by Anuradha Bakshi | Dec 23, 2011 | Uncategorized
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| Manu and Father Xmas |
Xmas is around the corner. The children of our special class are busy decorating their tree.
Xmas has always been festive time in the special section. A time for joy and cheer. A time for goodies and presents, a time of laughter and giggles. Every year the children trim their tree with love and care, each one making a unique ornament and hanging it. How can I forget the time when Munna decided to hang a simple white sock. Somehow that sock looked just right! Yet this year it will not be quite the same. Manu is no more be with us.
I can never forget the Xmas when Santa came to town. It was pure magic. Each and everyone had his or her special moment with Santa. Manu did too. I still wonder what the two of them shared but I am sure it was something incredibly precious.
To me Manu epitomized the spirit of Xmas as his existence was nothing short of a miracle. It was the indubitable proof that every human life, no matter how wretched, is to be cherished and celebrated as every life has been crafted with a purpose that needs to be discovered. Manu’s was to seed project why! How blessed he was, and how blessed was I to have stumbled upon him. He became the spirit of pwhy and my inner strength. When he was around nothing was impossible.
This Xmas my thoughts go to him, to all that remained unsaid because I felt there was enough time, that he would always be there with us. Did I ever expressed the immense gratitude I felt for all that Manu gave me. I do not think so. Perhaps it is only after he left for a better world that I truly realised all that he had bestowed upon me. With him around it was Xmas everyday! There was not a single day when I was not treated to one of Manu’s special smiles. Even if he was in a bad mood, and that happened quite often, the moment I walked in his face would light up. On better days he would ask me to come near him. He would sometimes gently touch my face or tap the space next to him asking me to sit. And my heart would melt and tears well in my eyes. If he was eating, he would immediately hold out his hand and share his treat. I can never forget the first time he did that, way back in 2000. It was a very privileged and blessed moment for the both of us.
Yes I owe a lot to Manu and it is time I expressed it with the hope that wherever he is, he will find the time to stop and hear me. Manu gave a purpose to my life. He made me discover a part of me I did not know existed. He gave me strength to take on impossible challenges and fulfill them, he made my most far fetched dreams possible, even the one of giving him a home till death did us part. He actually made this happen far too soon. Sometimes I feel he was an angel sent by the God of Lesser beings to hold my hand and show me the way. How do you pay such a debt of gratitude.
Manu was to me what the fox was to the Little Prince. He taught me the true meaning of ‘seeing with your heart’, a lesson engraved in my soul forever. From the instant I met him, my life was never the same: it has been gently infused by all that is good and pure. Manu was a saintly soul and I fortunate to have loved him.
His legacy is huge and sacred. I hope I am able to honour his memory in every way possible. This Xmas I feel his presence around me. It is time to murmur the ‘thank you’ that remained far too long in my heart.
Merry Xmas!
by Anuradha Bakshi | Dec 14, 2011 | Uncategorized
I have just experienced one of the most difficult day in my entire existence. It was the day I had to sound the first stroke of the death knell of one of our classes. For the past weeks and even months the sword of Damocles has been hanging on my head. The precarious condition of our funds has been such that the inevitable had to happen. All pleas and entreaties fell on deaf years. Maybe I cried wolf too many times and was not believed.
It is true that all looked well to one and all. Yes project why ran like a clockwork orange and delivered its promises as hoped. The only one who knew the reality behind the scenes was me. For the past year I had been juggling numbers to keep afloat. Yet I knew that it would not be possible to do so forever and that it was time to see the writing on the wall. We had to see reason and make the needed adjustments. I know many will ask why we allowed ourselves to grow beyond our means. It is a very valid query. However the answer is complex. Our growth has always been organic and stemmed out of real needs. And each need was always sustained by our supporters. Hence one of the reason for our crisis is the last moment withdrawal of committed support. A real case of force majeure! Yet this is not the first time we have faced such a dilemma. When such a situation occurred I always managed to find alternatives though it was difficult. Today I have grown older and cannot muster the energy needed to make this option good. Moreover our inability to secure funding for our sustainability plan has made it imperative to garner all efforts to find a plan B. So to cut things short, we need to make some savings for want of a better word.
Reason decreed that the ones to go would be the babies. Sounds terrible and brutal, doesn’t it? But somehow it meets all the criteria of reason. Our early education programme was started because we felt that the toddlers needed to be cared for and have a safe enabling environment to grow and learn, particularly as the 0 to 6 are out of the ambit of free education in India. Actually the creche was one of the first programmes we started way back in 2001. All was on course in the initial years as project why was small and in one neighborhood so the kids could move from one class to another. I can never forget the days when we taught under a huge tent in a reclaimed pig park and all classes were under one big yellow plastic tent. But then the Gods got jealous and courtesy wily politicos and their scheming alter egos – small officials – our tent was bulldozed and project why got scattered. Today the creche has the most adorable children but sadly a large chunk of them come from a far away slum where we have no primary outreach. The rest come from better homes from the area where we are located. This results in our losing most of the children once they have completed their 2 or 3 years with us. The former resume roaming the streets as their parents do not get them admitted in school, and the later go to better schools. They never become project why alumni!
So the moment one has to start contemplating a cut in pwhy, they seem to be the most logical ones to chose. Never mind if they are the most assiduous, the most endearing and the most innocent. Never mind if they have been Agastya’s classmates for many many months. Never mind if they have the most endearing eyes or the infectious smile. They are the ones the sword has fallen on and they will have to go. And all this because a old biddy was unable to walk that extra step and save them.
