Were you to approach any of the Commissions set up in independent India presumably to redress torts, what you would get after few days of your filing a report is a printed letter informing you that the Commission has taken note of your complaint and directed the pertinent authorities to give an Action Taken Report by such and such date! This very official and officious letter is probably all you will ever get!

During a recent TV debate post the Gauwahati incident, the Chairperson of the National Commission for Women proclaimed that she has asked for an Action Taken Report (ATR) and was waiting for it! The long forgotten words jolted my mind! Yes, I too was the recipient of a letter stating that an ATR had been solicited in the case of my complaint no: xxx! Many years ago we had started a small outreach at the gypsy camp that was located along the main road next to a busy intersection, the kind of location always preferred by these gypsy iron smiths as it enables them to sell their ware. It was a heart warming place replete with love, dignity and abundant common sense. I soon was to discover that the place was illegal ( I wonder how illegal any place that has survived 3 or more decades, has a postal address and voter’s ID cards for its inhabitants is). I also found some old tattered official looking papers that had promised relocation to these nomadic tribes.

Remember, these were early days of pwhy and I was still naive and gullible. I had been told by the chieftain of the clan, a man I had profound respect for, that their camp was regularly bulldozed and then after greasing some palms allowed to be re erected. I witnessed one such bulldozing and my blood ran cold as one child was retrieved in the nick of time! I had heard about all those wonderful sounding Commissions one being the Human Rights one. I took pen to paper and poured out my anger, indignation and compassion seeking intervention from those meant to protect torts. My complaint, as that is what such writing is called, was duly received and I was informed that an ATR had been sought. In those days I thought I had conquered the moon and my lohar friends would soon be safe. Silly me! A few days later I got a strange phone call from the local cop station. I was incomprehensible as what i was asked is whether the lohars were bothering me as they ! You can imagine my bewilderment! I did not know what to say.  To cut a long story short all my attempts failed: PIL in court, appeal to the CM etc etc.

We managed to buy some time though and withstood some storms. But then came our greatest adversary: the Commonwealth Games and Delhi had to be made beautiful. On 28 August 2010 the camp was destroyed once for all. The tribe got shelter in different parts of the city but I lost my friends. I wonder of the city gained in beauty. I know I learnt my lessons and never approached a Commission again. I know what an Action Taken report means not forgetting that a member of the Commission made the unforgivable blunder of revealing the name of the victim.

So to get back to the Guwahati case I wonder what the NCW will achieve with this report. This brings us to asking ourselves the role and effectiveness of such commissions which are, let us not forget, funded by tax payers. Are they convenient institutions that allow the ruling party to reward or rid itself of someone. Perhaps. So one needs to review such bodies and give them teeth and independence. Then perhaps those they are meant to protect will be truly heard!

We, women, are sick and tired of being told how to dress, how to behave, what to eat or drink, when to go out etc. Where are our constitutional rights! If we are to hear the Baghpat Panchayat or Ministers post the Gauwahati incident, we are responsible for every aberration that befalls us: eve teasing, molestation, rape etc. I would say something is wrong with our men. Maybe that is the question that needs to be addressed. Whether the reports we have been bombarded with in the past days are genuine or media created is another question. But the bottom line is that we women make good copy! And the sad reality is that brutalising women is the rule rather than the exception.

What is frightening is the brazen reporting of such incidents by a somewhat irresponsible media. And what is terrifying is that in India today when cameras roll the culprits do not hide themselves and scoot but shamelessly play to the gallery. And what is scary is that people watch the show, just as they would in their drawing room in front of a screen, rather than stop the abuse.

But what is the most petrifying is the new found regressive belief that women are the keepers of social morality as is evident in dispensations like those made by a Minister who says with impunity: “Women should dress in such a way that they invoke respect in others”. And my blood boils, curdles and freezes at the same time when I hear the National Commission for Women Chairperson, a woman, state: be careful about how you dress!

Something has changed in the fabric of our society. From a caring people we seem to have mutated into a voyeuristic one. We enjoy seeing gore and abuse, the more the better. And this new appetite is being fully exploited by TRP hungry media. One wishes they restrain themselves before it is too late. One wonders if the young girl who suffered terrible abuse in Guwahati would have been let off where the cameras not rolling.

