God to whom little boys say their prayers has a face very like their mother’s wrote Sir James Barry. I had written a post with the same title way back in 2007 when Utpal was just 5. At that time we still believed we were miracle makers and the day would come when the little lad would one day have his mom just to himself. But God had other plans. Today Utpal is almost 12. For the past 5 years he has not heard from his mom who left one day and never even called to ask about her son. In the meantime I got his legal guardianship. He battled his demons in his own way. Not getting the answers he wanted because we did not have them, he resorted to challenging behaviour and aggression. With love and patience we helped him craft a new set of relationships and slowly he began to accept us and think of our home as his. 

But the God to whom little boys say their prayers has a face very like their mother’s, and he was just that: a little boy. Last week I had gone shopping with him as I needed a frame for a picture. While I was going about my work, he came to me with a frame in his hand. The frame was an accordion like one with place for 4 pictures. He told me he wanted it. I asked him whose pictures we wanted in them and he said in this other: My mummy, Maam’ji, Agatya and Sirji  (husband). I was stunned, moved and angry. Angry because I had just come to know that his mother had come back and remarried a man with 3 children; moved by the fact that he had not forgotten her and stunned because it had been a long time since he had mentioned her. 

His counsellor has advised us not to tell him about the mother and the new family, he is just entering his teens and has moved school and is still dealing with the bullying he had to suffer in his previous school. The court too felt the same way. We will need to tread slowly as the last thing he needs is for his life to be turned on its head.

Moms sometimes do not realise how much their child loves them, even if they have been abusive or unkind. I have made his little frame and will give it to him when I go and visit him.

Miracles are what happens when you get out of the way of yourself wrote Brad Szollose. Perhaps that is why the big miracle I sought -making project why sustainable- never occurred. You see I was always in the way. The reason why sustainability is so important to me does not stem from hubris for arrogance. It does not emanate from any misplaced desire to see my work live beyond me. Far from that. My wish to see the work I started comes from the simple fact that I never want my children to stop smiling. It springs from my hope to fulfil the dreams of my children, dreams that they have so trustingly put in my custody. It arises from the frightening thought that the very people who made all this possible and stood by me through thick and thin find themselves on the road. It derives from the very spirit of project why that was to change at least one life. I am nowhere in the picture and should someone want to obliterate my name from my work on the condition of continuing it in the same spirit, I would humbly accept and be eternally grateful.

For the past 6 years or so I have strived to find the magic wand that would open the way to our sustainability. I have made plans and more plans and knocked at every door possible. I have begged and pleaded but to no avail. And with each day passing I have also accepted the fact that big dreams will not come to happen as my strength wanes and my gait dawdles. The options in my bag of tricks are few.

The only way now is if a kind soul, a philantropist, a generous heart or a bunch of them gave me a corpus fund the interest of which could run the project. I am willing to trim the project to the size of the interest. What I seek is not much for many. In my country it would be barely what people spend on one event of a wedding or on a theme party; on 3 hand bags carrying the right label or 4 pairs of shoes! But I do not know such people and maybe investing in something where your dividends are not cash but a smile of gratitude, a first position in an exam or a job you could never have got is maybe asking too much.

Today I am putting this post out on the world wide web and getting out of the way. My only prayer is that it is read by someone whose heart is in the right place and who would invest in a smile.

I will put this post up over and over again and maybe the miracle will happen.

You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed wrote St Exupery in the Little Prince. The operative word is : forever! Never did the ‘forever’ assume a more heart wrenching meaning then when Utpal was home for his winter holidays. You see he walked into a home where a humongous elephant had hogged all the space. I mean death as unfortunately whichever way you look at it, the dreaded word cancer brings the idea of the grim reaper even in the most optimistic mind. Somehow Popples too sensed the mood. Sirji not being well had brought changes to Maam’ji, even if they were invisible to others. The little fellow reacted the way any child would: he became demanding, impossible and even moody. At first I thought it was because I could not give him as much time as I would otherwise have and making demands was his way of getting my attention even if it meant my getting irritable and angry. But I soon realised that there was more troubling him.

I tried to reason with him as he is usually quite open to discussion but of no avail. I even got irritated and told him that he was now a big boy. His answer was unexpected: I do not want to grow up. These 7 words were an eye opener. There was something that was compelling this child to withdraw into a space he felt was a safe one. If he did not grow up than things will remain the same. That is how a child’s mind functions.

