It was mother’s day on Sunday in the anglo saxon world, it will be mother’s day in France on May 28th. I wonder why we need a special day to honour mothers, I remember mine everyday though she left this world 20 years ago. She made me who I am today. Not only did she gift me life but nurtured it carefully and lovingly at every step. She taught me every little thing needed to bloom and grow. She healed each little scratch and hurt and ensured that the scars would vanish too. She assuaged every blow that came my way and soothed the pain till it disappeared.
Though she smothered me with love, she also made sure I learn all the lessons needed. She could be firm and even merciless when need be. I remember one such incident. I must have been about 6 or 7. I had developed the bad habit of piling my plate with food and then leaving half of it. Mama had grown up in want and could not bear food being wasted. She first tried to reason with me but when it did not work she knew she had to pull out the big guns. One day after I had once again left lots of food in my plate she instructed the staff to put the plate in the refrigerator. It was to be given to me at the next meal cold and congealed. Stubborn as I was I refused to eat it. She did not relent. I got nothing and the plate went back into the fridge awaiting the next meal. This game continued for 2 days, by the end of it I was so hungry that I devoured the plate as if it was manna from the Gods. It is a lesson I have never forgotten, and even know after five decades I never leave food in my plate. It is only much later that I came to know that my parents had not eaten during those two days. Made the lesson even more precious and poignant.
Life carried on and so did the lessons, each as powerful and as valuable. And as I grew older from child to adolescent and then adult she was always there, allowing me to write and play my own script, but ever present like a prompter in the wings of the stage of my life, ready to intervene whenever I faltered. I carried on safe in the knowledge that she was there and nothing could befall me. But the Fates intervened and she left this world two decades ago. I was shattered.
I picked up the pieces of my life as best I could, memories of her helping me to carry on. I did not know that she would still stun me with her incredible and selfless love. Many years after her death I was trying to cope with many things and was deeply hurt and angry. As always at such times I resorted to some serious spring cleaning as this always calms me down. As I was clearing old boxes I discovered a yellowed diary. It was a diary my mother had written a few months before her death and was an account of her day to day life, of her thoughts, of her dilemmas and reminiscences. In hindsight it was also an example of the power of a mother’s intuition as every entry seemed to echo some of my own angst and somehow heal it. Years before the idea of pwhy had even entered my head she had known what life held for me.
I reproduce the entry verbatim
I write this story for Anu to read.
There was a young beautiful girl; she got married and had children and spent all her time looking after her babies and her husband. Children were happy. The house was well run. Everything was almost picture perfect.
Then the children grew up. They did not need their mother. They resented her interference. Husband was busy in his work. The house ran beautifully. Time weighed heavy on her hands. She was miserable and tried joined a ladies’ club and playing cards. But it seemed too artificial. She was unhappy and her health started failing her. Something was amiss. She felt useless and unwanted.
One day an old school friend came to see her and she broke down and shared her despair. Her friend listened and promised to help.
A few days later she came and told her: I have a job for you, poorly paid but you will like it. It was a job to teach poor kids. She began in earnest. The children were lovely, the called her maam and to her immediately.
Soon all her problems vanished: she was wanted, loved, respected and healed.
How had she known… I wonder but she did, almost to a T!
Shorty after writing these words she had a cerebral accident and was never the same again. This was her last coherent message to me. Every day as I walk into pwhy I am reminded of this. I do not need a mother’s day to honour Kamala. I do it every day.
578 is the maximum you can spend in a month to be considered poor by the Government and benefit from social benefits and subsidies. That is 20 rs a day! and that is if you live in a city. In a village the amount is 15 a day. Thus spoke the Planning Commission. The commission told the Supreme Court on Tuesday that a city dweller cannot be termed poor if his average monthly spends exceed Rs 31 on rent and conveyance, Rs 18 on education, Rs 25 on medicines or Rs 36.5 on vegetables. So if you spend more than 20 Rs day you are not poor! So according to the Government a mere 25.7% of the urban Indians need food, shelter and social benefits. Anyone spending more than this will be denied subsidized food, accommodation, pensions and medical treatment targeted at the Below Poverty Line population.This is shocking and ludicrous.
