My aunt passed away yesterday. She was 90. I had lost touch with her for many years though she lived a stone’s throw away. A few days back I had been informed of her ailing health but somehow never found the time or inclination to make the short trip and see her, even if she was as I was told comatose. I wish I had.
When news of her passing reached me, I rushed to her side for a last glimpse of the old soul. I watched her frail and lifeless body and memories came rushing back, memories of me as a little girl, memories I had forgotten. And today as an aging woman myself I realised that she and I had a lot in common, even if did take one whole life to realise that.
My aunt was a very avantgarde lady, one who was oft misunderstood and thus marginalised. It is perhaps this insensitive reaction of others in the family that made us shun her all these years. In times when women were at best appendixes of their husbands, she decided to live life on her own terms. She was a classical dancer and taught dance in a school of a small mufassil town. Unlike her peers who lived their lives in the shadows of their spouses, she lived hers in the bright sunlight. She lived in the outhouse of my grandfather’s home, and one of the high points of my holidays was to sneak to her home and spend time with her. My uncle was a lawyer and left home at 10 am. That was when I moved in. The next hours were spent with my aunt. Her life ran like a clockwork orange. She practised her dance and you can imagine what a thrill that was for a young child. Then she made her rotis, warmed her meal and laid it out on a small table in the veranda and sat with a magazine that she read for a while before partaking of her meal. I often asked her why she did that. Her answer was: This way, I feel I am being served,like a queen. Needless to say that this attitude of hers was made fun of by others, but today I understand what she meant. I often shared her meal. She ate at 12 sharp way before others, and then she would shoo me away, as it was her nap time, something she would never give up. At three her cycle rickshaw would come to fetch her for her classes. She was always impeccably dressed in bright sarees, a flower in her hair and she left home regally perched on her coach, come heat or rain.
She taught me a few steps of dance and sometimes even took me with her to her class. I watched goggled eyed imbibing a world I still did not know existed. This was undoubtedly the first free spirit I had met, and perhaps a secret role model I would emulate in my own way. Her last years on this planet were lonely and dark. A staunch believer in naturopathy – she never swallowed a pill in her life – she stubbornly refused to get her cataracts operated and thus turned slowly blind. But that did not stop her from living her way, the magazine was replaced by the TV serial.
I did tell you she was a avant-garde lady. In the sixties where women never traveled alone she decided to come and visit us in Algeria where we were posted. She made the trip with her young son and her dance paraphernalia and even performed for a TV show. Her spirit was finally broken by a fall and she spent the last months of her life bedridden and robbed of all that she had stood for.
As I watched the flames of her pyre rise high, I could see her spirit soar and flyaway. She had been finally released from a world that never truly understood her. May she rest in peace.
This is a morning shift class of the primary boys at our Govindpuri Centre. Yet if you look carefully at the picture you will see a little girl sitting at the back. She is Neha, Amit’s little sister and Amit is her morning caretaker. You see both parents work and there is no one to look after the little girl. So the siblings take over. Amit in the morning and Mira in the afternoon.
It works like a clockwork orange. Amit brings the little girl to pwhy in the morning and then hands her over to Mira at the school gate at lunch time. Mira then takes over and little Neha is back at pwhy in the afternoon for the afternoon shift. She then returns home with her sister. I guess for once the two shift school system prevalent in our city is of some use! Not the best option for the little child but then at least she is safe.
This is the plight of many young children in a city where early education is still not free. Many families are too poor to pay for a creche or a preschool and thus older siblings have to become parents and caretakers. The sight of a small child carrying a younger one is common in slums and shanty towns. It is time the authorities looked at the plight of children and did something. Let us hope they do.
Yesterday was my feelgood shot day. Yes you guessed right, it was PTM day at the boarding school! And yesterday more than ever I need my shot of hope, optimism and faith. So imagine my stress when the car was delayed and we has a late start. But the traffic was merciful and we did make almost in time.