I was deeply disturbed and called his counsellor. She decided to meet him immediately and the session was a difficult one as he was in tears most of the time. It was evident that he was troubled by some deep seated fears. His counsellor realised that he was terrified of losing me. She decided to have another session and talk to him about life and death. Surprisingly the session went well though I do not know how much his fears were allayed as this happened just a day before he returned to school.

This whole incident shook me deeply. One Utpal landed in my life I had no idea of what it would entail. Men proposes but God disposes. I had thought that we would be able to save his mother from the bottle and settle her whilst placing Utpal in a boarding school. This plan went awry and Utpal became my legal ward. I became responsible for him forever. But now the forever has taken a new meaning. This forever had to be beyond me and this had to be explained to this little prince who was refusing to grow. The challenge I face is to reassure Utpal that I will be with him forever even if it is not quite in the way he hopes. So help me God.

I never go to Mc Donald’s of for that matter to any eatery at all. Like all kids Utpal does like an occasional burger and as he is off to school tomorrow I allowed him a ‘treat’. So off he went to McD and got himself a burger and coke. I normally do not check bills in detail but today I picked up the bill from Utpal’s room as it was lying on the floor and though I normally do not peruse such bills, today I did. Imagine my surprise when I saw added to the VAT and other takes a 25 education cess and a 1% Higher Education cess!

I think we have all got somewhat inured to all the indirect taxes levied upon us and pay them blindly. It is time we became aware of all these taxes and levies and started asking questions about how they are actually used. Seeing the state of primary schools in our capital city makes me wonder whether any of this money ever reaches the right destination.

Just wanted to share this.

What a country we live in. Incredible India! We love to quote our multi millinery civilisation at the drop of a hat, but that is just what we do ‘quote’. All the rest is forgotten. I wonder how many of us know about the values and principles of our traditions. Or if we know that, they remain just that ‘knowledge’ but rarely turn into action. As I wrote in my last blog, it took years for someone in power to get outraged at homeless people sleeping in the bitter cold and do something. I am quite cross at the nit picking we hear on the media about how effective are the new night shelters provided by our brand new government. At least this is the first government that has done something concrete for the homeless who slept year after year in full public view for whom they were invisible. Plastic tents and old buses are better than the cold ground and the stars! Rome was not made in a day! At least they are moving in the right direction.

And talking of Rome, we have our very own sets of Neros who were/are fiddling while the city burns. The media is replete with pictures of leaders enjoying Bollywood extravaganzas while just a few miles away children die in the cold. Tens of millions of rupees were spent on flying in stars in private jets with total impunity. And that is not all, those who are not at the song and dance jamboree are taking of for study tours to exotic locales like Venice and Cairo and Dubai. Wonder what they will learn. The tour has been called tour of commonwealth countries, as if that makes it more kosher, though in the list of countries they visit, only one is a commonwealth country! Maybe they should first be given lessons at home on school basics. Legislators from across the land earn the privilege of two study tours per tenure. I guess we have to pay for them though we are never told. We also have to pay for the amusement of those we elect. It makes me gall. I also saw red when one of the ‘students’ had the audacity to state on camera that the State was only spending 40 to 50 million! Just imagine how many homes for the poor could be made with that. And if that was not enough, referring to the death of 48 children in the Muzaffarnagar, a minister had the audacity to state: Deaths of children, adults and elderly are inevitable. It isn’t necessary that only those living in camps are dying. People die in palaces too. Speechless.

The Muzaffarnagar riot victims are living in abysmal conditions whilst political parties feed on them to fulfil their dubious agendas. While the political show goes on, people brave the winter in terrible conditions. A recent article highlights the stories of these forgotten souls. These are survival stories about real people who battle all odds to survive while those they elected to protect them make merry. Speechless again.

What is absolutely revolting is the impunity with which they defend these aberrations when faced with a tricky question. Perhaps they feel it is a bit like the R& R given to those who work in harsh situations. Come on being a legislator in India is no mean task!