We work with the urban poor and have been doing so for the past decade. A hovel in a slum cost nothing less then 1000 rs a month. That is a hole with a tin roof and rickety walls. Now according to above stated statistics a family of five to be considered poor can only spend 31×5 or 155 Rs a month on rent. At that price you will not even find a hole in the ground! As for 36.5 rupees a month on vegetable or just over a rupee a day, I wonder what one would eat! Then why such strange and unrealistic figures. For one it helps claim that poverty in India is getting lower it also helps reduce the spending on social programmes.
But how long can we all play the I see no evil game? True we can boast of having some of the richest people in the world, people who can spend zillions on building a house or who flaunt their riches till it becomes galling and vulgar, but can we honestly deny that a child still dies of malnutrition every 8.7 minutes! How can a self respecting Government turn a blind eye to the stark reality that surrounds us all. And how can we, as supposedly self respecting citizens play along.
What is happening? We have an education system where a mere 33% gives you a certificate. This is apparently done to enhance the literacy figures. Now we have a laughable figure to define the poverty line. This is again apparently done to show that we are not so poor. It is all a game of manipulating figures. No one wants to address the problems and solve them. The rich will get richer and the poor poorer and no one seems to care.
According to a recent article in a leading newspaper 66% of Delhi’s slum children are malnourished! Startling statistic particularly in a city known for its lavish lifestyle, sparkling malls, opulent parties and luxurious ways! The article goes on to say that the conditions of these kids have worsened due to the poor functioning of Government run schemes like ICDS (Integrated Child Development Scheme). Yes corruption that is rampant in our day and age also trickles down to schemes designed to benefit the poorest of the poor.
Malnourished children if they get nutritious meals later, have shorter average life, low immunity and are not properly developed. The first five years are essential to the growth of a child. These children belong to poor families with low income and no resources. They barely survive in the urban jungle where everything comes at a hefty price. Many of our creche children come from such families. Often their lunch box for the day has just a roti or a few biscuits. We of course give them a warm and nutritious lunch but how can that make up for the early years!
The ICDS was a great programme. It was launched in 1975 and had it met is goals no child would have been malnourished. However statistics reveal that in 2010, 44% of children in India were still malnourished. It seemed the programme was short of funds and running in abysmal conditions. Children have never been a priority, or should I say poor children have never been a priority. You just have to look at the state of schools! On the one hand hefty promises are made in election manifestos, programmes are launched amidst great fanfare, education becomes a constitutional right and yet on the ground nothing changes. A child still dies every 8,7 minutes of malnutrition and only 50 % children have access to school and of those that do make it 50% drop out! And that is not all 3 million children live on the streets, 150 million children work as bonded labourers and one out of every six girl child does not live to see her 15th birthday.
Something is terribly wrong and we should be hanging our heads in shame. And yet we do nothing. We still drive by read lights inured to the plight of children begging in the scorching sun shooing them as you would a pesky flight or at best dropping a coin in their proffered hand. We still read articles on malnutrition of children without batting an eyelid or feeling outraged and will waste food at the next wedding we attend!
Things will not change unless we as civil society wake up and do something. Poor children have no voice, we need to led them ours.
Last week a beaming parent came into my office. She was pregnant. M is the mother of 3 boys the eldest one being 12. She is expecting her fourth child. She proudly announced that it was a girl. I was shocked to say the least, shocked at the need of this impoverished family to have another child, shocked at the fact that she had been able to determine the sex of the child, something that is supposedly illegal. This meant that such tests were administered with impunity by wily and greedy doctors. We all know what this means. Wonder how many little girls are killed before they are born. At least this one would survive. I mumbled feigned congratulations and moved on.
Yesterday I stopped by the creche. Many new faces greeted me. These were all the new admissions in the class as many had graduated to class I. I spent some time talking to the teacher but my eyes kept going back on the children. Something was askew. It took some time to realise what it was: there were more boys than girls. I asked he teacher if I was right and she told me I was. The sex ratio of our new class was 70/30!