I cannot begin to describe what is going on my mind. Words are too paltry to convey the emotions and pain I am feeling. The countdown has begun and soon the day will dawn when these lovely souls will take their last autorickshaw ride back to their homes. Will I have the courage to stand and wave them goodbye for the final time knowing in my heart that I am sending them back to the streets. Or will I hide in a hole and weep. Will I ever have the courage to ever look at myself in the mirror and like what I see. Will I be able to live with the guilt of having broken the dreams of these innocent souls. I do not know.
I shared this with a dear friend and all she could say was ‘who will hold your hand’. The answer is ‘no one I guess’. This cross is for me to bear alone so help me God!
by Anuradha Bakshi | Dec 9, 2011 | Uncategorized
Hope you’re doing fine..I didn’t see any blog posts from you wrote a dear friend. Are you OK? You haven’t updated your blog wrote another. No I am not OK! And I am not talking of the few aches and pains, they come and go and have never had the ability to make me lose my spirit. I am not OK because in spite of my best efforts I will soon have to put planet why to rest. I am not OK because I have been unable to raise the missing numbers we need to run and have to decide which part of pwhy will have to be closed down as the new year dawns. I am not OK because I feel I am letting down those I love most and who have given me more than I could ever have dreamt of. I am not OK because I feel the God of Lesser beings has finally stopped smiling at me.
It is true that for the past weeks my virtual pen has remained silent. It is not easy to share failure. My mind is bursting with images and thoughts I can barely control. Images of happy days gone by but also dark images of the days to come. Which children will be sacrificed, which teachers will lose their small yet critical jobs. Why was I not able to keep my ship afloat. Where did I go wrong.
The future of project why looks bleak. Once upon not so long ago I was tormented by the question: what will happen to pwhy after me? I thought I had come up with a wow solution – namely planet why – a solution filled with optimism and cheer. For some time everything seemed on track barring a few glitches. We managed the land, a sustainability report that was brighter than expected, a beautiful eco friendly model. All that was needed was the money. Yet in spite of promises and our best efforts we were unable to raise the needed funds. But we still did lose heart and were confident of coming up with an alternative sooner than later. I was still OK.
The crunch came some days back when it was time to plan the coming year’s funding. There was a huge gap. Many of our regular donors had backed out; the reasons were numerous I guess though no one ever admits them: economic crunch, donor fatigue, new options. Your guess is as good as mine. We too were at fault one must admit. Had we not once again sunk into comfort zones thinking that all would remain unchanged. No point in crying over spilled milk. The reality is that things are bleak and one has to take some drastic steps. Part of
pwhy will have to go. But who?
I have spent sleepless nights wondering just that. It is like Sophie’s choice. Which child of yours do you execute? How do you go about making such a decision. Do you apply logic or reason when all that matters is the heart? I do not know. As I lie awake I try and imagine the almost apocalyptic scenario I will need to write. Logic says ‘close the creche’, most of children come from a slum where we do not have any primary programme and thus ‘lose’ the kids after the 2 or 3 years they spend with us. Easily said. But the moment I visualise this option I see all the little faces and huge eyes that greet me every morning with a smile that warms the cockles of my heart and makes all problems vanish. The smiles mutate into incomprehension and then hurt and I break up in a cold sweat. Logic says ‘close the special section; it is the least cost effective’. Easily said again. But the moment I allow myself to wander that way Manu’s gentle face appears in front of me and I am reminded of the silent promise to him and his ilk. Wasn’t I the one who pledged a life and death with dignity to those rejected by all.
The tussle between logic and heart goes on relentlessly. Logic says ‘cut the project in half’, the heart retorts which children and teachers will you sacrifice. Whose dreams will you fulfill? Whose job will you save? The questions are merciless, unending and terrifying.
Morning always dawns after such nights. Reality bites again. The situation remains unchanged. The missing numbers loom large. How will we get through this month, and the next and the next. Something will have to be done, sooner than later unless a miracle comes our way. But will it?
No, I am not OK!
by Anuradha Bakshi | Nov 27, 2011 | Uncategorized
Two unrelated incidents occurred yesterday. They were in no way linked but somehow painted a graphic image of India. The first was the trials and tribulations of the week end of a dear friend in the heart of
Uttar Pradesh. The second
an article I stumbled upon aptly titled:
Rs. 1.25 lakh for a small peg of cognac at Delhi hotel. True these were not sold every day but we were promptly informed that a champagne bottle priced at Rs 1. 75 lacs was
quite popular with our guests and sells pretty well.
But let us take them one at a time. Last week a friend volunteering with us told me that she was planning to visit Mathura with the family of one of the student she was teaching as they belonged to Mathura and had offered to be her guide. I was a little concerned as my friend is in her seventies but did not say anything as she was really excited and keen to go. The experience she said was one of a kind as she visited the sights on a motorbike! But what truly disturbed her was the squalor of the places she went to and the abject poverty around her. A far cry from the Delhi of malls and starred hotels just three hours away. She told me that the slums of the city were luxurious if compared to what she had seen.
Was it then synchronicity that I should come across the article just a few moments before hearing about the famed week end. I remember jumping out of my skin some years back when I heard of a bottle of champagne being sold at the
galling price of 50K! Well prices had gone up. If daily articles cost more then spirits had to follow I guess. So a peg at 1.25 lacs should not make us jump. Welcome to India the land of the
uber rich and the abjectly poor. The land where some gorge themselves whilst others starve. Yet another tale of two
Indias!
True you cannot and should not grudge anyone for their success, their riches, their prosperity. But can you turn your eyes away from the terrible pictures of children dying or the chilling statistics on malnutrition. Can you keep mute when you come across a child begging? Can you simply pass the abysmal living facilities that dot our city unmoved? I guess you can as most of us do with our myopic view of life contained within the four walls of our existence. How many of us would like my friend visit a place with someone who we considered ‘lower’? My friend did and what she saw was first hand: people living in cramped spaces with doorless bathrooms, where words like privacy have no meaning at all, where in a few square feet the old and the young eat, sleep, pray, cook, laugh, cry, fight, love and live or should one say survive. How many of us would share this space albeit for one night as my friend did and not be critical or horrified but humbled. How would you like to live in towns and shanties everyone has forgotten with no civic amenities where garbage and refuse lie everywhere and walking becomes an obstacle race? Yet many do, without grudging or complaining, forsaken by all.