I know the picture is not great but I had to click it yesterday as I passed by the Nehru Place flyover. This is where I have seen for years families of beggars sleep under the bridge come rain, freeze of unbearable heat. This is the spot where I have see a little beggar girl grow and learn the family trade: panhandling. This is where children have learnt to ask me for chocorate – as they know I do not give money. This is where I ask myself why the powers that be at never gall at the fact that beautiful children are not in school. This is where I feel helpless and hopeless every time I pass by as I cannot do anything but give a few biscuits and clothes. True I stop and look with my heart, look deep into the eyes of these forgotten children, but then as the lit turns green I move on feeling totally powerless, knowing that no one cares. I remember the way such citizens were treated when Delhi had to get a make over for the (in)famous Commonwealth Games. Off with their heads said the then Queen of our city. It was estimated that there would be   3 million homeless after the games, 100 00 families displaced to beautify Delhi, 2000 children working as labour on CWG sites, 50 000 adult and 60 000 child beggars to be removed from the city for the 15 days of the games and parked in camps on the outskirts.

So imagine my delight when I saw a bright red and blue shelter under the Nehru Place flyover that would house the beggars at night. Our new CM had promised to do something for the homeless and he did! And now I believe he will convert old buses into shelters  so that the homeless can at the least sleep properly.

This is goes far deeper than a few tents erected for good measure. This actually means that these people have been given the visibility no other Government ever did and I hope that this will go farther than shelter for the winter and translate into giving the very people that some found anathema to our city, the basic rights the Constitution gives them.

In this simple plastic shelter I saw HOPE for the first time, hope that things will change, hope that finally the poorest of the poor will get what is their due, that these children will find their way to schools and to better morrows.

The young new Government is trying to walk the talk so please let them do so. They may stumble along the way but they seem to be on the right path. They will make mistakes and I urge the media not to go  ballistic each time one of them does something that is not quite what we are used to. Remember how fed we claim to be by corruption. Now that someone is trying to do something please help them do so or at least leave them alone.

It was on January 7th, 2011 that Manu left us. I guess he had completed what he was sent out to do leaving many questions unanswered. I have often tried to understand what this saintly soul meant to me but know deep in my heart that I still have a long way to go till I fully comprehend the reason of our meeting as only a God of some kind could have engineered this unbelievable tryst between a beggar and a lost ageing woman. The only thing I can say with confidence is that it changed both out lives forever and that the equation in this case was not what many would think. When beggar meets well to do woman, one would tend to think that the beggar is the beneficiary. But this is not the way it happened with Manu. I know for certain that he gave me much more than he ever took. And what is more is that he is still giving abundantly at every crossroad of my life. In return, what he got from me is paltry and tangible: food, shelter, clothes, a bed and even the ample love he got cannot match what he gave me.

You may wonder what a beggar can ever give to someone who many think was born with a silver spoon in her mouth? What if I told you he gave me a reason to live and made me discover who I really am. Manu came into my life when I was rudderless and unable to pick up the pieces of my life that had been scattered the day I lost my father. His deafening cries that no one had heard pierced the armour I had built to protect myself from a life I was unable to find my way in after the loss of the ones who had always steered me in the right direction. It was Manu who stirred my soul and made me realise that I had a life beyond my parents and helped me take my first faltering steps in this new world.

Manu was a child of God, one who had been sent with a mission to fulfil. He was and is the living proof that no soul, however wretched it may appear is useless. Every life has a purpose. If not for him project why would not have seen the light of day. His life changed the life of thousands of other souls, big and small.

When Manu left I was shattered. At first I thought that it was an ominous sign that somehow meant the end of project why but mercifully I was quick to realise that a pure soul like him could never bring grief or destruction. There had to be a deeper meaning, and again I knew deep inside me that it was not because he had given up on life. The child of God who had bravely lived years in the most horrific conditions till that fateful day in May 2000 would and could not quit without reason. There had to be a deeper meaning in his passing and it was for me to unravel it.

I have been doing just that for the past 3 years but do not think I have been fully able to do so. At first I thought that his demise was a sign that Planet Why was not to be as it had been primarily conceived for him. I took some time and gave up the idea but still could not find the peace I sought. I then started thinking of the alternatives but groped in the dark as none of the numerous ideas that came my way bore any results. I knew that I had to carry on the search but also felt that there was more to Manu’s lessons than just project why.