Now children in this class come from very deprived homes of slums in Okhla. Every year we go to these slums to seek new admissions. The families are all of migrant labour from other states and most of the parents have poorly paid jobs. The teacher told me that this time she could not find more girls. We are talking of children between the ages of 3 and 4. It seemed that there far fewer girls in this age group than boys. The news was startling and raised many questions. Did arriving in the city open the possibility of getting a sex determination test? Were girls foetuses being aborted regularly? Was there something we could do?
This simple observation made me realise that the problem was not limited to rural areas and other states but was at our very doorstep. The facts were for all to see. Normally the creche class had a 50/50 sex ratio. Delhi boasted of a 1004/1000 sex ratio in 2008. But an article revealed that this had dipped to 915/1000 in 2009. This means that illegal sex determination is very much alive and prevalent in poorer sections of the city. Families prefer to spend money on abortions than give birth to a girl which is considered to be a financial burden.
Gender equality is an issue that needs to be addressed. This is no easy task keeping in mind social biases and prejudices.
A heart wrenching mail landed in my box this morning. It said: yesterday our darling M died in a car crash. Please pray for him. M was the son of dear dear friends and must have been in his late twenties. I had last seen him when he was six or seven and that is the image I still carry of him. I cannot begin to imagine the excruciating pain his parents must be going through. In moments like these words offer scant succor. Perhaps silence says more. I did offer what little solace I could sitting thousands of miles away. I wish I had been there with them in this moment of grief.
To a parent the death of a child is the worst that could happen. No matter how old the child is, how difficult or exasperating, he is first and foremost your child, someone you gifted life to and to have that life cut short in front of your eyes is unbearable. I know how much parents suffer when they lose a child: my mother never forgot her firstborn son who died shortly after birth, a brother I never knew.
Today as I mourn the death of a young man, my thoughts go back to all the pwhy children who left us over the years and whom I have never forgotten: Rohan and Puja the two lovely toddlers murdered by vile predators, Sonu and his broken body that shielded an indomitable spirit, Nanhe and his dazzling smile that lit your darkest day, Saheeda and her zest for a life cut too short, little Anil whose heart did not withstand surgery and young Arun whose heart gave up for want of proper care, Heera the young girl with a broken heart so loved by her family who were unable to save her. And most of all Manu whose death I am still dealing with as he was the spirit of project why and its raison d’être. I rarely remember them all one a given day but today the death of a young man I knew as a child made me realise how deeply the death of these children affected me and how in spite of time gone by I still mourn then as my very own. May they rest in peace.
I was recently asked by someone why I had decided to call my project project why. It is a question I have often been asked and that I usually answer with a light: because I liked the name! But this time was different. It was almost an existential question.
If I go back in time to the genesis of the project it all began with me wanting to honour my father and create something in his memory. The obvious thing to do was to create an organisation in his name and though I would have wanted a simple name, I was landed with a long winded one courtesy the authorities! It was a mouthful and in no way reflective of what we were setting out to do. Everyone felt we needed a working name. There were many brainstorming sessions till one day almost intuitively I came up with the name: Project Why. It just sounded right and though we did try to find a meaning for the acronym it never worked, why had to remain the interrogative adverb it was.
Today after more than a decade of existence I have come to understand the real meaning of my intuitive choice. Project why had come into existence because of all the disturbing questions that needed to be answered. What was essential however was not the ability to find answers but the moral courage to ask them. Sadly many of us have lost that faculty. The world is the same for all to see yet how many of us stop and bother to ask the needed why? We all see children begging at roadsides but how many of us are capable of asking why this happens? At best we roll down our window and hand a few coins or a small treat and drive away, till the next red light. Probably we know intuitively that where we to ask that dreaded question our lives would change forever. And we are not prepared to see that happen. Once you ask a question then you have to seek answers.
And that is what project why stands for. The ability to question every situation no matter how disturbing or unsettling.
About a year back I had written about Sanjay our Lohar teacher who walked the ramp in Bombay! It was a dream come true and a super success story for us at project why. But the story did not end there as Sanjay became the subject of a film shot by our friend Camille and aptly entitled Bollywood Boulevard.