We reached the school and sprung out of the car. We hastily gathered all the goodies and packets we had brought: chocolate cake and patties were the day’s treat. We also had bought extra sweaters and shoes for some of the kids as instructed on the previous day by the hostel warden. So bags and baby in tow – yes my grandson was with us – we scurried to the respective classrooms to gather our brood. As usual huge smiles and cheery hello Mams greeted us. Of course every one wanted to know what we had in the bags. After a fe minutes spent with the respective class teachers that were needless to say all praise, it was time to settle down in the sunny lawns and spend some quality time with our band of eight, after of course having opened the goodies bag. Between mouthfuls of chocolate cake we were made privy to the ongoings of this hallowed ground. There were tiny complaints, and gentle chiding. There were requests for the next visit, Utpal often being the chosen spokesperson: bring us more biscuits and dry fruits, we are hungry in the evening; Vicky’s shoes are broken; and so on. Time just flew as we sat in the winter sun listening to the chatter of these lovely kids and imbibing the happy feeling that was all around.
And as I sat there lost to the world I knew, I realised that all doubts and apprehensions that had been plaguing me for the past days just vanished. Watching these children laugh and smile made me realise more than ever that my work was far from over, that they needed me for years to come, that I had to secure their morrows no matter what it took. These children more than anyone else epitomised the spirit of why, a spirit that screamed loud and clear that no life was hopeless, that every child deserved nothing but the best and above all that the best could be theirs if you just kept on looking with your heart.
I had had my feelgood shot. It was time to get back on the spinning wheel. There was work to be done.
Doubt is uncomfortable, certainty is ridiculous.” wrote Voltaire. For the past week or more my pen has been silent, the words frozen in a tired mind. I guess this happened after the 3 D pictures of planet why landed way, bringing a strange inevitability to what had been a cherished dream for more than five years. Where I should have been jumping with joy I instead found myself ridden with doubt and apprehensions. Where I should have been furiously composing mails, blogs and proposals heralding to one and all that we were finally there, I found myself turning strangely uncommunicative and mute. Where I should have been passionately polishing and sprucing up my good old virtual begging bowl and seeking the much needed funds, I found myself reluctant and even unwilling to retrieve it from where it lay dusty and almost forgotten. Something was terribly wrong, this time not with the world but with me.
Was this not the moment I had waited for for ever so long. Was not planet why just a moment away? Had not everything finally fallen in place? Then why was I ridden with doubt. Was pwhy’s sustainability not the one and only thing I had wanted from the day the journey began? Then why was I suddenly voiceless. It was time to soul search. I must admit that I was at a complete loss and did not know what to do and where to start. It was time to call up on the Cartesian mind I always took pride in and analyze the situation.
Planet why was undoubtedly what I wanted then why was I running scared? Was it the sheer size of the images that had landed my way that filled me with fear. True I had never imagined it to be so. Was it that they did not quite fit with what pwhy stood for till now: reclaimed pig parks and garbage dumps, road sides and street corners, kerchief sized and windowless rooms. Was my dream tinged with a hubris I had not been aware of. Was a huge building needed to protect the spirit of pwhy? Or to put it another way was pwhy’s spirit large enough for such a structure. Was there a disconnect I had not been aware of whilst building my dream?It was time to find out and I did not quite know how.
That is when once again the God of Lesser beings came to my rescue, though I did not quite realise it at first. Not knowing what to do to deal with a restlessness I could not share with anyone as I would have seemed nothing short of foolish, I decided to download all my blogs and read them again chronologically. I looked for ways of doing it rapidly but not finding any – and thank heavens I did not – I set about the task of copy pasting each one individually, all one thousand one hundred and sixty six of them. And as I did, pwhy came alive in front of my bewildered eyes. I was spellbound as I read each one of them. It was a treat of all the senses.
The story began five years ago when my pen was still somewhat hesitant and naive. I found I had recorded every little moment of pwhy and though it may seem to some as extremely wide-eyed, it truly reflected the spirit of pwhy where nothing is too small or too inconsequential. Every lopsided smile was worth recording, every seemingly meaningless tear merited to be addressed. And I did with all my heart. There was anger too, at things that did not seem right but it was somewhat guileless. Every tiny achievement was recorded and celebrated and carefully logged.