In July 2013 I had to face the greatest and scariest challenge of my life: my husband’s cancer. I could have completely broken down and was at the verge of doing so when I felt an inner strength yet undiscovered filling me with a reassuring warmth and somehow I knew that no matter what the outcome would be, I would come out a winner.

Today as I write these words to honour the one who gave me so much, I know that it is Manu’s incredible spirit that has enabled me to go through this dark period with a smile. He is the one who surreptitiously taught me that one can smile through any adversity just as he did all his life.

As I continue walking the twilight of my life, I know he walks with me and will till the very end.

Today’s news was music to my ears. The new Government in Delhi which has been in place for just a couple of days has done something that I had always hoped and prayed a Government with a conscience should and would do. The news I talking about refers to the homeless: Delhi government today announced a series of measures to provide roof to the homeless in biting cold sweeping the city and decided to replace all night shelters being run from plastic tents with porta cabins. We who sit in the comfort of our homes, with electric blankets, warm quilts and blowers cannot begin to imagine what it feels like to sleep under the stars in the bitter cold with just a tattered blanket to cover you. We cannot begin to imagine how the conditions in which the poor live and how the manage to survive. I have often wondered why our collective conscience does not get outraged when we see families with tiny children living under flyovers. To us they are just irritants and pests as they dare bother our comfortable ride in a heated car and disturb our thoughts which could be about the new sweater we are off to purchase. I have also wondered why the rulers and administrators of our city, irrespective of their political hue or bureaucratic responsibility do not shudder when they see children who according to existing laws should be in school, knock at their car window begging for a coin. Just like every one, they too ignore them or scare them away with a glare.

Many do not know, but it is not just beggars who live on the streets. My first encounter with such people was way back in 2001 or so when I first saw the Lohar (gypsy) camp next to the Kalkaji bus depot. This is a nomadic blacksmith community that settled in various part of the city. The one I am talking about is a settlement of 30 odd families that have lived on this pavement for more than 30 years. Thanks to wily politicians they got a postal address, voter identity cards and ration cards. As I got to know this proud and dignified clan, I found myself drawn to their wisdom and philosophy and spent many hours taking to Tau, the leader of the said clan. I heard their story, the promises they were made that remained unfulfilled. I heard how their camps were razed with obsessive regularity and how they had to line pockets to be allowed to build their homes again. It was almost a cat and mouse game. I was horrified to hear that they had been visited by several politicians and petty officials and promised rehabilitation as they came under the nomadic tribes.

I saw the bits and parcels of documents that had survived the many razing and decided to do something. These were early days when I was still naive and had yet not lost my faith in the system. I decided to approach the NHCR ( National Human Rights Commission) hoping that they would do something. I was sent an answer saying that the Commission had asked for an Action Taken Report. Nothing happened after that.

I was thrilled to learn that the SDMs have been asked to prepare a list of all homeless in 2 days. talking of SDMs I too have my story to tell. I was told one day that there would be a demolition of the camp on the next day. I tried to contact the Chief Minister as I knew someone in her office. Could not. Then remembering that we still suffered from the British raj syndrome I called my friend who was the British High Commissioner’s wife and asked her to intervene. You guessed right. It worked. Well in a manner. The next day we got visitated by the SDM who diligently heard our plight and story, took notes on a green pad and left. Must have thrown the papers on the way. So much for approaching the higher ups.

One day I witnessed yet another demolition and it was heart breaking. And knowing that this happened again and again was unbearable. I decided to file a PIL in the High Court, as that was the last door to knock at, in the name of these beautiful children condemned to live in inhuman conditions. But to no avail. The case is lost in translation.

Sadly no cat and mouse game is endless. The cat ultimately wins and courtesy the Commonwealth Games the final razing happened in 2010.The day I had always dreaded did dawn. I know deep in my heart that my Lohar friends are survivors and must be well. It is I who miss them so!

The reason I recounted this story was to tell you about the reality of this city. I could fill pages describing how the poor live and survive. This city has done nothing for the habitat of the poor. I hope this new Government does something not only for the homeless but also for the slum dwellers who have found their ways and survive with dignity and a smile.

Here are some pictures of how people in this city, the ones that often make our lives better, live:

And I told you that a little girl with brittle bone disease lived for many years in this house below, would you believe me?

They are a family of 6 and had to crawl into their home. Don’t forget that any child with Osteogenis Imperfecta, breaks a bone at the lightest touch. Radha must have had more than 50 fractures ion her life.