I cannot but feel sorry for the 41 year old hospital staff who was made the fall guy and lost his job courtesy another media circus.  The man was the sole earner of a family of 10. The media made him a ward boy/sweeper whereas he was an OT assistant with 19 years experience. He did what we was told and paid a heavy price. It is sad but true that in many hospitals Doctors go AWOL and other staff are made to pitch in. They often do a great job and even save lives. They are not the culprits. The real culprit is the administration and the rulers who have not been able to get their act together even after six decades of freedom.

In my early days working in slums I too felt outraged at the number of quacks that operated in the slums. But then with time I realised that they were often the only care givers and often did a reasonable if not good job. The alternatives were not viable. The better Doctors, if any were to expensive, the government dispensaries few and poorly manned, and the hospitals too far and too time consuming.

Apologies for the digression but too many things are cluttering my brain. But let us get back to the main issue: that of women and their fundamental rights! This attitude of making women responsible for any and every aberration is not acceptable. There is something wrong with men. Maybe legalising porn, sex shows and other such things would reign them in! If not, then let us just lock them up and loose the key.

In 2001 a child fell and died in a bore well in Tamil Nadu. The state government swung into action. A law was passed, the administration was on its toes and no bore well could be dug without permission and the bore had to be covered the same day! Moreover everyone worked in tandem rather then passing the buck. Policemen on beats alert the right authorities immediately and the boles/drains/pits are immediately covered. The result: no child has fallen to its death since that fateful day! This is the reality on the other side of the Vindyas.

On June 28th little Mahi feel in a deep bore well and was rescued too late. There was a hue and cry and India, as reported by newscasters, wanted answers and action. Everyone screamed that this should never happen again. Yet a day later another child died, and then another, and yet another! The outrage went unheard, at least this side of the Vindhyas. Why is it that simple rules cannot be followed. Even the Supreme Court decree of 2009 held no meaning. Open drains are the rule rather than the exceptions, and as of bore wells there seem to be 10 000 abandoned ones across the land. Does that mean that it will take 10 000 kids dying before the issue is resolved? And the question that begs to be asked is how come one state acts efficiently and not the rest of the country. A simple diktat on compulsory rain water harvesting in all homes, new and old, was/is the magic wand needed. Rain water harvesting = recharging of water table = shallow wells with tiny diameters = no child falling. There is a lesson for the CEO of our city where construction is booming. But I do not see the day dawn soon or ever. We need to pray for it hard. Will we ever learn. Only time will tell.

You learn at every age. I have always been weary of persons who profess that they know all. I shun them like the proverbial plague. They have no place in my horizon. I on the other hand always profess that I am willing to learn till my last breath and from the tiniest and humblest. This week I walk the talk.

Agastya my lovely grandson is here on holiday. He has spent the last six months in the US of A where he lives on and where he has been mastering the English language. Two days back at dinner table he got very agitated and kept shouting: this is my spot. Poor grandmother, aka me, was totally lost and could not figure out what the little boy meant/wanted! You see her English came via French and fine tuned in apna India so is not the best. It took her a little time and the little fellow a lot of gesticulating to eventually figure out that he meant that teh chair he was pointing at and that was occupied was his place, no sorry, his spot.

I feel great. I know a knew word and I may use it hoping others do not understand it. I am all ears and rearing to learn from my little Angel boy!

Just released our new professional promotional video. Conceived, directed, shot and edited by Andi a very special person with the help of the children and staff of project why and David. A very proud moment for us all. Thank you Andi for having made this dream come true!

Enjoy

Raja is the new kid on the block. He joined our special section a month ago. He is 19 and has Down syndrome. He also has the most incredible eyes. As he has never been to any school he is a tad shy and likes sitting in his corner but a little coaxing works wonders and he is ready to participate in all activities. His favourite passtime is watching a balloon painted on one of the walls of the specials section and make faces at it. I wonder what he sees in the balloon but he certainly communicates with it. It seems to be his imaginary friend!

Everyone loves him in class.

Watch our dear Funny Face

Preeti turns 18 today! She was a bit sad because her family decided not to celebrate her birthday and even refused to give her the tiny amount of money she wanted to buy samosas for her classmates. An 18th birthday is a special one. Had she been born on the other side of the fence, there would have been a big celebration with friends and family and treats and presents. But in her case no one in her family wanted to mark the day. It will be a just like any other day. When her teachers and class mates came to know about this, they decided to surprise her and celebrate. So, without her knowledge plans were made and Saturday was party time.

On the menu samosas of course and Pepsi and sweets. The kids had a ball. They laughed and danced and then laughed some more and danced some more. They gorged themselves on fun. Once again Radha and Preeti proved to us that you can dance even if you cannot walk.