Forgive my ranting but when I stumble upon a peg @ of 1.25 lacs my blood runs cold. There is something obscene and revolting about the image of someone sipping in a few minutes what another would never dream of in a lifetime. But that is the way we are. When will this country awake!
by Anuradha Bakshi | Nov 19, 2011 | Uncategorized
Last week a real estate tycoon threw a birthday bash. It took place in a palace in the middle of a lake where special duck shaped boats floated on the lake providing a novel dancing floor. The tout India was there: a true reunion of the uber rich and famous. And to crown it all the waka waka girl was flown in a special plane to entertain the guests. It was some show!
As the rich feasted danced and caroused, children died without a murmur . It is estimated that 5013 children die each day in India of malnutrition! India has the dubious distinction of having more than a third of the world’s child mortality. Should we not hang our heads in shame! I do. Yet the haves keep on celebrating. Children die while food grain rots. Children die while some gorge and waste. This is nothing short of unacceptable.
What is infuriating is that many sound programmes have been set up to deal with the situation but you guessed right they have been hijacked on the way and money siphoned to greedy pockets. The best example is the famed ICDS (Integrated Child Development Scheme) aimed at children below 5 and that would have ensured, if it had run as planned, that all Indians below the age of 35 were well nourished and inoculated. The reality is that almost 5o% of our children are suffer from malnutrition.
Last week one of our staff members was asked to visit a slum by local dwellers. The reason: they wanted us to open a primary outreach in their slum cluster. She was taken to the local anganwadi (creche) run under the (ill)famed ICDS programme. The so called creche was housed in a dark, airless, damp hole as I refused to call it room. There were a handful of toddlers sitting on the floor and a so called creche worker busy on the phone. There were no weighing machines, no toys or books, no pencils or crayons, no visible food supplements or at least plates and cups that would prove nutrition was given. The children were meant to sit and do nothing. This was how the ICDS programme was translated into reality. This was in the heart of the capital, a stone’s throw away from a swanky 5 star hotel! This was the place meant to monitor a child’s growth and development and take remedial measures. Frankly the child would be better running the in slum lanes. At least s/he would be in the sunlight and get some vitamin D! No wonder children die if programmes meant to protect them run like this.
5000 children die everyday and we remain silent. A statistic like this one should, if we had a conscience, make us take to the streets just as we did when one man gave his stop corruption call. It is true that in a convoluted way corruption encompasses the proper running of schemes but I am ready to bet my last rupee that none of US ever thought that we were taking to the streets or to our preferred social media to espouse the cause of dying children. We were there because we were fed up of the corruption that affected us. Civil society as it is called is made up of educated and aware people. Is it not their duty to raise its voice all all aberrations one encounters: children dying, children begging, children working in your neighbour’s house. But we are selfish and self centered and the dying children are not part of our minute horizon. So children keep on dying as we keep on living our myopic and pathetic existence. We pretend to be aware of things, well read and informed but will at best pontificate from the comfort of our homes or at cocktail parties with words that remain useless. If one of ours dies in suspect conditions we take to the streets, light candles, write articles and ensure that justice is restored. But the child that dies because of our apathy and indifference does not even affect us. We carry on the party while a child passes away every 18 seconds.
These 5013 are also our children. They have the same rights our children have. Their only sin is to have been born on the wrong side of the fence. Someone needs to take the cudgels on their behalf. Someone like us but will we?
by Anuradha Bakshi | Nov 18, 2011 | Uncategorized
Agastya my darling grandson finally left yesterday after 3 glorious months. A deafening silence pervades the house. It is almost eerie. Gone are the pattering of little feet and the giggles. Gone is the delightful prattle that got us all mesmerised. His last words were enchanthing. When asked by his mom to say bye to the staff in the kitchen Agastya set off on a mission to bid farewell. After saying a bye bye kitchen, he ran out and started a litany of byes: bye bye house, garden, bicycle, flowers, grandpas’ office and so on. He was so excited that he forgot bye bye nani! I did not say anything as I was busy fighting my tears.
The past months were a whirlwind. Every things was centered around this two and a half years bundle of joy. Our sleep time, waking time, eating time and above all playing time were orchestrated by the exacting yet adorable ring master. I was reminded of a quote by Sam Leveson: “The simplest toy, one which even the youngest child can operate, is called a grandparent“, a role I gladly played. At times I was on my fours playing with toy cars. But the preferred game was his version of Simple Simon: he led and we followed. Up, down, on your knees, touch the floor, wave your hands, roll them, hop, skip, jump. There was no respite as you followed the little man who got cross if you dared sit down. Forgotten where the creaky knees, or the hurting back. You just became a child and the special God children pray to ensured that the batteries of the toy were always charged and the pain on hold. All you skills often forgotten were tested: running, drawing, painting, singing. Even if you had never done it before you were commanded to draw a car and boy you did and even if it looked like nothing on earth it still brought a huge smile on the loved face.
There were special treats: a visit to the local the park, a day at Utpal’s school, a trip to the rides at the Kalka Temple and above all trips to the toy shop. Each was laced with oodles of fun and merriment that warmed the cockles of my old heart. Then there were the goodies: the hugs and kisses lavishly dealt out when he was in a good mood. They were heavenly and had the mysterious capacity to make you forget all your worries and woes. Life stood standstill and perfect. Time raced at the speed of light, each day melting into another without respite. One was so taken in by the magic that one forgot that this special time was limited and the day would dawn when the little one would fly away and leave you with your aches and pain and a bleeding heart.