Last month Sanjay went to Paris for the promotion of his film and to meet modeling agents. He is back with stars in his eyes, possible contracts and the proof that miracles do happen, you just have to hold on to your dreams tight! Another miracle of the God of Lesser beings and a great moment for us at project why!
An SMS from the boarding school informed us that Vicky, one of our kids, had won a merit scholarship. Needless to say we all leaped with joy. Vicky is from an extremely deprived home and has two handicapped siblings, one being our very own Munna! Had fate decided otherwise he would have probably never finished school and joined the ranks of child labour. But the God of Lesser beings decided otherwise and have him a break. He has played his part and proved to one and all that he was worthy of it. Bless you Vicky you did us proud!
It was a little over a month ago that I launched my appeal to save the women centre. What we needed to save this centre was 200 people who saw with their hearts and were willing to give us 500 Rs ( ~ 11 US$ or 8 Euros) a month on a regular basis. The response was heart warming and fifteen days later we reached the half way mark. However you will agree that we cannot save half a centre and that if we do not reach the magic figure of 200, the women centre is living on borrowed time and still faces closure.
I must admit that the thought scares me. The women centre is very close to my heart for more reasons than one: first of all it is our last born and thus a cherished one, but that is not all, the women centre was set up in the memory of an incredible woman who defied all odds to get an education. Closing the centre would be letting her down. I cannot see myself doing that.
For the last decade or so, it is my pen that has helped me get funds to keep pwhy going. My virtual begging bowl is made of words I guess. Today I need these to be poignant enough to reach the heart of the missing 100 so that we can save the centre.
Cynics may ask: what is so great about this centre. The question came to my mind too and so I decided to drop by the centre and view it in a dispassionate way. As I entered the yellow iron gate I was greeted by a warm and loud Good morning ma’am. It was the class V children. Then I heard a more subdued Namaste Madam. This came from the handful of ladies of the sewing class. Just looking at all them warmed my heart. I then dropped on the spoken English class where a bunch of kids were busy practicing for a play. I watched them for a bit and was truly impressed by the progress these children had made. Next a quick stop at the tiny computer class bursting at its seams where about a dozen young children were unraveling the mysteries of the computer. On the way I saw Roshni busy cooking the lunch of the day! It was time to go to the roof where classes were being held.
I somehow always get amazed at how well the women centre uses space. The big roof is carefully divided into many classes and everyone is busy studying. It is heartwarming and moving to see these children studying hard notwithstanding the weather. Believe you me it can get very cold in winter and extremely hot in the summer under the tin roof. But the children brave all odds and are always present. And as always all the children have passed their examinations and got promoted to the next class. The determination of these children is something unique and motivation enough for me to carry on fighting them.
So though the centre is at present on borrowed time it has become imperative to save it. The question is how? I only have my pen and my words to try and convey this need. So help me God!
When things look bleak and disheartening something always happens to lift your blues. I must admit that I have been again worrying about the future and needed a shot of optimism. I got two!
The first one was an email that I reproduce below as it speaks for itself:
I read these words on your blog today: ‘Sindutai’s story proves that you do not need to be rich and affluent to help others. What you need is the will to do so’.
Regardless of the world economic crisis, we can all help in small or large ways. If people are feeling the effects of cost-of-living rises in the west, we can only imagine how much worse it is in the world’s poor countries, so surely we all need to give more, not less.
Andy and I feel blessed every single day to have a comfortable life – we’re not rich, but like most people in the west, we have more than enough, so it´s really no hardship to give a little more. And what’s even better is that we’ve been able to substantially increase our donation to PWhy, without feeling the pinch at all.
Here’s how we made our savings:
Andy cycled to Spanish class six times instead of taking the car – 15 euros saved
I bought a new handbag, already reasonable at 12 euros, with a 50 per cent discount – 6 euros saved
On a 4 day holiday, instead of sharing a bottle of wine each evening, we had a glass each – 22 euros saved
We changed to a cheaper brand of laundry detergent and our clothes are just as clean – 3 euros saved
And our piece of luck – the petrol station undercharged a tank of fuel – 20 euros saved
Total: 66 euros, or 94 dollars. If only all PWhy supporters started their own economy drive, think what a difference it would make to the Women Centre.