I am sure Preeti will remember her 18th.

It is sad that parents of special children born in underprivileged homes do not realise that these children are just like others, with the same dreams and hopes. Preeti had polio when she was young. This should not have happened but I guess her harried mom must not have given her all the vaccine doses. And to crown it all she was hit by a car and broke her legs. There was no physiotherapy which meant that she also lost her muscles and hence can not be fitted with calipers. Her home is located in a slum and you access it through a tiny, uneven mud road. When it rains or a drain clogs, Preeti is housebound. As she walks on her hands there is no way for her to wade through the filth and reach the main road where our transport picks her up. Some of you may wonder why we have not bought her a wheelchair. To understand you would have to come and see the reality. No wheelchair can reach her home, or any slum home for that matter.

In a civilised and humane society Preeti would have been in a normal school and could have aspired to any profession. She is a very intelligent and smart kid. But in India she could not be mainstreamed and thus never went to school. We have now enrolled her in the Open school and she will soon be sitting for her class X Boards. She is learning English and speaks quite well. We discovered this when she spent time with Andi one of our volunteers. We will leave no stone unturned to ensure she has a bright future.

I do not know why I remembered a long forgotten song by Simon and Garfunkel. It was 7 O’clock News/Silent Night by Simon and Garfunkel. It was a beautiful yet chilling song, a grim comment of events that occurred in 1966 in the US. If you have never heard it, do so.

 I was reminded of this song as I heard today’s news bulletin: in East India a young teenager was molested by 20 men for half an hour whilst people watched; in a village in North India a local council has decreed that women under 40 cannot leave the house unescorted, cannot go to the market and cannot use cellphones; a man kills his wife for not giving him a son; handicapped women are raped and even murdered in a rehabilitation home; food for meant for undernourished and starving children has been sold as chicken feed; a hospital that caters to 12 villages never had electricity, yet another child falls in an open drain and dies…

Enough! I can hear hear no more. I am ashamed, outraged and incensed. What is happening? And above all what are we doing. When will we come out of our catatonic state and act. When we will leave our comfort zones and do something. When will we have the moral courage to get up and scream. How many more such cases will it take for our collective conscience to awake.

This is only the tip of the iceberg. There are many other such aberrations that go unheard. What kind of nation are we? What has happened to our social fabric. Have we become inured to anything? How can we sleep at night and look at our face in the morning without batting an eyelid.

How can we continue voting to power people who have sold their souls to God knows who? A girl is molested for 30 excruciating minutes on a crowded street and we, I say we because we are part of that crowd, watch and say nothing, maybe even ‘enjoy’ the show! Women are suddenly deprived of their freedom and we remain mute. Oh I forgot, there is a logic of course: it is always the victim that is put in the dock! A man kills his wife for not producing a boy and we, yes we who are educated and know that the poor woman can never produce a male child as she was never endowed by the Creator with the magic Y – I mean the Y chromosome – cluck our disapproval in the comfort of our drawing room, prevaricate a little and then have a nice drink and go to sleep. A deaf and dumb woman is raped by the very people who are meant to care for her and again we say nothing. Oh sure some of us go on TV show and get their minute of fame while they mouth politically correct words and then go to their homes and continue their empty lives till their next appearance. We have time and again come face to face with the terrible statistics that reminds us that 5000 children die everyday of malnutrition then why does not our blood boil when we hear that food meant for them has been sold by vile middlemen as chicken feed!

The media will play its role but then every story, no matter how disturbing will loses its flavour to the next one. Politicians will make the required noises and do F**** all! Vote banks politics you see! Commissions created for God knows what reason as they seem to have scant power will inform us pompously that they are sending a team and will give a report that will ultimately gather dust in some cupboard. Wonder why these Commissions are set up. Oh yes for political reasons as they look good on paper and often help rewarding people who have served their masters well. The Courts may take suo motto cognizance and issue a decree that will go unheard. Were not open wells and drains to be covered.

It is time we as humans, as citizens, as voters, as tax payers acted. We need to put a stop at all this. At girls being humiliated, women being tortured, children dying be it of malnutrition or by falling in an open drain. The time for hanging our heads in shame is over, the time for prevaricating is over, the time of remaining silent is over, the time of feeling helpless is over. It is now time for the collective conscience of this country to get up and scream and be heard!

The question is will we? We have blood on our hands. Are we too blind to see it!