Today time hangs heavy. The stairs that one ran up and down behind a little elf now look daunting as one climbs then slowly a step and a moan at a time. All the pains and worries put on hold loom larger than ever. The house is still replete with the toys, cars and clothes of the little one. Slowly they will be put or given away and the house will again regain its adult look. The pedal cars, scooty, and bicycles that the little fellow parked so painstakingly next to his granddad’s one before he left will soon be removed. How I will miss them. I remember how vehemently I had reacted some years back when little Utpal had left for boarding school and someone decided to put his bright yellow pedal car aptly christened ‘yellow submarine’ away. I wanted it left there, for me to see everyday. This time I did not murmur a sound when the neatly parked toy vehicles were put away. They would adorn the drive again when Agy came back.
I will slowly pick up the scattered threads of my life as it was before the bundle of life and energy landed upon us. The aches and pain will reclaim their lost place. Problems and fears will also once again take centre stage. The laughter and giggles will soon give way to frowns and worry lines. The sleepless nights that had vanished will reappear with a vengeance. New games will have to be conjured to fill empty time. I will have to learn to live on two time zones to catch a glimpse of the beloved face on a screen. Bless technology. Yes an old woman to have to live again till her little buddy comes back and makes her feel again.
Bye Bye little one. God bless you!
by Anuradha Bakshi | Nov 13, 2011 | Uncategorized
Got up this morning to some shattering news. A donor we had counted on to carry on our work has rescinded on his promise. This meant we were in deep trouble. In normal circumstances I would have been completely devastated were it not for the fact that I was on a high: you see yesterday was PTM day and I had been injected with my dose of my preferred stimulant:the smiles and hugs of my eight little Angels. That also meant that their dreams and morrows took centre stage and thus the option of dejection and depression was a no no!
Sunday was a perfect day, a lovely blue sky, a warm sun and the feel of winter in the air. We reached the school early and as it was also result day we headed towards the classes of our proteges. But as we reached the first floor we were greeted by a smart class XI student who requested us to first visit their science project.Needless to say we did and spent time looking at the models and listening to the young voices as they talked about their creations. The models were innovative and interesting and it was a special moment. Then it was time to make our way to each class for the anticipated result. I was a little anxious as any parent would be. Took me back many years when I use to do the same for my girl. But all anxiety was in vain as I got glowing reports in each and every class. Our kids had once again excelled. What a proud moment it was. I signed all the report cards with delight.
Our serious task completed it was time to have fun. We sat in the grounds and all the children came and shared their stories. There were many, each one special and blessed. It was really rewarding to see these very special children happy and brimming with self confidence. A far cry from the day they first entered the school. Even little Manisha had her tales to recount. Then an excited voice told me that the tuck shop was open. All eight kids charged to the shop and had their fill of frooties, chocolates and biscuits. Agastya my grandson who never misses a PTM when he is in town as Utpal Bhaiya is his special pal was having a great time running all over the place and playing with the kids and of course eating all the goodies usually not on his menu! We basked in the balmy mood as long as we could but the clock was ticking too fast and it was time to leave. So goodbyes were said and Agatya gave Utpal a special hug. Did they both know they would not be meeting for some time?
The ride back home was quiet as usual as one was lost in thoughts. The question up most on my mind was undoubtedly: Will I be able to fulfill the fragile dreams of these wonderful kids?
by Anuradha Bakshi | Nov 10, 2011 | Uncategorized
I entered the world of disability quite by accident. In hindsight it seems it was preordained. My first encounter with the Giri Nagar slums was for purely personal reasons. I had gone to meet Mataji, a healer, with the hope that she would cure me of the depression I had allowed myself to seek in post the demise of both my parents. She did much more than that. She was a true changemaker. But that is another story waiting to be told.
I often spent long moments sitting on the step of Mataji’s home watching the world go by, a world I felt strangely comfortable in. Perhaps it was because it was so very different to mine. Anyway it is while sitting on the doorstep which was on the street that I first saw Manu and got my first exposure to the plight of one who is disabled. Manu touched a deep chord in me and stirred emotions that I find hard to describe. Let us simply say that even today when I think of that instant I am covered in goosebumps. At first I just watched too frightened to ask any question. But then mustered the courage to hear a story that was heart wrenching. I do not know how it happened but I heard myself making a silent promise to myself, one that no one heard but me: One day you will have a home Manu.
The journey had begun. It took years to build the home pledged. And a very circuitous route with many milestones: a spoken English class, a day care for special kids – you see Manu had to have his set of pals – after school support, early education and so on. Till one day we had enough strength to open our residential facility for special people. Manu had his home. It is there that he spent the last days of his life and passed away gently leaving me completely lost. It is then that I realised how much Manu had given me and what an special soul he was. If not for him project why would not have seen the light of day. He proved beyond doubt that NO life is futile and worthless.
Over the years I have pontificated about the plight of special children and adults, about how tenuous their morrows are, about how insecure their life became once they lose their parents, about how little society has done for them, about how much they need to be accepted and loved. And it was for them that Planet Why was conceived. You can understand my dejection as I slowly begin to grasp the fact that Planet Why may never see the light of day and my special children may have to face indignity and disrespect.
All these sombre thoughts have been running in my head as I slowly watch the quietus of planet why and I wonder whether I truly gave it my best. Had I pushed the project adequately? Had I put my heart and soul into it? Was I paying for my new found reclusion that resulted in my isolation from the rich and famous? Should I have shed my disdain for page 3 soirees and slipped into my my high heels more often? How I regret not knowing those who have money. I know that I could convince them were I able to cross their threshold. But what is the point of lamenting now when it is too late. Or is it?