I hope and pray that the new government addresses the terrible plight of people living in this city and gives priority to the basic right of shelter to these citizens of Delhi.

2013 was a year that I will remember forever. It is a year when I had to put my life in parenthesises as I was faced with the biggest challenge of my life. Ranjan’s cancer came as a cruel reminder of the cancer that had taken both my parents as I watched in total helplessness and hopelessness. This time I would have to come out a winner even if that meant stopping life as I knew it. That is what I did. My strictly regulated life that had run almost like a clockwork orange since 2000 was put on hold. One of the first casualty was Project Why! It would have been impossible for me to juggle pwhy and Hodgkin as the same time. Mercifully, thirteen years had been ample to train my team and I knew that pwhy was in safe hands whilst I got on learning, then taming and finally overpowering the demon that had entered our lives. I got on with the task and feel I did good, though the battle is not quite over. It will take another six months to really find our way out of the woods. I am confident that this will not be as arduous a task as it has been, as I have now evolved a comfortable pattern that seems to be working. As a new challenge crops up, I know the way to go to overcome it.

Today, on the eve of a New Year, I wonder how I was able to set aside everything that was so dear to me till that fateful July day: the cup of tea and blessings I got every morning, the good mornings of the children, the little problems that one would hash and rehash as it gave one a sense of worthiness, the bigger challenges that required skills you sometimes did not realise you possessed, the long virtual exchanges with friends, supporters and well wishers, the little achievements that turned into huge celebrations, the sense of belonging to a large family and knowing that they were always there for you. All of it had to be put on hold because the one person who held it together for me was in danger. I knew that without him, I would not be able to carry on. So there was never an iota of doubt in my mind when I took the decision to temporarily suspend my life.

Was it easy? Not at all. Did I have coping strategies? Indeed I did. Today I can reveal how I could survive these last months without losing the essence of who I was.  One of the things I found myself doing almost surreptitiously was looking at pictures of project why, pictures spanning all of 13 years. It was a comforting walk down memory lane that I took leisurely, sometimes staring at one snapshot for a long time and letting memories flow back. The picture I chose to illustrate this post must have been taken 8 years or so ago. The little chap in my lap is Popples! Each picture told a story: a story of courage, compassion, fortitude and joy. Each picture brought a flutter in my heart as I knew I was a little part of each one of them. I found myself smiling and even laughing alone. Thank heavens I rise well before dawn and these little escapades happened when everyone else slept. I also must admit a tad sheepishly though, that I often felt a sense of pride laced with humility. In fact, I was truly never away from my beloved project, I simply tuned it to my reality.

In spite of my physical absence and forced sabbatical, project why was very much part of my reality. In some ways this forced vacation compelled me to look at the future realistically. I know that we will have to make changes, so may have to be drastic because of elements beyond our control: the imminent loss of our women centre tenancy, the probable razing and relocation of the Okhla slums in keeping with the new social avatar of this once neglected area, the state of our funding and also because it is now imperative to reassess matters as more than a decade has passed since it all began.

I was telling a friend and supporter about how the social profile of the street where we began in the summer of 2000 had changed. What was once a motley amalgam of mostly single storeyed mud shacks with tin roofs and where our computer centre and maybe a handful of tenements were in brick and mortar, is now a series of multi storeyed brightly painted tenements, with dish antennas and even washing machines. On a street where you barely saw a bike let alone a car but many bicycles, you today see cars, bikes and hardly any bicycles. This is proof that a decade in the life of an urban slum brings about social mobility. However difficult it may be to accept, one has to realise that it is time to move on. I am sure this would have happened irrespective of our presence, but somehow I think that we have had a role, albeit tiny to play in the empowerment of this slum.

Another failure, if I may call it so, that we have to accept is the fact that the model we adopted has resulted in our inability to keep in touch with the majority of our students once they have graduated or left for a variety of reasons: gone back to the village, moved because of the nature of their family’s occupation, moved because of the inordinate rise in rents and so on. This fills me with sadness as it shows a deficiency in our approach as we never thought of setting up an old students group or make sustained efforts to keep in touch with those who had left. I guess this also stems from our initial desire for reaching out to as many children as possible. Numbers did mean access to more funding but also made us take hurried decisions that often did not stand the test of time. We had to shut certain centres because of non availability of space to rent! And let us not forget the fact that when we began there were no NGOs. Today they have proliferated all over.