10 Sundays ago at 10.59 am India waited with bated breath for a much hyped TV show anchored by one of Bollywood’s superstar. A clever and well planned ad campaign had preceded the show not quite revealing what it was all about. Hence everyone was intrigued and rearing to find out what Satyamev Jayate  was all bout.The atmosphere reminded us of circa 1988. Come Sunday 11am and India was glued to the box. It was Mahabharata time. Sacred in more ways than one!

The question on every one’s mind was would history repeat itself. It remains to be seen.

So 10 weeks ago SMJ episode 1 was aired. Daughters are precious was the theme of the day. Everyone was moved and angered and shared the range of emotions that were displayed in the clever script of the show. India was outraged. At least for the duration of the show. I too watched the show and shared my opinion on the subject. However without being cynical and based on my experience of more than a decade I knew that things would remain the same. It would more than one show, however star stuffed, to change things.

Yesterday’s news confirmed my worst fears! A man killed his wife for not having borne him a son. They had five daughters between the age of 3 and 13. We will all feel duly outraged for some time and forget the problem till the next aberration happens. We will then again feel outraged and then forget once again. And this will continue till the facts are set right. This will continue till the Y chromosome story is not told.

I wonder why all our family planning campaigns, our save our daughters crusades and the same have never highlighted that a woman CANNOT determine the sex of a child as she is does hot have the needed chromosome. This fact should be given prominence in every which way possible. It should appear in posters and hoardings, in street plays, in songs. The Y chromosome story needs to be told loud an clear if we want to save our girls and protect our women.

The picture you see is that of the balconies of a new housing complex in Mumbai called Aquaria Grande. These flats are for the uber rich and you guessed right have all been sold! The price in the range of 40 million rupees! This post is not meant to be a grapes are sour kind of thing. People can spend their money; I only wished they did so with a conscience. When I see balconies of hundreds of flats turned into pools of clean water I cannot but remember some worrying and disturbing statistics the first one being the 5000 children dying everyday of often water related diseases such as diarrhoea, cholera and hepatitis as millions do not have access to clean drinking water. Aquifers are being over pumped and water contaminated. There is a water crisis looming large and many states are facing severe drought conditions. Sadly we have a poor track record of management and conservation. In water starved Delhi rain water harvesting is practically non existent whereas it should be made mandatory keeping in view the construction overdrive. But every year abundant rain water is simply washed away. This has been aggravated by the obsession of cementing every nook and corner. Even trees are not spared and often wither away slowly. This was not the case some years back when we still had paved sidewalks that allowed the earth to breathe.

That water is a huge problem is a reality we cannot run away from. This is aggravated the poor management of this invaluable resource. It is time we all learnt to respect water. But that in unfortunately not the case. The easy availability of water through pipes and taps has made us forget the real issues. A friend told me once that if we still had to manually pump water and/or walk miles to access it, we would learn to respect its value. We simply take it for granted and raise a hue and cry when taps run dry. The rich simply get tankers at astronomical prices. The poor fight for it.

This picture was taken in Delhi. It shows what happens when the much awaited tanker comes in a slum area. It is nothing short of a battle royal that has tempers rising and often comes to insults and blows. Needless to say the meeker return with an empty bucket. The writing is on the wall. A recent magazine chose to entitle an article on water issues: Boiling point.  According to the article the rise in population and the depletion of ground water are the main reasons for the prevailing situation. An eminent activist hits the nail on its head when he states: There is no shortage of water in terms of rainfall. We, as a country, have failed to make use of it. But that is not all. Read on:

Policy paralysis and an appalling lack of management has turned burgeoning India into waterless, despairing India. Eight-year-old Poorni in Karnataka has decaying teeth and limbs that struggle to move due to dangerous fluoride in the groundwater. Sand contractors like Sanjay Singh Yadav, 40, make money in Bihar as the rivers dry up. Riots have broken out over borewell use, leading to death, imprisonment, deprivation and despair to families like that of Ramkumar Yadav, 60, in Chhattisgarh. Hindu Rao Hospital, one of Delhi’s leading municipal hospitals, cancelled 40 surgeries in a week between June 16 and June 23 due to lack of running water. Politicians are accused of diverting scarce water to their constituencies in Maharashtra, leaving others to fend for themselves.

The above quote explains it all. One just has to read between the lines. Much of the situation we are facing is man made and we must bear the responsibility. We all need to respect water. Think about the liters of clean water we flush everyday in our homes. I can never forget the day when we were installing a western style toilet in our women centre. A bunch of kids were hanging around and watching the operation. When the plumber walked out having finished its installation the children approached the toilet and inspected it for quite some time, their face puzzled. Then one boy exclaimed: I know what it is, it is a small well!