As I read on I discovered how I slowly found my voice. It was strangely comforting as I had often been one to remain silent. But somehow pwhy has empowered me to start reacting and venting my feelings even though in a barely audible way. Laced in between everyday occurrences were hints of concern be it about the girl plight child, the state of education for the poor, or the precarious nature of slums. Even five years ago these had been felt and expressed. And today many were vindicated in more ways than one. Over time my voice had become louder and my words more and more mordant. Wonder why? A question I need to answer some day.
But the one thing that is woven like a leitmotiv in a Wagnerian opera right from the very first blog is my fear of the future, my angst about what would become of planet why after my exit and that is why ever so often there are references to the elusive sustainability of pwhy. But then I did not know at what price it would ultimately come and how alien it would be from what we stood for. Or was it? What where we really trying to sustain. Was it worth the tag? I needed to read more.
I spend the next few days reading he 1000 odd pages. I was pleasantly surprised at the fact that it was in no way tedious or boring. Neither was it the normally annoying drag of rereading what one has written. Far from that; at times I got so engrossed that I even forgot that I was its author! As I read page after page, the last five years of pwhy came alive in front of my curious eyes. So many things that had been forgotten along the way: the plethora of human and humane stories that brought a smile on the face; the indomitable spirit of blessed like souls like Manu or Nanhe who gave a total new meaning to life; the simple yet cogent answers to complex issues mouthed by innocent children when God simply becomes Boman (Bhagwan pronounced by a two year old) and makes you wonder whether he is not simply that a beau-Man! The list is endless, each instance confirming in its own special way that we must have been doing something right. Then interspersed in between are the concerns and disquiets be it about the plight of children in general or the girl child in particular, about education and habitat for the poor, about new feudal masters and so on and the often implied need to try and do something.
This post is not meant to be a synopsis of a thousand and more blogs. I it is simply an exercisein soul searching meant to validate a belief: the belief that pwhy is worth fighting for, that no tag is too large when it comes to giving special children the right to live and die with dignity; when it comes to helping a few hundred children build a better future, when it comes to empowering people everyone had given up on to take hold of their lives.
It is time for me to walk the talk; to jolt myself out of this false comfort zone I am sinking and to fight the last battle to the very end.
“Any belief worth having must survive doubt”. I guess mine has. So help me God!
You left us 18 years ago today. Since that day I have missed you every single day, sometimes days more than others, but not a single day has passed without feeling your presence, be it just the smile I give your lovely picture every morning when I sit down to work, just about the time when you and I shared a cup of tea when everyone else slept. Today I just drink it alone.
You taught me so much! From absolute surrender to a greater force to unwavering faith in the destiny of India, from the delights of life lived king size to the joy of sharing a humble meal; from erudite books of diverse cultures to the soothing lilt of the Bhojpuri lullaby your mother sang. I have carried each of the precious lessons you taught me and tried to abide by them even when it has been difficult to do so, as you where you also not the one to have taught me to always chose the road less travelled.
For the past ten years I have done just that though I must confess, it has not always been easy. But I have muddled through as best I could and never given up. But today Papa my feet are faltering and I feel like the little girl who awoke at night frightened by a dream and who called out in the dark. Only the dream this time is real and the father who always came to make things right is no more. Yet today I need him more than ever.
Project why is the gift you gave me to fill the abyss I had fallen in after you left. In the eyes of the little children that come each day I slowly found myself and the reason for which I had come into this world. For the past ten years I have nurtured and tended to it with all the care and love I could muster and protected it from one and all. But time is not on my side anymore and the moment has come to find the right way to ensure that pwhy lives on beyond me. After many false starts we have a found a way to do so. For project why to live, planet why has to happen and all seems to be pointing that way. But Papa, I am scared as it seems way beyond my capabilities and strengths. Yet when I look at the children around me, I know I cannot give up. I also cannot afford to share my angst with anyone but you and today Papa I need you more than ever before. I need you to hold my hand, just like you did when you taught me to walk, I need you to guide me just as you did each time I faced a dilemma, I need you to be my strength and show me the way. You see I cannot let down all those who have entrusted their dreams in my care. My shoulders are frail and ageing and I need your help to carry the final burden that has been laid on them.
