reached my hotel room I found a shawl and one of her legendary capes on my bed! There are many more instances. Maybe I will write about them some day as I had the occasion of working closely with her in many international summits and conferences. Needless to say I still voted Congress.

Having launched myself as a Conference Organiser, I was asked to organise a Youth Congress North South Dialogue which was as sort of coming of age for Rajiv Gandhi. The bond we established over an argument about the placing of India delegates to ensure that Iraq and Iran would not sit together, an argument where he took my side would last till the day he was assassinated. I would work for the Asian Games (these too merit a book) and then spearheaded an evaluation of the 20 point programme across India and finally was his letter writer after he lost elections till he died. Those years showed me the innards of politics and it was nothing short of ugly. My heart was still Congress but somehow I did not vote for a few elections.

I could not have voted BJP. Any party that can whip up enough hate to break a house of God could and can never get my support. Any one who breeds hate is not for me. The options were few. In one election I even exercised my right not to vote but that seemed futile. Even the NOTA button heralded as a big thing does not make any difference unless there is some action if and when NOTA votes are above a certain percentage.

By now I was no more the starry eyed. I had not only seen the inside of a political party but also the reality on the ground, the false promises, the hijacked social programmes, the state of the schools run by the Government, the total lack of health facility for the poor, the inhuman conditions in which families live in the haphazard slums that erected any and everywhere, even next to factories that spew chemical laden water and smoke. I have seen how the children of this country have been let down, I have seen the political dramas enacted time and again and played for the media gallery. I have seen that nothing changes. So how does one bring about change?

In the forthcoming elections there is a new party the AAP that is fighting its election honestly, I hope, with candidates and issues we relate to. But how will they perform once in power. Power corrupts. That is a sad but true statement. However this time people are fed up and I a surprised to see how many of them want to give the neophytes a chance. From the humblest to erstwhile staunch supporters of political parties, all have decided to support the broom! The logic is to give a visibly honest and sincere party a chance.

I would like to exercise my vote if the powers that be ensure that I am on the hallowed list but I still do not know which way to go. I would like to give my vote to someone who sees children begging or working and remembers that too have all the rights enshrined in our Constitution including the Right to Education. I would like to vote for someone who realises that there is too much wrong around us and it is time to address situations head on, someone who works not for the interest of one class, one religion, one segment of society but for the poorest of the poor, someone who hangs his head in shame when faced with the fact that even today 5000 children under five die every day because we cannot give them proper nutrition, clean drinking water and basic health care.

Maybe I ask for too much.

Growing up is hard, child. Otherwise everyone would do it! This was his size when he first went to boarding school. He was 4 years and 5 months. Thursday last he set off for his new school with a smile and a spring in his gait. I did not even get my goodbye hug. He was very excited. The admission took a long time and we never knew he had to sit for a test. He did not like that part at all and apparently did not give it his best. But that was a formality. After all formalities and shopping for new uniforms, books and bedding, he was taken away by his hostel warden. What happened next is a mystery that will be revealed when we see him. That won’t be long as his Founder’s Day is on the 23rd.

This child of God has taken a new step in his life journey. When I look back at his tiny life that extends to just over a decade I am mystified by the number of changes this tiny chap has been made to endure. In the first year of his life I only know that he had to change many homes as no one wanted his dysfunctional parents as tenants. When he moved next to our office just before his accident it would take a few more shifts before I put my foot down and decided to get the family a fixed home. I still remember the day in March 2004 when we found them a home near our office and I was hastily summoned as the women of the family began abusing his mom and saying they did not want their neighbourhood sullied by a woman who drank. I stood by her with the two year old in my arms till an alternative was found. From an array of rather sordid homes Utpal landed in my house as his mom was sent to rehab. Two months later he went to Boarding school. Holidays were again spent in various surroundings: a midway home that accepted kids, our women centre when his mom was there, our women centre with staff, with a sprinkling of short stays in again sordid homes and finally at home with me. It took him time but finally he has accepted this as his home.

Shifting his school was necessary as for reasons beyond our control the old school had stopped being the enabling environment he needed. To fulfil his destiny Utpal needed to broaden his horizons. He needed to learn to communicate in English, widen his social circle and above all find a place where he would understood and nurtured. I hope with all my heart that tis school will be all this and more.

I will be seeing him on the 23rd when his new school celebrates its Annual Day. He will be a little lost I guess but part of the show nevertheless. I will be the proud parent watching with my heart.

Growing up is hard. But Utpal is a survivor and a blessed soul. He will fulfil his destiny.

May God always walk with him.