We all need to ponder on these words. It is time to start respecting water before it is too late. And maybe a good step would be to raise our voices against balconies that double up as swimming pools!

Akeel and Shakeel are two young lads ages 17 and 16. Were they born on the other side of the fence, they would have in swanky schools, have had loads of friends and fun. They would have watched movies in malls, and gone for treats at different places. They would have their own computers, cell phones and tablets and God knows what else. I have lost touched with the ways of the young a long while ago.

Shakeel the elder brother is in class XI. A keen student he gets good grades and comes to pwhy regularly. Nothing special one would say. But that is not where it ends. Shakeel is the sole supporter of his family: 4 siblings and his parents. His elderly father has been ailing for some time and has stopped working. His mother a simple housewife takes on some sewing work at home. Many garment manufacturers sub contract work to women at abysmal prices. You would agree that this pittance cannot feed a family, let alone educate the children, provide the medical care needed for the father etc. It is left to Shakeel to take on the responsibility. But he is one of a kind. Not wanting to give up his studies Shakeel took on a night job in a factory where he earns 5000 Rs a month. In the day he goes to school, comes to pwhy and even attends our computer classes. In between all this he catches a few hours of sleep. Thanks to his earnings his family eats and his younger siblings go to school.

Akeel the younger brother pitches in too as he helps his mom with the sewing work and support his brother’s dream: to see all the siblings educated! Wow! I just feel humbled. There are no complaints or recriminations against anyone; least of all the Almighty. There is simply a dignified acceptance of a reality that needs to be addressed and met in the best way possible without losing one’s smile.

What a beautiful lesson! All I can say is Chapeau Bas!

“People surrounded by money but unable to use it properly die of happiness thirst.” -Paramahansa Yogananda. This quote appeared on my FB page one morning. It made me smile and also wonder what the opposite of thirst would be as as I for one will die of happiness surfeit or overdose. For I for one will OD on happiness!

I have never been surrounded by money, alas, but there was a time when I had some and that is when I decided to begin pwhy. I never regretted the decision, even when things get tough and bleak, and they do more often than I would like. I guess I used my little windfall properly. But let us get serious and try and figure out what this quote truly means. To me the meaning is clear. It simply means that if you have then you must give and if you do give you get surrounded by happiness. The barter is more than fair.

There was a time when I sat on the other side of the fence and my ‘giving’ was more a kind of lip service, the politically correct thing to do. Every month I wrote my cheque dutifully and sent it to the chosen destination but in hindsight there was scant joy or happiness. It was more a kind of obligation that was steered by the head and not he heart. I truly discovered the joy of giving when pwhy begun or rather when I started dipping unabashedly into my pocket to meet the daily needs of the new baby I had brought into the world. And the more I dipped, the better I felt. Wonder why? Simply because every penny spent brought a smile on a little face. It was pure magic. And every smile warmed my heat and filled me with incredible happiness. I felt tiny and huge at the same time. And with every day my needs became smaller, my problems inconsequential, my pains and aches non-existent.

True there came a time when the pocket became too light to be dipped in and ways had to be found to replenish it so I embarked on a journey aimed at trying to get others to walk the same road. The results were mixed. Whereas on the one hand total strangers came forward, on the other people one hoped would help simply slimed away. I must admit that this is something I never understood and/or was comfortable with. It was as if I had failed to show them the worth of the equation. Maybe I should just once again share the quantum of happiness you get from giving.

We all at some time or the other feel empty in some way or the other and thus feel the need to fill this void. Some of us shop till we drop, others party, yet others opt for spiritual options and a few even get tempted by artificial paradises. The emptiness is given fancy names from depression to just the blues. Sometimes this happens after a painful loss as was my case and I too tried some of the above. But to no avail as the more you try the more empty you feel. The reason simply being that all these pursuits are self centred. My salvation came from a simple illiterate woman who told me to turn my grief to something positive. That was how pwhy came to be. The rest is history. As pwhy grew my emptiness vanished and in its place came an immense sense of well being. My world became filled with smiles and every challenge that came my way was just that: a challenge that had to be met.

This is how life has been for a decade now. No aches and pains, no blues or greys, just love and light and joy. I am ready to OD on happiness!