I have often called pwhy my swansong. And it is. I need to perform the last act with brio and then maybe I too can come and rest in your arms forever.
Rarely is love instant and yet once in a blessed while it is. For the last month we have been touched by a very special kind of magic conjured by two lovely souls called Alan and Em! Alan & Em have been volunteering at pwhy for the past one month and for the past one month we have all rediscovered the true meaning of words we adults often forget like fun, joy, exultation, delight, cheerfulness, gaiety and more. But that is not all they also renewed our faith in values like trust, honesty and goodness. Alan and Em are like rays of sunshine and breaths of the freshest air.
They came with their bag of goodies and enthralled the children with magic tricks, bubble shows and mysterious machines and somehow what had always seemed so boring and tedious became luminously simple. Science, physics, maths were just games to be enjoyed. And yet the children learnt more in this one month than they had ever before.
Alan and Em are like two happy children ready to discover all that the world has to offer to them and enjoy it to its fullest. In the past month I have never seen them frown or scowl. Even when they were hit by the Delhi bug, they never lost their smile. And not only the children, but we adults, and me in particular, got some precious lessons in the art of living. Their joiedevivre is infectious to say the very least and shows that it takes very little to live life to its fullest. It is amazing how nothing ever gets these two down. You never hear a complaint or even see a fleeting sign of discontent in their eyes. They are always happy. Ask them how their day went and you hear fabulous, awesome, amazing. Ask them how the food was and you hear delicious, yummy even if you have served them a simple innocuous meal.
A & M have also given a whole new meaning to the word charity. Their generosity brings to mind the old proverb that says; A bone to the dog is not charity. Charity is the bone shared with the dog, when you are just as hungry as the dog! They simply have an implicit trust in human nature.
Knowing Alan and Emily has been a privilege and honour and we all feel blessed. Love is rarely instant yet once in a while it is: this was just one such instant.
A young couple belonging to uber rich families will tie the knot later this month in our city. Bollywood stars will attend the wedding and perform. The tag for this filmy nuptials is 25 crores or 250 million rupees. That is 5 planet whys or what is needed to run project why in its present form for 60 years! I am speechless. I remember how shocked I was when I heard that a celebrity florist was in town and would charge 2 to 4 crores to decorate a wedding venue.
A few months back a couple tied the knot in a small village in Europe. They decided to send the the money they collected during the church ceremony to project why. I also remember how touched I had been when a simple email from a young couple I had never met informed me that they had decided to donate the money normally spent on bonbonieres – traditional wedding favours – to the children of pwhy. In the past many young couples from faraway lands have donated part of their wedding bounty to the children of project why, thus creating invisible bonds of love and friendship between two young people starting their life together and children who strive for a better one.
What a difference between the two worlds.
250 million rupees to have some star gyrate at your wedding for a brief moment or shake hands with your guest is nothing short of galling. It is something I find difficult if not impossible to fathom. I do agree that everyone wants a special wedding and deserves it but there has to be some limits. A wedding is undoubtedly a precious occasion and does need to be celebrated. It is a day every young bride and groom wants to remember and perhaps having a star at your nuptials makes for lasting memories and wonderful photo ops. But one needs to cap the show. In a land like ours where a child dies of malnutrition every 8.7 minutes, 250 million rupees for a thrill is terribly misplaced. Maybe it would become more palatable if one star was given up and the money thus saved -ranging from 10 to 40 million – was spent on a charity of your choice. Imagine if that money could build a home for some destitute children, or a school, a hospital. The possibilities are endless. That structure could bear the name of the newly weds and would be a proud memory to recall.