Amazing is it not. But that was not all. Some time later another email dropped by. This one from another friend and supporter and was entitled: “I am going to do a Marathon before I die”! Yes this incredible lady is going to run the Edinburgh Marathon and goes on to say : As an extra incentive and an acknowledgment of just being able to have a go at something physically and mentally challenging I want to raise money to be divided between two organisations. One of the organisation is project why!
These are two amazing women who are neither rich or affluent but who have a will to help others and are determined to do so. This is truly overwhelming and makes me ashamed of allowing myself to sink into despondency, even momentarily. As long as we have supporters like Irene and Bev we are blessed and safe.
This year I got my birthday gift a day in advance. It was a very unexpected one and a wonderful surprise. Let me share it with you.
It was result time for our little boarding school stars. Like all parents I must admit I was a tad nervous. We reached the school early laden with bags for the new term: summer wear, new school bags and lots of tuck. After a brief stop at both hostels – the boys and the girls – it was time to go to each class and collect the reports.
First stop the prep class and the results of three kids: Meher, Yash and Manisha. The teacher was all smiles as she handed over the report cards. They were replete with Excellent,Outstanding and Very Good and of course the promoted to Class I! Meher had stood first. She was jumping with joy. Then it was class I and Aditya. Again more Excellent and Very Goods and promoted to Class II. Vicky did well too and was now in class III and Utpal, Babli and Nikhil in class IV. I must admit I was a very gratified parent. All my kids had done my proud. As I held the 8 report cards in my hand and looked at them over and over again I was overwhelmed. The children had really done well exceeding all expectations.
This I realised was the most perfect birthday gift and I wanted to savour it fully so I decided to postpone perusing the reports till I got home. Later in the evening I sat with a cup of tea, my precious reports in hand. It was time to enjoy my present. I read all the reports. There was the scholastic assessment and the attitude and values part with headings like: shoulders responsibility, respects other’s feelings, confidence and so on and ALL our kids had straight A+ses. And everywhere the results were stunning. I was amused by the appreciation that said that Meher recites with expression. I wonder if our lovely imp would turn out to be an actress, she is such a star already!
Babli’s report only had Excellent and Outstanding. How could I ever forget the little girl with a broken heart who told me many years ago that she wanted to be a Police! Did I see a budding administrator! My little Utpal brought many Very Good and Excellent and earned the remark of being a well behaved and obedient child. This meant a lot as the past year had been difficult for this child learning to cope with his moms disappearance. I kept on reading, my smile getting larger by the second. Vicky had done well even though he was a tad mischievous but boys will be boys and slow Nikhi was improving and getting better by the day.
I held the 8 bright blue report cards in my hand for a long time. What a journey it had been for this very special children. Utpal and Meher had to pass the fire test, Manisha grew up following her mom rummaging garbage dumps, Yash grew up in the most dysfunctional family, Babli had to undergo complex and life threatening surgery before they could enter the portal of their boarding school and reclaim their hijacked childhoods. And today they proved once again that they were worth the gamble and silenced all those who felt that this programme was too ambitious.
For me these report cards were the best present I could have hoped for.
Where is my mummy is the question a hurting child is too scared to ask. Yet it is written all over his face, in each of his seemingly incomprehensible actions, in his unexpected bouts of violence, in his baffling and sullen ways. Where is my mommy is the question this child wants to ask but is too scared to. You see Mommy has disappeared since last year without leaving an address or contact.
True this Mommy never played by the rule, was often violent and sometimes even uncaring but she was Mommy and she was there. Today she is gone and the young child is in pain. True he has a life on his own, goes to boarding school, has friends, has his Maam’ji who spoils him silly, has toys and cookies but something is missing. Till last year Mummy was around and even if she was not there all the time, the child knew where she was. Today he knows that there are no answers and hence does not dare ask the question he so wants to.