It was her birthday. Little Mahi was playing with her friends near her home. The little children were busy playing and laughing and no one saw the uncovered borewell and Mahi fell into it. Her little body hurled downwards and crashed 70 feet below. She was alive as her cries for help were heard by one and all. But her helpless parents and family could do nothing to help her as there was no way to reach down to her. They did the next best thing call the authorities. The police took 90 minutes to come and all the king’s men (army, metro, commandos, firemen etc) took 90 hours to bring little Mahi’s body out of the dark hole. Her soul had left for a better place much before her
broken body was recovered.

I hope death was quick to come and release her pain. I cannot begin to imagine what she must have gone through in the dark dark hole, with barely any place to breathe, let alone move, all alone and frightened. One must salute the men who braved all odds and fought night and day to bring her out. They did their best but everything conspired against them: the hard rocks that took days to break, the inhospitable terrain and lack of oxygen, the stifling heat… Yet they soldiered on. But sadly all they brought up was Mahi’s broken body.

The blame game is now on as always. The news was juicy and made good copy and TRP numbers yesterday. Today some other news will replace it and Mahi’s death will be forgotten to be remembered only when the next child falls in another uncovered borewell or drain and this will happen, there is no doubt on that. Six years ago Prince fell into a borewell and was rescued alive. Subsequent to that activists managed to secure a supreme court order that directed the administration to ensure that all such borewells and drains were suitably covered. But nothing happened. Wells were dug with impunity and alacrity and still are. It is all a catch 22 situation. The administration fails in providing water. People find their own ways. The authorities turn a blind eye and  extend greedy palms and the game goes on. You see everyone is happy: the ones who get the much needed water and the ones who can line their bottomless pockets. No one is the wiser till another child falls. How many children will have to die before someone takes action. No one knows.

In more ways than one, ours is not a land for children. No one cares for them. The proof: 5000 of them die every day. Their schools have no roof, they are used and abused. The list is endless. We remain mute at best or megalomaniac at worst. The proof: Aquaria Grande the new housing complex in our commercial capital that boasts of balcony swimming pools in a land where children die because of water borne diseases as they do not have access to safe drinking water or simply by falling in an uncovered borewell!

Has our conscience gone AWOL?

PS A friend pointed me to a wonderful idea to cover these deadly pits: plant trees! She mooted the thought way back in 2009 but found no takers. Maybe it is time to look at this again and find a way.

You sometimes do not realise that your kids have grown, particularly when they are of the special kind. I must admit rather sheepishly, that ever since they special kids moved into their new space on the third floor of the building opposite ours I have been somewhat absent from their lives. The reason is I find myself citing is of course my creaking knees. A rather pitiful reason I must confess particularly when I think of our special kids who make the climb with a smile whether they are a tad wobbly (Umesh) or walk on their hands (Preeti)! The truth is I have just been lazy.

So a few days back when I did make the trip to the special class it was an eye opened in more ways than one. First and foremost I realised how much I missed seeing the lovely smiles and hearing the heartwarming greetings of these lovely souls and more than that how much it meant to me as I suddenly felt uplifted and revived. This has not happened for a long time. Seeing these special kids was a treat I had simply denied myself for too many days.

Another thing hit me that afternoon as I watched the children busy in their art and craft activities. I realised that many of them were all grown up. Yes more than a decade had passed and though some still looked small, they were now young adults. And time has come for us to accept them as such. My mind went on overdrive as I started making plans for them in my head, keeping every one’s likes and abilities in mind. These children were now adults and should be entering the working world, never mind their disability. The older girls could start marketing their weaving. Why not make table mats and bathroom mats out of waste cloth? And why not start a small in house catering service that could maybe one day mutate into a proper catering service.

It did not take any time to set things in motion. The very next day the older girls and Anurag who loves cooking set up the pwhy special cafe. The first task was to find clients! And that was easy as many of the staff were delighted by the idea of having hot home made food. The students with the help of their teacher made a menu and took orders. A shopping list was made and the needed ingredients bough and lo and behold the very next day 3 warm lunches were made and served on time. The clients were thrilled and orders placed for the next day. Things will get a little time to settle down but I am sure than in a month or so these fabulous young cooks will be able to cater to larger numbers. They have proved beyond doubt that they are ready to become business men and women.

But catering is not their only venture. The girls have been learning weaving for  quite some time now and can make stunning pieces from discarded cloth. We are now thinking of getting this activity organised and making table mats, floor mats and wall hangings and try and find markets for them. The weaved pieces are really bright and colourful and could make lovely gifts for one and all. I hope many of you will support this venture.