What makes someone want to spend galling amounts of money for a single event is the question that begs to be answered. The sad reality is that anyone attending weddings looks for things to criticize and takes the rest for granted. True that one gets bedazzled for an instant but all is soon forgotten and one is seen recalling the terrible parking facility, or the long queues at the buffet table rather than the bride’s jewels or the gargantuan spread! It seems that the desire to over extend one’s self while organising such dos stems from a desire to impress and a sense of insecurity. You have to show that you have arrived and nothing is too over the top for that. Hence you invite not one, not two but a dozen stars in the hope that they will shine on your parade. That is all that matters. Never mind the tag attached. A sad reality but one that pervades all rich and poor. The only difference is that the poor do it by borrowing sums that they will take a lifetime to pay back. But reason does not prevail in such situations.
It seems that the big fat Indian wedding is here to stay.
The 3 D images of planet why truly gave substance to a long time dream and brought in a new set of apprehensions and nerves. What till now was a sedate yearning tucked away in the recesses of one’s mind suddenly sprung to life. Dreams were becoming reality and it was scary.
Many found the images amazing and wonderful and the kudos came pouring. In the midst of it all came a much needed dampener: would the idea work at all. I normally would have pooh poohed the note of caution as I often had in the past when planet why still lived in the realm of dreams but not now. I had to listen to all voices. Particularly today when we were a step away from realising a dream. It was perhaps the last chance one had to review things calmly and dispassionately before it was too late. So no matter how difficult and wearisome, it was time once again to write an apologia for planet why.
So what is planet why and why should it see the light of day? That is the question. Right from the outset planet why addressed two almost existential questions that had been plaguing us at pwhy. The first one was humane and concerned the plight of our very special children and young adults. These were the handful of lost souls that had been guided to the portals of pwhy by an unseen hand. We all knew that they needed to be cared till the end of their lives and thus was seeded the idea of a residential programme that had to outlive those who steered pwhy. Planet why was thus born. The second question was more materialistic in nature and addressed the issue of the autonomy of project why and its ability to raise its own resources. Planet why would also be a guest house that would generate funds and thus support not only the residential programme but the rest of pwhy’s initiatives.
It is easy to vindicate the first question as everyone would agree that our special children deserve but the best and keeping in mind the realities prevailing in India we know that they need life long care and the chance to live and die with dignity. Planet why would ensure just that. The second one, the sustainability of project why, is perhaps a little more difficult to defend. Some may contend that it borders on hubris. Many successful ventures close when time comes and why should it not be the case with pwhy. Others may profess that the price tag of planet why is too huge to be justified and that there may be other ways to ensure sustainability. The more cynical ones would argue that nothing needs to be perennial, and that wisdom lies in knowing that.
I will try and address each of these issues. There is no misplaced ego in wanting pwhy to live beyond me. I admit that the idea of seeing it all dwindle and fade away is difficult to accept but that in no way is the reason to seed planet why. I have often been asked what would happen to pwhy after I exit this world and the thought has kept me awake many nights. And not for any hubristic reason at all. My fears have been for those who depend on us in toto be it Manu and his friends who might find themselves on the street or the eight little souls who study in boarding school and still have a long way to go. What would happen to them? They need to be secured and planet why is for them. One could rebut this by saying that there may be other less expensive ways to do that. Touché! Yes there are. One could for instance create a corpus fund the interest of which would pay for the needs of these children. But somehow that defeats the very spirit of pwhy. Let me elucidate.
Pwhy was set up to create a model that could be replicated. One of its main mission was to empower local communities to not only steer the education of their children but also take hold of their lives and destinies. We did succeed in a certain manner as all pwhy staff is from the community. The one area however where we were left wanting was undoubtedly fund raising. All our attempts failed or at best fell very short of the targets be it our one rupee programme, our varied sales of products or our sole attempt at running a raffle. Till date fund raising remained in one hand and skills that could not be transferred. The real litmus test was to find a way that could be successfully handed over to the team. When the idea of planet why was first mooted it seemed to be one that could be steered by our team and that is why we decided to explore it further. Running a business is definitely something that can be taught.