You see Moms are important. All his pals in school have one and they come to all PTMs and other events. They bring goodies and give hugs. True he has his motley family and his Maam’ji who never fails to turn up. But Mommy is different. When she was around he was the little man who admonished her when she hit the bottle too often, or was unkind. He bore her anger stoically even when he was tiny because he knew there would be hugs later. He was so proud of her when she checked into rehab and he prayed for her return. But that was not to be and things got so bad that he was the one who opted not to live with her. But he always thought she would be around, somewhere where he could see her from time to time to reassure himself that all was well. Today he is distressed because she is nowhere around.
When we rewrite a script gone awry we sometimes forget the essential. In this case the little boy’s new script had everything: a great school with huge playgrounds and fresh air, a home he could comeback to filled with everything a little boy would want and all the adults that scripted this new life felt that they had done a great job. But they forgot one thing: Mommy! All the child wants is to know where she is, and maybe to see her once in a while but we have no answers for him. Perhaps she will reappear one day. We are all hoping she does.
Mommies are important to a child and nothing and no one can truly replace them. Till the little boy’s mommy does appear all we can do is ease the hurt and love him as much as we possibly can. You guessed right the child is our very own Utpal aka Popples!
I read about Sindutai Sapakal many years ago when I had just begun the pwhy journey. Her story was God sent and somehow helped me getting over my initial reluctance of asking for money for my cause. She became the unacknowledged mentor I silently prayed to each time I needed to beg for funds. Her words and her story were an inspiration. When I was thrown out of my house I used to beg for a living. Even today I move around with a begging bowl. The only difference is that in those days I begged for myself but today I beg so that my children can be fed and clothed she says candidly. The children she refers to are the 1000 orphans she cares for. Many of them are today qualified professionals. Sindutai is truly an exceptional woman who changed the course of her destiny and came out a winner.
Why write about her today. I guess it is all a matter of synchronicity. Her story appeared in a leading magazine last week, as she has been the subject of a recent well received biopic, and reminded me of the importance of remaining humble at all times. But that is not all, somehow shortly after reading the article I found myself sharing with a dear friend the fears and worries I have about pwhy and its future. And as I voiced my apprehensions I realised that I too had a handful of souls that needed me long time. I was referring to the eight kids in boarding schools and to my band of special kids. No matter what happened, these souls had to be secured even if it meant having to move around with a begging bowl. And what Sindutai reminded one was that no matter what came your way in terms of accolades and kudos, you had to remain humble if you wanted to succeed in your mission.
Sindutai’s story also proves that you do not need to be rich and affluent to help others. What you need is the will to do so and hers is an indomitable one. Nothing deters this formidable soul as she carries on her mission. What an example she sets! I am glad that her story came back to mind particularly as I have felt my steps faltering in recent times.
I do not know if planet why will happen or not. As I have written earlier 2011 is the year I have reserved for seeing planet why happen. If nothing happens by 31/12/11 then we lay the idea to rest and look for alternatives. But whatever the alternative it has to ensure that the 8 kids and the 20 odd special souls are tended and cared for till they need us. It means that the begging bowl has to be kept polished and ready, it means that one has to remain on one’s toes till the very end. So help me God!
I have been so entangled and bogged down in trying to save the women centre that I have had little or no time to spend at pwhy. Some time back a volunteer gifted me a CD with pictures of Okhla. The CD lay unwatched for a few days, you see I was busy trying to save…
Yesterday I decided to have a look, mainly to see if there were any pictures I could use. I inserted the CD and clicked the open icon and clicked on the first image. It was a picture of a bunch of girls laughing and smiling and I must confess I too started smiling. It was infectious. How happy they looked. I started clicking on other pictures and all I found were smiles and more smiles.
Whatever the age, be it girls or boys they were all beaming. Needless to say, for that instant at least, my blues lifted and I felt elated. Soo many smiles as my grandson would say. I spent a long time looking at the pictures, allowing myself to enjoy the moment to the hilt. Then slowly as my thoughts wandered a little I felt an immense sense of pride: was this not something I had created. It was indeed time to allow myself one of those rare pats on the back. Were this not all kids who had been saved in the nick of time from a terrible fate. How could I forget how boys like these had been used by lurking predators to push drugs or steal from the waiting trains on the nearby tracks? The danger still existed as children who were not at school or at pwhy, were still found hanging around the tracks waiting to grab whatever they could. As for the girls, they simply turned into surrogate parent to the young siblings missing school at the drop of a hat.