The older boys will be making newspaper mats for our creche children. Many of the boys have limited motor skills but with supervision and help they will be able to make these mats that are used by our tiny students at lunch time. We are also thinking of teaching them how to make paper bags.

For me this week has been very special. To see that our children have now grown into responsible adults in spite of their challenges is precious. I know they will make us proud. They never fail to!

Would you believe me if I told you that food meant for starving children was siphoned by middlemen and sold to dairy and poultry farms as feed for livestock? I guess it is so outrageous that it is hard to believe, yet it is true. This shameful fact was revealed recently in a sting operation by a leading channel. One only wonders how long this had been going on and, without being cynical, how quickly it will start again. The food in question was packaged supplement meant for angawadis (creches) in Maharashtra. The state has almost 100 000 anganwadis and spends 1280 crores Rs (~10 billion) a year on such supplements! Mind boggling! And we are talking of one state! Let us not live under the illusion that this happens only in Maharashtra. Actually such programmes are a boon for wily middlemen. The beneficiaries are voiceless toddlers and could never complain, as for others I am sure there mouths are kept shut via their pockets!

Anganwadis were an intrinsic part of the ICDS programme launched in the seventies. The package on offer was targeted to the 0 to 6 age group and was aimed at arresting malnutrition and ensuring a holistic development of young children. Had it worked then the 5000 + children that still die every day of malnourishment should have been history long ago. That it did not is apparent. 2 million children still die every year. The huge budget allocations have been hijacked and have made many humans rich and if we are to go by today’s news, many pigs and cows fat!

This is just a small example of the ground reality we either chose to ignore or are simply not interested as it does not concern us. Every year grains rots for want of proper storage. We remain mute. Time and again disturbing statistics stare us in the face but again we look away. The walls we have erected around us are impregnable and opaque, or is it our vision that is skewed to perfection? Have we not worked out ways to handle such matters in a manner that eases our conscience: see a beggar child and either look away or roll down your car window and drop a coin in the proffered hand, but keep your eyes away as if you look into the innocent eyes you run the risk of seeing with your heart and that believe you me is dangerous. If you come across child labour, be it in a tea stall or even at an acquaintance or neighbour’s home you will at best discuss the aberration in the comfort of your drawing room. How many of us pick up our phone and call the authorities. No one I know! I have even heard people reacting vehemently at a news article on child labour and then ordering a tea from the young boy manning the stall without batting an eyelid.

On a lighter vein, many of you may have got an email that did the rounds some time ago about incredible India where a pizza arrives in 30 minutes, the ambulance doesn’t, where there are more mobile phones than  toilet where car loans are cheaper than  educational loans and where food grain rots as people die of hunger. The list was longer but all in the same spirit. I do not know how many of us read it before junking it and how many really pondered about what was written.

Today’s newspaper has another incredible headline: a young student who has just passed her XIIth Boards was eligible for Harvard but not for Delhi University. Now the said kid has presumably well to do parents who can afford to send their child beyond the seas. Now this student must have marks in the 90s and still cannot secure admission in a good and affordable institution. Then what about the kid from a poor home who gets brilliant marks. She has few options if any!

The state seems to have abdicated its duty towards its poor though every political party heralds loud and clear that it is the messiah of the poor. And to prove that moots innumerable pro poor programmes that look good on paper only and land up lining many pockets before paying some kind of lip service. Imagine if even 50% of the funds reached the real beneficiaries. The sad truth is that we are still quibbling about the definition of poverty is it 28 rs a day or 32! Would it not be saner and more efficient to identify beneficiaries of programmes and open an account in their name and put in the amount due to them. But there is a hitch: how will money be made? So this is a big no no.

Take another issue that is in the news: the creamy layer definition. Now we all know that reservations have been made for students from OBC categories in various institutions. Now the hitch is to define the creamy layer that is excluded from the reservation. One would believe that such reservations would benefit the poorest of the poor. Not quite as the quibbles now are about the definition of the (ill) famed creamy layer that needs to be excluded. Let it be known that it has gone from 250 000 to 450 000 rupees per annum and is likely to be increased to 600 000! That means that a salary of 49 000 per month would ensure your child a seat in the OBC quota! So these reservations are not for the poor, far from that. In my humble opinion someone earning that amount can give his child a sound education enabling her to compete at par with others. But who cares for the poor?

This is the land we live in.

I for one will never give up on this land!