But that is not all. Over the past years we have come to realise that imparting education, no matter how efficiently is not sufficient to change the morrows of slum children. While a small percentage of our kids move on to higher studies, the vast majority is unable to do so keeping in mind the present education scenario where either very high marks or large sums of money gives you access to higher education. A simple school leaving certificate with average marks does not get you anywhere. The need for going further was felt by one and all. Planet why could answer that need as it would provide a platform for training our kids in a host of vocational skills thus enabling them to access employment. Not only would be able to train our alumni in hospitality and related activities, but having our own space would allow us to run training workshops in many other fields. This was indeed very tempting.
So as you see planet why has been a well thought idea that aims to cover more than one issues. From providing a dignified life to those forsaken by all to ensuring that eight children complete their education and prove themselves; from ensuring that 500 children complete their schooling to allowing them to learn skills that would ensure their gainful employment, and above all giving to have to those who have steered pwhy till now the chance to show beyond doubt that they are able to run a business successfully.
Two points still need to be addressed to make this apologia honest. The doubt raised was: would it work? Or in other words does the idea make sound business sense. This was indeed our worry and we decided to take a professional approach to the question. With quivering hearts we handed over our busines proposal to world class consultants for a feasibility study. The conclusion is for all to see: In our opinion, the proposed development at Planet Why is a lucrative and financially feasible and one which would be able to generate much higher returns than are typically found in guest houses operating across Delhi.
The last slightly uncomfortable question that needs to be asked as it is one that is in every one’s mind is whether the project is worth the cost that will need to be incurred. May I simply state that the cost of planet why equals what is needed to run pwhy for 5 years and will allow the work to continue for times to come. Is that not reason enough.
Yesterday evening, our architect delivered the first 3 D representation of planet why! I must admit that I was floored. Over the past 3 years I had conjured many images of planet why. At that time it had been a piece of barren land that held unimaginable promises. I would close my eyes and see it come to life. I must admit that what I saw were the smiles of my special children, what I heard was their laughter and what I experienced was pure joy. The building remained elusive. I am no builder. Yet when I gave my brief to our wonderful architect I tried to pour out my heart. But no matter how hard I tried I never saw planet why!
So imagine my excitement as I waited for the file to download yesterday and my delight when I finally saw planet why come to life, albeit yet on a screen. My eyes filled with tears of joy. I was watching the morrows of project why as if and when this building came to life, my children would be safe and I would be able to go in peace. My promise to Manu would have been fulfilled.
I was reminded of Henry Thoreau ‘s words: If you build castles in the air, your work need not be lost; that is where they should be. Now put the foundations under them. It was time to do just that.
The Right to Education Act should have guaranteed free and equitable education to all the children in India. Alas that is not the case and the sad part is that most of us are unaware of the surreptitious games being played by those in power. An article that appeared this week in a well known magazine brings this fact to light. Want to sit on the same bench as America is worth reading. Those of my vintage will remember the days a few decades ago when state run schools worked well and universities were easy of access. Come to think of it there was no or little choice outside these.
How many of us know that way back in 1991 the Indian government accepted the conditionality of Structural Adjustment Programme (SAP) imposed by the US-led World Bank-IMF regime. This required that public expenditure be reduced on education, health and social welfare. From 2000 onwards, these dilutions and distortions were repackaged and ‘marketed’ under a new label called Sarva Shiksha Abhiyan (education for all). The failure of SSA to provide elementary education (Class I-VIII) to India’s 20 crore children in the 6-14 year age group by the target year of 2010 meant that policymakers rephrased SSA goals downwards and did not undertake a causal analysis to rectify it. This may have again gone undetected by the likes of us as it was all happening on the other side of the fence and did not affect our children. But think about it and your blood runs cold. On the one hand the children of India get the constitutional right to education but on the other the state starts abdicating its duty to provide the same.