As our sustainability plan did not come to be, project why’s future is again a cause of concern. Its funding is still very fragile as it depends on goodwill garnered by constant interaction with people. I would be naive and foolish to believe that I will continue to have the energy needed to keep the pace. It is time to find alternative avenues that we can nurture in the coming time so that they can replace the present funding structure. This will be a slow process but needs to be initiated at once. The face of project why has to change and those who have till now been in the wings need to come to the fore. My being AWOL has already started the process.

I am aware of the fact that those who will take over do not have the same skills as I do though they have a host of skills I never had nor will. I feel that what would work best for them is to have a well defined structure that they can take ownership of. What I mean by that is that we need to build our own centre in a location which is approved and hence that will not be razed or relocated. That will ensure that the children we reach out to will remain with us. My idea is to sell the land we have and find a smaller plot near the women centre as it is located near a rehabilitation colony. With the remaining funds we would build a small centre that can be extended in times to come. I truly feel that a building that belongs to pwhy will motivate the team to walk the extra mile needed not only to keep it going but to make it grow.

This is my line of thought as of now. I have six months to fine tune it.

So help me God!

I have not written about recent occurrences and happenings. One of the reason is that I have been somewhat AWOL from life as it once was. But there is another reason which is the onslaught of totally disparate events that defy every norm and challenge reason. Let me try and explain the course of my thoughts. Just as I get in the mood to write about an issue, pops comes another one that stops one’s thoughts! And believe it or not, just as I had written the first line of this post, the news of a mother burning her five month baby to appease the Gods to bring good fortune to her family and feeling no sense of remorse. Speechless.

But that is not all. In the past days/weeks we have heard of a bureaucrat stating that no one dies of cold as if that was the case, no one would be alive in Siberia. This in the wake of the death of many infants and children in the Muzaffarnagar refugee camps! This is so typical. The authorities would concede that children died of pneumonia. My dears Sirs, pneumonia is a result of being exposed to cold. This goes the same was as the misguided assertion that no one dies of malnutrition. True they die of diseases caused by malnutrition and an impaired immune system. I cannot understand the difference. Children die and that is cause enough to hang our heads in shame. I totally agree with the politician who quipped back and stated that the bureaucrat in question need not go to Siberia but simply spend a night preferably with his family in the conditions the children were living in.

As if that was not enough, the CEO of the state where these children are dying of cold, has organised a 14 day carnival with merry making and splurging. Is this simply yet another example of the two Indias? I find it revolting. Needless to say the carnival is funded by our money. Seems like the people who ‘rule’ us have sold their conscience to God knows who. To add fuel to the fire, today’s news says that 150 families were forced to leave their camps. Does anyone even think of where these families will go in this bitter cold.

In another part of India, legislators are off on a study tour! They will visit exotic locations, view exotic dances and partake of exotic meals. Their programme does not seem like a study tour at all more like an R & R with lots of shopping thrown in. Apparently each legislator has the right to 2 such study tours during his/her tenure, all paid by the tax payer. One legislator stated the following: We are not committing a big crime…don’t you send school children on vacation..similarly MPs and MLAs are being sent through the legislature committees…. Yes dear Sir, we sent children on vacation but we pay for their trip! Another legislator who is on a ‘study’ trip to Australia stated that they were meant to go to Japan, but Japan was ‘to chilly’ hence they decided to cross the Equator to warmer pastures. Mind boggling is it not! Seems like the public outrage that has followed this news has made the Chief Minister put all trips on hold.

In Delhi last week 900 person’s homes were left in the cold after their homes were demolished. This in spite of a supreme court order banning demolition during winter months. Many lost everything they possessed. Seems the new Government in the city has promised relief. Let us hope it comes in time.

I guess it is just not the politicians or bureaucrats who has lost their conscience, compassion and empathy. It is said to be the coldest December in 10 years. There are over 50000 homeless in delhi, children, women and elderly people. They are not INVISIBLE. They often huddle under flyovers we go by with the eyes of our heart tight shut. Maybe it is time we opened our eyes and did something. A blanket, a hot meal, a cup of tea, anything to ease the horror of the cold nights these people have to face.

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.