A few weeks back I lost a close one. Strangely this demise came with a rider. It is was not one that could be dealt with an adequate amount of tears and eulogies. This untimely death came with a deafening question: can you walk the talk! Let me elucidate. The one who left us also left a younger sister. She is challenged though no one ever accepted that reality. She lived all her life in a golden cage, jealously protected by those who loved her. No one was willing, as is often the case, to accept that she was special and thus needed special care. All her life she had been made to believe that she was like all others and kept away from the world, as her close ones built one for her within the confines of four walls and peopled by a handful only. Everything in her life was controlled and managed. She had no say whatsoever and the ones who ran her life had no knowledge whatsoever of the needs of a special person. We too never intervened as one would not have been heard and sometimes it is easier to let things be. But the God of Lesser beings had another plan. He took away her close ones in a short span of time leaving her alone but strangely also free. The question was would anyone help her enjoy her freedom.
One could have left her with what remained of her family and done the bare minimum: a few visits, a small gift thrown in, some hugs and comforting words not really meant. But as I said it was time to walk the talk, to remember the spiel on dignity and respect, on care and love. It was time to act and let the long imprisoned soul free. So barely a few days after the departed had been laid to rest I decided to get her out of her walls and into the big world. She would come to project why and be part of our special class. I must admit a little sheepishly that I was a tad apprehensive at first. How would she react? How would the others react? Would she like it? What can I say: she took to the project like a fish to water. She was all smiles and everyone took to this new aunt, for want of a better word. For the first in her life of almost half a century she had something that was really hers: a place to go to every day, friends to interact with, dance it, share a meal with and above all laugh with. I cannot describe how humbled I feel and how overwhelmed.
Was it time to make a last ditch effort for planet why!
by Anuradha Bakshi | Nov 8, 2011 | Uncategorized
We are again on the look out for a spoken English teacher as Smita our Okhla English teacher is leaving us next month. The search is on and we know it ain’t no easy task. We need someone whose spoken English is good and who is willing to work in a reclaimed garbage dump and who loves children. We remember how tough it was last time.
Last week a young woman came by for an interview. She was armed with certificates, one being an English Hons degree. She seemed a little shy and hesitant but was quick to tell us that this was a her first job interview and she was very nervous. As Smita is still with us we decided to try out this lady as an understudy and take a final decision in a week or so. No week was needed to realise that in spite of her degree, her English was abysmal and non existent. The class was learning opposites and when asked to write the opposite of fat one of our kids confidently wrote THIN on the white board. The new teacher decreed this was wrong as there was a letter missing. Every one was nonplussed: the children, Smita and even the other primary staff. The new teacher then added a G. You can imagine every one’s reaction. At the end of the session students went to the supervisor to tell her that they did not think the new lady could teach them anything. The die was cast. And to crown it all the young woman was constantly mixing yesterday and tomorrow. We knew she had to go. The hunt for an English teacher was still on.
This post is in no way meant to belittle the young person in question. Far from that. My heart actually goes out to her. Imagine the hard work she must have put in, the sacrifices the family must have made so that their daughter could study, the joy she must have felt when she passed her examination not to forget what she must have felt when she was told the job was not hers. This post is meant to once again expose the state of education in our country, particularly education of those who are born on the wrong side of the fence. If you come from a non English speaking home then your only encounter with the language is in school. Now if you go to a Government school it is very likely that your teacher does not speak the language well. I can never forget my first brush with what transpires in an English class in a secondary school. One of our students came to me one day way back in 2001. She was in class VII. She handed me her book and asked me to help her. It was an English course book that was a compilation of essays and extracts from known writers. The page was open on an extract from Oscar Wilde’s Happy Prince. The girl brandished a pencil in my direction and asked me to underline the text. You can imagine how perplexed I was. I sat her down and asked her what she wanted me to do. She repeated: Underline! I then asked what happened in class and she told me after some prompting that the teacher sometimes read the lesson, or sometimes didn’t and then explained the meaning in Hindi then told the students to underline the answers to the questions that appeared at the end of the text. The students then learnt the lines by heart and could answer the questions in examinations. Needless to say none of them really knew what the underlined lines meant. As she had been absent for some days she needed the lines underscored so that she could learn them for the test on the next day.
That is what goes on in an English class and if you mug your lines well, as the young teacher must have done, you got good marks, and if you got good marks you could apply for a university course in English (correspondence or evening classes as their marks are never enough for an admission in a DU college) and get your degree. This is what happens to many students from poorer homes and it is when they apply for a job that they often face a reality check. You may wonder what happens to a rich child who does not have sufficient marks. Well he has s/he has many options: a private university or the option to go abroad and sit for a school leaving again. Needless to say these options come at a hefty price and are out of reach for students from underprivileged homes. Yet all the children of India have a right to education, and I would assume a good one. But that is not what happens. The divide exists perennially.
You may wonder how children from humble homes would fear fare in a rich school. Believe you me they would do exceedingly well as they are survivors who know intuitively what is good for them. And I speak first hand as we have 8 such children in what could be called a good school. All eight are top of their class. So if given the chance they deserve, all kids would shine. It is time we thought about them and did something.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Nov 6, 2011 | Uncategorized
The recent success of the F1 tamasha proved once again the terrible and growing divide between the rich and the poor in our country, a divide growing by the minute. A thought provoking essay in a leading magazine poses the question that we all need to ask ourselves: Is India doing marvellously well, or is it failing terribly?
One does not have to be a rocket scientist to realise that India may look well to some but is in a abysmal situation for a vast majority. The incisive article throws some disturbing statistics. Believe it or not Bangladesh has overtaken India in terms of a wide range of basic social indicators: life expectancy, child survival, fertility rates, immunisation rates, and even some (not all) schooling indicators such as estimated “mean years of schooling”. Not something to be proud of. And that is not all. We in India have the highest proportion of underweight children in the world! Something that should make us hand our head in shame particularly when one thinks of the food fiestas we see on the other side of the fence be it at nuptials or holy festivities. And what about the enormous quantities of nourishment that finds its way into the garbage of many.