True we do not teach every single child of the area. We do not have the resources to do so. But the 200 or so who come to pwhy are safe at least for the time being, and have reclaimed their right to be children: the proof being all the incredible smiles the wear all the time.
The Okhla kids are an incredible lot. They not only study well but also partake in a host of activities be it art work that is auctioned in far away lands, pen pals they write to regularly or theatre they are getting almost professional at! They are a pure delight to watch and they remind us that project why rocks.
Seeing these smiles made me realise how much I miss the days when I could spend more time with the children but also makes saving pwhy more vital than ever!
By the stroke of a pen the Railway Minister made me and other women my age senior citizens two years before time. Wow! So I am a senior citizen or should I say I have grown old overnight. But lets get serious. Over the past few weeks many incidents have happened and each points to the fact that my time is now short. Be it the visit to the dentist who decreed I may loose some teeth or reconnecting with people from the past making life come full circle.
I am not one to fear death. I know it is inevitable. Many ancient civilisations urge us to prepare for it, some even define the right time and it is always when all your duties on this earth are over. These often relate to your progeny and their well being. The twist in my case is that I have a rather unwieldy and large set of offspring’s: the pwhy kids!
I wrote a post in a lighter vein about a year ago. It was entitled what is on my bucket list and somehow addressed the same issue: what is left to be done before I am ready for my curtain call. I guess what I wrote then is still relevant. The only difference is that today it seems more urgent as I sit battling to save my women centre. The reality is that I should be battling to secure pwhy as a whole. I know I have been trying for years to get planet why off the ground as it seems to hold the answers to all my problems, but maybe the fact that it has not got off the ground is a pointer to the fact that I am barking up the wrong tree.
Maybe it is time to reset course and head in the right direction. Maybe it is time to ask oneself whether planet why will be the happy home I want it to be or would metamorphose into a lifeless but safe bank deposit that would pay its monthly dividends with regularity to allow the show to go on. The show having of course would have to be rewritten to fit the size of the monthly return. Maybe time has come to rewrite the script. Some of the script has alas be rewritten by the God of Lesser beings when Manu left us. Perhaps that too was a pointer one did not comprehend. You see since its inception as a mere thought, Planet why was always to be Manu’s home.
On my bucket list is the future of Manu’s friends, the morrows of Utpal and his pals and of the hundreds of children who count on us to help them change their destinies. Somehow I cannot exit the stage without having secured at least the first two. And being human there also remains some personal wishes: seeing my daughter settled and happy, watching my grandson grow a little more, taking a long due holiday with my life partner and writing at least one more book the one that tells the pwhy story. Is the God of Lesser beings listening!
Subsequent to our appeal to save the women centre we have reached the half way mark. This is wonderful indeed but not quite enough as we cannot save half a centre. How could we possibly do that! You cannot ask half the children to go, or pay half the rent. Come to think about it you cannot ever save half of any living thing and the women centre is just that: a living and throbbing place. So we need to go all the way failing which we would need to shut it forever.
I should be elated as normally any fund raising appeal yield 10% and we have got 50! It would be so easy and fulfilling to say mission accomplished and bask in the feeling that the centre is saved. A peek at our account would tempt us to do so. But we have to beware! You see some of you have paid for a month, but others have done for six or even a whole year thus creating the illusion of abundance. We have to keep on remembering that we are only half way there. And that if we do not pursue our efforts diligently we are just delaying the inevitable.
What we still need is 200 people to give the needed amount every month. So the search is on for the missing 100. The question is how will we get there? I was at a loss when a mail dropped in my inbox asking me to share a story, the story of two wonderful people who help us every month: here it is in their own words:
Three years ago we visited Delhi and spent four days working for Project Why. Like many before and since we were struck by the magic that is Project Why. When we arrived home we decided that we had to do something to help. The visit albeit short changed the way we thought and lived our lives. We realised that material possessions were not that important. We realised the difference between need and want so now we ask ourselves do we need something or want it. Very often if the answer is want then we don´t need it or buy it.