As I write these words Utpal is on his way to join his new school. I kept the promise I made him when he was crying his heart out. When he was with us for one night, I showed him the beautiful message someone he has never met sent him. It said: Do you know how amazing you are? You are a very strong lad. Good luck in your new school. It sounds like a lovely place where you’ll find many good friends and caring teachers. I’m so happy for you. I took the liberty to add a quote to this photo of yours: “It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are.” You are truly a brave and  wise soul. I want you to know that you inspire me. Every time I look at this giggly pic of yours (after all that you’ve been through, still you continue to smile brightly) it lights up my day and gives me courage to move forward in life. I want to ‘THANK YOU’ for that! Better things are coming your way little one. My love and prayers are always with you. God bless!
I second every word!

I was  wondering what could be going on in his little head when my thoughts travelled back in time to the days when I was his age and even younger. It is funny that I never remembered till now how I too had to deal with change umpteen times and how traumatic it was. If he has his scars, I had the wrong colour of skin and a funny sounding name! In my school life I went to many schools in many cities: Paris, New Delhi, Rabat, Saigon, Algiers and Geneva. not counting nursery school in Beijing when I was a toddler. I realise today how traumatic these changes were and how difficult it was for me to be accepted and make friends and each time I felt settled Papa would come home and tell us we were posted to another country. To me it meant having to start all the saga of being accepted all over again. It also meant learning a new culture and sometimes a new language as I was sent to local schools. At that time I guess it was survival mode and I needed just like Utpal to build walls around me to bear the kind of bullying I was subjected to. India was not a known country and people had strange ideas about it. My classmates use to ask me questions like: do you live in trees in India? or do you all move around on elephants? It use to make me angry and as communication was non existent I use to ask my grandfather to send me pictures of our house and of his car.

As I went to the local schools, I felt different as we always had a chauffeured car and a big one at that. I remember asking the driver to drop me well before school so I could reach school on foot as many of my friends did. I hated being an Ambassador’s daughter! I would have settled being the butcher’s one. I guess things became more difficult as one grew up. When I was 15, my papa sent me to boarding school in Geneva for my final school year. The reason being that there was no proper French school in Ankara where we were posted. It was a school run by nuns and the students of my class (Baccalaureate) were daughters of the uber rich who had failed many times. Some of them had cars and they all wore branded clothes. The school was swanky and we all had single rooms. I was barely 15 whereas my classmates were much older, some being 20! They were not good at their studies and resented me as I was a good student. In the dining hall we had tables of 6 and no one sat at my table. They did not want to sit with the black one! Our names were written on our doors and in the evening they would stand by my door and read my name aloud and laugh. I use to lie in foetal position on my bed and cover my ears with my hands. When I shared this with my teachers they just laughed. One even said you are lucky you can eat all the butter on the table. I did not want butter I wanted friends, I wanted to be accepted, I wanted to be one of them.

I had forgotten about this but Utpal’s shifting schools brought all this back and the images were as vivid as if they had happened yesterday and the wounds as raw and the pain as searing. Even after half a century!  I know how difficult it is to get accepted and how terribly hurtful it is when you are not. I just hope and pray that all goes well with little Utpal.

The last I heard from him was that the admission procedures were still not over as they had to buy all that he needed. I cannot begin to imagine how this lad will feel once those who mamaji and dharmu bhaiyya leave and he moves into unknown territory with his brand new trunk and his brand new clothes! I also wonder how quickly he will fall asleep in a strange place where everything is new. Today I send a special prayer to the God of little boys to descend from the Heavens and hold his hand through the night. I am sure he will. Maybe in the form of another little boy who sleeps in the bed next to his.

I for one know sleep will not come easy!

Yes little one: It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are. I have walked that path.

As promised, I brought Popples home yesterday. Today he will go to his new school. What a big step for a this tiny lad. We packed his bag, bough a few things that were needed and then it was time to enjoy being home. It all began with a carom game that was great fun, then his favourite dinner : chicken and chapatis. I left him with the girls and went to bed. Sleep did not come easy as my mind was full of thoughts and questions. Will he settle down fast? Will he make friends? Will he be happy? And then I started wondering what was going on in his mind. I know he is apprehensive about how other children will react to his scars, to his poor English, to the questions he has no answers for : what do your parents do, what is your father, your mother’s name. I know he will find  answers let us not forget he is a survivor and does walk into people’s heart. I pray to the God of small beings to sprinkle enough magic dust to enable him to conjure all the miracles needed to be accepted in his new school and do it proud. I finally fell asleep on this thought.

While I was ruminating dark thoughts, the magic had already begun. Imagine my utter delight when I switched on my computer and logged into my Facebook page and was greeted by this wonderful picture. After Ranjan and I retreated to our room, the girls and Utpal had plans I did not know off. They all went to the Ice Cream Parlour and got themselves a treat. For Utpal it was a chocolate chip cone! I now wonder what else happened before he finally went to sleep. He is still asleep as I write these words. I will wake him up in a while and then I hope he will smiles all the way to school. It has taken a long time for Utpal to consider my house as home. I will end this post by a quote from the Atharva Veda: Him that has control of departure, that has control of coming home, return, and turning in, that shepherd do I also call.