One again does not have to be a rocket scientist to see that at one of the spectrum India is going richer by the second: glitzy malls, seven star hotels, opulent homes, luxury hospitals, fancy schools are some of the visible indicators of this fact. Yet at the other end of the same spectrum schools are pathetic and health care practically non Growth growth can be very helpful in achieving development, but this requires active public policies to ensure that the fruits of economic growth are widely shared, and also requires—and this is very important—making good use of the public revenue generated by fast economic growth for social services, especially for public health care and public education. So if all had gone well the growth that is so blatant should have entailed significant development. But here once again our rulers have failed us completely. What we seem to be witnessing is the opposite. As the rich get better schools, schools for the poor get worse and worse. As the rich get swankier hospitals the poor are left with quacks and overcrowded ones. And so on.
Growth that should in an ideal situation have promised marked improvement in social indicators seems to have done nothing of the sort. Quite the contrary. The article cites how biscuit manufacturers attempted to hijack the government’s midday meal programme and though they have not managed to get what they sought, they are still at it and despite much vigilance and resistance from activist quarters (and the Supreme Court), they seem to have made significant inroads into child feeding programmes in several states. The share of the pie is too tempting to let go.
Why has there been such a massive neglect of the interests of the poor is the question that needs to be asked. The authors offer some insight: could it be a reflection of the good old inequalities of class, caste and gender that have been around for a long time though it does seem that these are diminishing. Or could it be the growing influence of corporate interests on public policy and democratic institutions does not particularly facilitate the reorientation of policy priorities towards the needs of the unprivileged. A good example would be the growing medical insurance business and the private hospitals nexus. I guess it is both. But I also think that there is another cause for neglect of the poor and this is first hand knowledge. It seems that greed and money power have leached us of all compassion and sensitivity and turned one slice of Indians into heartless and unconcerned souls. We encounter aberrations every day and turn our face away. It could be a child begging, a child working and we simply turn our face away. But will the fragile castles we have surreptitiously build stand the test of time. I wonder.
The authors conclude by saying; There is probably no other example in the history of world development of an economy growing so fast for so long with such limited results in terms of broad-based social progress…. Food for thought.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Nov 2, 2011 | Uncategorized
I know the clock is ticking and it will soon be time to lay planet why to rest. Yes we have just 2 months left. 31/12/2011 is D day. This was something decided upon some time back. I had written about this at the beginning of the year and left it in the hands of the God of lesser beings. And I know I must walk the talk.
For the past year we have put our best foot forward and tried to ‘sell’ planet why to the best of our ability. For me it has always been first and foremost a home for my special children. A haven where they can live and laugh their way through life. A place where their dignity remains intact no matter how disabled they may be. A place where they would be cared for till the very end. The remaining part of Planet why was always secondary: what was needed to make it all happen. I wonder if I too had forgotten my priorities while pitching for planet why. Two poignant occurrences brought me back on course.
The first was consequent to the demise of my cousin last week. His sudden and untimely death was most felt by his younger sibling who is mentally challenged. With her brother gone she has no one left in the world, no one to love her. True there are some who will take care of her because of duty or fear of social reprisal but not with their hearts. And who can blame them: the sister is middle aged, not pretty and can be extremely demanding. As long as her mother and brother were alive, she reigned supreme, today she is relegated to a corner as what was her home is now her sister in law’s and her kin’s. This is a situation I have often talked about whenever children with disabilities are the subject of conversation. Today the situation is at my doorstep. We have stepped in and the orphaned sister now comes to our special class every day. Needless to say the family was more than eager to send her. But it is not easy for someone who never stepped out of her home let alone meet people with disabilities to leave the only safe environment she knew and step into a world that has always been kept away. Poor soul she is trying her best to adjust. Maybe she knows deep in her heart that this is the only option she has. Planet Why was conceived for people like her.
The second occurrence was a message on FB urging me to read a note written by the mother of a special child. I have never been so moved as I was reading the poignant piece entitled: will you let him drink the wind. I urge you to read this brave and moving piece where a mother shares her angst at the plight of her child. It is an extremely raw, powerful and passionate picture of the reality of one who lives and loves a special child. It reflects the utter helplessness of a parent who cannot begin to imagine what would be the future of her child when she is gone. Something she cannot bear. So the ultimate cry, the ultimate entreaty to God: You take him, God, before us. Well before us. Before we lose the strength in our limbs to care for him properly. Before by his constant never-ending demands, he leaches away our love for him from our souls. You take him. I can only say Chapeau Bas!
Reading those words was by far the most heart wrenching experience. I sat stunned and silent for a long time. She had by her words brought to light all the issues that had been tormenting me since the day I decided to throw open the doors of project why to special children. What would their morrows hold and how did one safeguard them. Or could one really do so. That was the question thrown by this moving appeal. Had I been too naive or daring thinking I could. How small I feel and how humbled.
Maybe it is time I said : you take care of them God.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Oct 31, 2011 | Uncategorized
This picture was taken at the Diwali evening puja . My grandson praying! Watching him was a truly special moment. Such innocence and belief. I wonder what the barely three year old was asking God. I would have given so much to get into his tiny head. I am sure that God heard this very special petition. But it will remain a secret between Agastya and his special God. Was it a visit to the toy shop or his favourite pasta for dinner? Keep guessing grandma you will never know. And come to think about it is better to keep the mystery, it makes it that much more precious.