We started by making a donation each month but quickly decided this was too easy and we should do more. We had a large collection of books, DVD´s and CD´s many of which we didn´t read, watch or listen to. We took these to our local Rastro (car boot). Inside we inserted a label explaining that the proceeds would be sent to Project Why and requesting that when they finished reading the book that they return it so we could sell it again.
It started slowly but people did bring back books and they were sold for a second time. Gradually more people brought us books some of the people who arrived with books were once total strangers to us. We have also provided each month a small leaflet explaining the work of Project Why and including the web address. We have made and handed out small bookmarks. Many people have shown an interest and stop to talk. We have also received small donations. Only a couple of people have shown any animosity to the cause. Each month there is a raffle with the proceeds going to charities nominated by those who attend naturally we manage to arrange that Project Why benefits about three times a year and one woman refused to buy a ticket because of where the money was going. If you think she was stupid then she was even more stupid than you think because the charity that month was not Project Why which was the previous month. Another person refused because charity begins at home. We live in Spain as does the potential customer so when he was asked where home is he responded England. During the last two years we have managed to raise 1900 dollars through the Rastro.
We have benefitted too we now have a larger circle of friends than before and the last Sunday in the month is a very enjoyable social event for us. We always feel very humble when somebody arrives with a bag of books.
We mention this because it is a fairly easy way to raise money and is something that others could do . If you want to try something similar try looking at the feasability of a pitch at your local car boot sale it does not have to be just books anything that sells will do. We are currently investigating that subject to scrounging sufficient items would it be worth having a stall at a local carboot sale the next time we return to England. If you come across somebody selling items for Project Why in the Hull area then it could be us.
We write this only to encourage other supporters to try something to help Project Why and also to see if we can exchange ideas. We feel that we can do more and would like to do so therefore if anybody has any good ideas out there let us share them. We need to save the Womens Centre having seen the recent pictures on Facebook how can we let them down. Andy and Irene
These words warmed my heart and made me believe that though the road seemed long, we would make it.
Being good is fraught with dangers in our day and age. I recently blogged about the danger of being good not realising that I was about to have to walk the talk and try and defend the right of being good.
Yesterday a young friend dropped by. He is a young man after my heart, one who decided to take the road less travelled and make a difference. A series of recent setbacks and mishaps were however making him question his decision. The general contempt that someone like me who walks a different path faces in our society, really made me question what all I have been up to and if it was worth anything at all. My heart went out to him and I knew that I had to muster all I could to renew his faith in being good. Not an easy task as much of what he wrote was true: people are not kind to those who take the road less travelled. And as we all know by now being good can land you up shit creek without a paddle. And yet some of us refuse to give up being good!
As I said this was no easy task because the young man in question has responsibilities and needs to build his morrows. He gave up a lucrative position in another land to come back home and make a difference. And he did try as hard as he could investing all he had and more. The end result was failure and even having your work appropriated by deceitful means. This young man was not born with a silver spoon in his mouth. He had to struggle hard to get where he did and somehow it is this very struggle that made him want to be different. So here I am having to defend the right of being good one again. And though I know deep inside that it is the only honourable way to go, I find myself at a loss as there are not many examples to proffer or successful role models to hold out.
Words fail me. I know the young man is contemplating packing his bags and leaving for greener and better pastures where hard work and honesty are still virtues to be extolled. I truly do not know what to tell him to defer his decision and give this land one more chance. I wonder what will make him stay.
It was mother’s day on Sunday in the anglo saxon world, it will be mother’s day in France on May 28th. I wonder why we need a special day to honour mothers, I remember mine everyday though she left this world 20 years ago. She made me who I am today. Not only did she gift me life but nurtured it carefully and lovingly at every step. She taught me every little thing needed to bloom and grow. She healed each little scratch and hurt and ensured that the scars would vanish too. She assuaged every blow that came my way and soothed the pain till it disappeared.