TV’s prodigal child is three episodes old. I am talking of SJ hosted by a leading film star. I must admit that I was taken in by episode 1 as it touched a raw nerve though I did have my reservations. It was a little too glitzy for my liking and sounded a tad false and failed to address the real issues. Post episode 1, I learnt that the anchor was charging a whopping 3.2 crores per episode. I must admit I was saddened and somehow the show lost its charm at least for me. Seemed that social responsibility was the new kid on the business block.

Call it synchronicity but some days later I came upon an article entitle: How My Conscience Was Abducted in Dantewada. In the garb of social responsibility, the Essar Group recently organised a storytelling festival for the ‘benefit’ of children in this Maoist-dense area. What emerged most starkly was the stench of corporate propaganda. The article is written by a story teller invited to tell stories to a bunch of tribal kids in a language they did not understand and who felt his conscience was abducted. The scenario goes something like this-  the protagonists: a corporate in desperate need of a new coat of veneer, an event management company desperate to conjure a sense of celebration in an alien place, hundreds of bewildered children gathered to hear stories in a language they do not understand and a bunch of bored officials present to give the stamp of officialdom; the stage: hurriedly white washed hall with buntings more appropriate to an upmarket literary festival than a story telling for tribal children. The children were made to listen to corporate  propaganda and incomprehensible stories, feat made harder by the pangs of hunger as the organisers has miscalculated the numbers. Pictures were taken to adorn the CSR pages of websites and publications, a huge budget was earmarked for those in power to spend. All in a all a success except for the children who still did not quite fathom what was happening. The question that begs to be asked is: is such a farce needed? My answer is a big NO! Such efforts are to my mind pathetic and revolting. Corporate Social Responsibility at best eases some consciences, makes good photo ops and lines pockets. The supposed beneficiary is left bewildered and empty handed.

How the receiving side feels was best portrayed by one such recipient. We too have had our own first hand experiences be it the lady from a prestigious club who brought a few sweaters on a hot September morning and her personal photographer in tow. She insisted that the special kids wear the sweaters in spite of the sweltering heat, so that she could have a photograph for the newsletter of her club! Or how can I forget the man who in response to our appeal for help for Raju’s open heart surgery wanted to know why we were spending so much money for just a poor child. Charity has become a lucrative business.

On the other hand, call it synchronicity again, I stumbled upon another TV show called the  Secret Millionaire. True it is what is now called a reality show – the flavour of our times – but it rings true. The blurb of the show states: Millionaire benefactors say goodbye to their luxury lifestyles and go undercover in deprived areas to find out who needs their help. I was impressed by the part of the show I saw, but still a bit cynical and weary of reality shows I decided to catch a few more. It was truly inspiring. A millionaire spends 9 days in a destitute area to look for causes he may fund. It is bye bye credit cards and fat wallets. The protagonist is meant to survive on the minimum wage, often in a decrepit flat a far cry from his luxurious abode. He has to cook – or buy street food -, wash, clean and above all  find organisations worthy of his help. To achieve this he talks to people in pubs and other places and once he has a list of organisations he goes on to volunteer in them. This enables him to assess the real situation. At the end of his 9 days he reveals his identity and makes his donations.To justify the presence of cameras, people are told that a documentary is being shot to highlight the issues of the community. The show looks real and touches the heart. The millionaire is often shown coming back to the area weeks later to reconnect with those he helped. I must admit I too had a lump in my throat. If it is all scripted then it was a darned good job!

I could not help remembering a reality show that professed to get rich young Indians brats to experience life in a slum. Now one would think that they would live in an actual slum. Far from that. In line with the Big Brother set, a ‘slum’ was created for them.I remember watching one episode where the kids were in a large room with beds (I presume harder than the ones they were used to) and fans (no ACs). This was a bizarre depiction of slums as I know them. Wonder if any of those kids could have survived in Radha’s home which is a hole in the ground, about 12 square feet, with an asbestos roof and mud floor. In that ‘hole’ live 4 adults and 4 children. One must not forget that little Radha suffers from brittle bone disease.

 I also wonder if any of our millionaires would agree to give up their comfortable lives and spend even one night if not in a slum, let us say in the likes of a DDA Jantadesi version of the Secret Millionaire. I guess production houses knew it was doomed to fail as they would find no millionaires willing to participate. I guess we have some more growing up to do. Our rich are more comfortable with the CRS version of charity that does not entail dirtying one’s hand and is a perfect way to ease consciences.