But do the Gods listen to adults when they petition him. Jim Morrison felt otherwise if you remember the opening lines of the Soft Parade. Are prayers useless and superfluous. I do not know. All I know is that there are times when I send my entreaty to someone I call the God of Lesser beings. And since project why began I believe I have been heard more than once.
Over the past decade we have had some very challenging moments, moments that left me no option but to pray for a miracles. And they occurred one after the other. Children got their heart surgeries, Utpal found a school and a home and above all we kept running day after day, month after month. I asked and He gave. It was as simple as that.
Yet for the past months or even more I have been praying for planet why and this time I have received mixed messages. Sometimes it seems just around the corner. But just as we think we are home, something happens and we are back to square one. Is there a sign I am not comprehending?
by Anuradha Bakshi | Oct 30, 2011 | Uncategorized
Our gang of eight are back to school after their Diwali break. They dropped by on the way to fetch Utpal and say hello! Boy they have grown. It is truly amazing. They looked happy and eager to go back to school with their quilts, their warm clothes and many stories to share. Yash even had a burn on his leg courtesy Diwali crackers and proudly showed it to me as if it was a battle scar. I refrained from any comment to avoid being a wet blanket.
Manisha was all smiles though she waylaid them for the snap. She was happy to go back to school and meet her friends. Meher was her ebullient self and had her own tales to tell. Nikhil has lost some weight and seemed more active. That is good as I was a little worried about him. Babli was serious as usual, much the big sister responsible for the brood. Aditya and Vicky were poker faced a far cry from their habitual naughty selves, guess it was to impress Ma’am.
Utpal of course was a busy body, making sure all packets and bags were loaded in the waiting car, very much the man of the house. And why not, the only home he has now is mine and he is entitled to after all he has been through. He has truly earned his right to reclaim all he has been denied for long.
There they were with their dreams and hopes. I watched them pensively. Maybe I was the only one to realise how fragile and tenuous their dreams were. They all depended on my ability to secure them. The thought frightened me. It was such a huge responsibility. When the journey began with Utpal it was just a case of force majeure. We had no other option. Then came a man with his set of dreams and four more kids joined Utpal. The man walked away without a word and I was left holding the baby. They became five. Three more were added again because there was no other honourable way. What future did Meher have with her scars and Yash who had been abandoned by all. And when a kind man came offering a future to little Manisha could we refuse. Had we done so instead of being top of her class she would have joined her mom picking rags on the street. So we became eight.
True there are kind people who ensure the fee money. But over the years the fees have increased with the cost of living and fees alone do not meet the needs of a growing child. Those who have kids will understand me. There are shoes to be brought as feet grow at the speed of light and clothes winter ones and summer ones, toiletries, uniforms, books, school bags and more. They have to be fetched and dropped at each school break necessitating two vehicles now. All this adds up, yet all this is needed. And to the cynics before they materialise I would like to say that yes they deserve the best even if they happened to be born on the wrong side of the fence. When you assume a responsibility you go all the way. Selective benevolence does not exist.
It is with our eyes wide open that we decided to educate these children and nothing can or should come in the way of our commitment. So help us God!
by Anuradha Bakshi | Oct 30, 2011 | Uncategorized
We have a new teacher in our primary section at Govindpuri. But this one is truly special. Wonder why? Well she has been a student of project why since, hold your breath, she was in Nursery. Anita is a true alumni of Pwhy. This year she cleared her class XII boards and is now enrolled in B com 1st year at an evening college.
Anita lives in a slum. Her father has a small job in a factory and her mom is a housewife. She has two younger siblings. Anita has worked hard to reach where she is today and is determined to carry on and change the course of her life. We are very proud of her as she is an example of what pwhy can and does achieve.
Anita is the perfect example of what a small effort like ours can do. Our presence ensured that she sail through school with all the support needed. She passed every class with good marks and succeeded in her XIIth Boards. Today the job she has with us ensures that she can continue her education without being a strain of her family. Far from that. She even contributes to the household expenses.
Anita is a true project why success story, one we are very proud of.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Oct 29, 2011 | Uncategorized
I think both Formula 1 races and philanthropy can and should coexist in society. In fact, the former should actually facilitate the latter. When there is prosperity in society, charitable donations should go up was the comment left on of my recent blogs. I would like to clarify that I am not against Formula 1 races or any pursuits of the rich and famous. I do not bear grudge to anyone for spending their money. Prosperity is something we all strive towards and wish for. But I am not the only one to question the wisdom of hosting such sport against the backdrop of poor India. Some have bemoaned what they called the misplaced priorities and superficial showcasing that India’s recent economic growth has come to symbolize, in spite of deep poverty and chronic malnutrition.
The jury is out on this one. I quick frankly agree with those who call this a superficial showcasing. And my reason for doing so may seem odd. Were charity to follow the exponential growth of prosperity I would have no problems at all. But the situation is quite different. It seems that as prosperity increases compassion plummets. And thus all the showcasing becomes suspect. Is it a novel way of concealing reality if not from others than at least from one’s self. So swanky malls, exorbitant stores, F1 Racing and more of the same becomes a wily way of blotting out the other realities: children dying, rampant malnutrition, extreme poverty etc. The rich seem hungry for new thrills and the sky is the limit.
The question is how does one get the privileged to understand that prosperity cannot coexist forever with abject poverty. To think it can is nothing short of suicidal.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Oct 28, 2011 | Uncategorized
In the time you will take to read this blog, let us say one minute, four children will die across our country. Yes you got it right: 4 children die every minute in India. The killer: malnutrition! Of course you do not die of malnutrition. But a malnourished child’s immunity is very low and s/he is more likely to fall prey to diseases like diarrhea and malaria which he s/he is unable to fight. So in fact four children die of preventable diseases every minute in India. Can you read this statement and simply move on. I cannot. The death of any child is something that is and should be unacceptable. It should make us look up and then hang our heads in shame.
Yesterday the lead item in news bulletins across the country was the death of 12 babies in a hospital in Calcutta due to negligence. The hops ital of course has been given a clean chit. One commentator expressed outrage not simply at the untimely death of these infants but also at the total lack of indignation be it from civil society or from the authorities.
These two stories have one point in common: they happened to children on the other side of the fence, those who bear the label: poor. Children who simply do not exist to those who have a voice and the ability to express their opinion. 4 children a minute due to malnutrition, 12 children in a hospital due to negligence, 500 children in a remote town due to encephalitis are not numbers sufficient to make us shed our cynicism and apathy. However when a child from the other side of the fence was kidnapped a few years back everyone stood up and screamed. The administration moved heaven and hell to find the child. So my question today is how many poor children must die before we stop pretending that we cannot see. Today rich India is busy preparing for its first formula 1 race. The roar of cars speeding is too loud for it to hear anything else, certainly not the tears of a mother who has lost her child.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Oct 25, 2011 | Uncategorized
I am an only child. I had an elder brother but he died before I was even born. I also had a bevy of cousins but most remained remote as we met occasionally. There was one however that had a special place in my heart and was undoubtedly the closest. He was my maternal uncle’s son and was affectionately called Johny. Johny died this morning. He had a massive heart attack and did not survive the complex surgery he was put through.
Johny was a free spirit and and somewhat an enfant terrible. Perhaps that is why we were so close as he mirrored by own rebellious ways. We got along from the word go. My first memory of him was when I was six and he four. This was during my visits to our grandparents in Meerut. He would follow me around and imitate everything I did. But strangely I did not find it annoying. Far from that. It was rather pleasing and tickled me pink. The next time we met I must have been eight or so. That was the time I had the great idea of staging plays for the elders. These were two character plays featuring Johny and I. We made tickets that were sold to my grandfather and others and performed every night. I was often the princess and he the butterfly. Something he never forgot or forgave as even recently he mentioned this fact to me.
Time passed. As always we met sporadically and always got along famously. I have memories of bicycle rides in the colony, of shared meals, of movies watched in boxes, of listening to cricket commentaries, of making scrapbooks, of singing and dancing. I led and he followed, always game for anything I would come up with.
When I got married and had my first child he lived with us for some time and was the greatest support I could have wished for. When I decided to dabble with conference management he followed and was a great asset. I can never forget the nights and days spent in conference halls, the crises we solved, the tension and nerves, the thrill at a work well done. He was by far the best numero two you could wish for. Whatever the emergency or even the mess, Johny got you out of it with a smile. He was unique. Ultimately it is the career he chose for himself while I went seeking other pastures.
Johny was also a great uncle to my girls. He would spoil them silly and cater to every whim of theirs. Over the last years we met oft and on though we lived quite close. He dropped in once in a while and the time we spent together was always precious and comforting. His presence was always reassuring.
Johny did not a have a mean bone in his body. He was the most humane and kind person you could imagine. He was devoid of any ego and was caring and giving to a fault. He lived his life a tad recklessly though not caring about himself. He only had time for others. I remember chiding him time and again about this and he simply smiling and telling me he would take my advise some day. He never did.
Today I wish we had spent more time together. There was so much left to say. Today I wish he had heeded my advise. We often think we have all the time in the world. But alas, that is not the case.
The world will never be the same without Johny’s smile. I guess the Gods get jealous sometimes. I will always have a bone to pick with him though: the butterfly always followed the princess, then why did it decide to fly leaving the princess alone and forlorn.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Oct 24, 2011 | Uncategorized
It is Diwali again. Time of festivities and cheer. A new year beckons us. Wonder what it holds. For the past few weeks now little Radha and her friends have been painstakingly painting diyas. Each diya is first painted then decorated with utmost care. Many of these have found their way in homes across the city and land. On Diwali night they will shine and augur good tides for many.
Every year I sit down to send Diwali greetings and find myself pondering about days gone and those yet to dawn. I am glad I spent time with the children a few days back as we had visitors and saw them bursting with exuberance and energy. Had I not done so then my message would have been somewhat flawed. We had a great year at project why. The children thrived in more ways than one. Not only were school results good but so much more was learnt. The children perfected their dancing skills, their creative ones and wonder of wonders have even begun to express themselves in English. On Friday they showcased all they had achieved to our spellbound guests. And no one was more enchanted than I. I watched them with immense pride and delight. The dances were executed perfectly, the lines of the English play delivered faultlessly. The children were full of energy and brio. Their smiles said it all. So no need to wallow on the past and look for faults. There were none.
Yet while my family of almost 800 thrived and blossomed, it was not quite the same story at my end. While all seemed to run like a clockwork orange in all our centres, I accumulated sleepless nights wondering about would happen to project why next year and the next and the next. Time was moving too fast and age catching up mercilessly. And with each passing day the fear of the future was looming large. The past year had been a tough one. Funds were short more than once and needed masterful handling from my side. It was also apparent that I was not as feisty and active as when the journey began. My steps were slower and my fingers did not move as speedily on my keyboard. The once indefatigable woman was now unable to produce the endless emails once sent with regularity or keep up with a mind that still conjured thoughts with breakneck speed. The chasm between though and action was frightening.
Planet Why seemed a very remote dream fading away by the minute. Now it was not only a matter of garnering enormous resources but also having the strength to put it all together. It all seemed herculean. How could I forget that I had earmarked 31/12/11 as the day we lay planet why to rest and look for other options. So the year to come is crucial as it determines the future of 800 children. And looking at them last week made me more convinced than ever that I have to fight for their morrows till my last breath. So this Diwali I will say a special prayer for the children of project why. Hope you will spare them a thought too!
Happy Diwali to all!