The commercialisation of education had begun; PPP (public private partnership), subsidies to profit making institutions, education loans and a cynically orchestrated media campaign buttressed by internationally funded high-profile NGOs to destroy the credibility of the public-funded education system rung the death knell of state run education both at the school and university. The State abdicated its constitutional obligation. Markets needs would now dictate knowledge content and we would become a major global provider of low-cost skilled but subservient ‘foot soldiers’ who reinforce the subjugation, hegemony and greed of global capital
The cruel reality is that millions of children who could have aspired to better morrows were the state education system running, will now be forced to remain where they are not because they lack the skills and ability but because they were born on the other side of the fence and can never afford education which now comes with a hefty price tag.
The little girl in the picture was also born on the wrong side of the fence, yet her brave family scrapped the barrel, tighten the belts till it hurts to ensure that she and her elder sister go to a school on the other side of the invisible fence. It is not easy as there are so many bills to pay but they are not ones to give up and yet I wonder whether this little girl will be able to go the whole nine yards.
In this new emerging scenario what is available for children born on the other side of the fence is an ersatz education that cannot take them far. Sadly their parents are unable to comprehend the reality and react and the children themselves are voiceless and helpless. By the time they do gain a voice it would be too late.
Two little faces greeted me this Diwali morning and I knew I was blessed. Utpal is here for his Diwali break and Agastya my grandchild is thrilled to have his best pal with him. The day was spent with these two little souls that the God of Lesser Beings was magnanimous enough to send my way as a precious gift.
Popples aka Utpal, came into my life almost 8 years ago when I still did not quite know what my morrows would be. At that time pwhy was still very fragile and tenuous and I must admit I was not even certain it would pass the test of time. Utpal’s terrible tryst with fire changed all that. Suddenly everything acquired a new meaning: Utpal had to be saved and this was no short term option, it was a life time engagement. Project why had acquired a life time lease and I became Ma’amji! Utpal had showed me the way I was seeking.
Agastya landed in my arms almost two years ago when the knees had just begun creaking and the gait was slowing down. The day I first held him in my arms I became Nani. It was a miraculous shot in the arm and the desire to live and see him grow made all aches and pain vanish in the air. It was time to live: two little boys ensured that. I must admit that deep in my heart, the desire to see these two bond and care for each other was paramount and yet I did not know if that would be. But the first time they met they took to each other and proved beyond doubt that all schismatic attempts to divide human beings and hence society did not and could not have divine sanction. It did not matter where you came from. Love knew no bounds.
So having them with me this Diwali was a rare treat. It was a magical day that passed too fast. I did not let the boys out of my sight as we shopped, played, prayed, danced and reveled. Even Agastya knew it was a special moment as we forewent his sleep and savoured every moment of the day. As I tucked the boys to sleep late in the night I mouthed a special and silent thank you to the God of lesser beings for having made me Nani and Ma’amji!
Project Why proudly presents its first ever English play: let us save trees. The play has been written and performed by our children with a little help from their wonderful teacher Smita.
Wow what a proud moment for us all! I must confess that I sat through the play with moist eyes and a lump in my throat. I must also admit that whilst watching the play I did not hear the halting English or the hesitant delivery. For me it was nothing sort of perfect. And more than that it was a true vindication of our focus on quality programme launched barely a few months ago. It was a ah ha moment indeed. Just a few months back the young protagonists of the play could barely utter a few word of English. At best they could spout a few words by rote. When we began the programme many thought it too ambitious, others a pure waste of ressources. And yet we held on and launched it. Over and above the regular after school support, the primary kids spent a short hour learning spoken English. I somehow believed the experience would bear fruits sooner than later and I was proved right yesterday when a bunch of boys took the stage in a language they had always feared. This was the way to go and I knew deep in my heart that we had crossed a yet invisible barrier.
I know that the road ahead is still very long and filled with many hurdles, but somehow today as I watched the tiny play I knew we would cross them all.
A phone call last week informed me that we had been shortlisted as possible beneficiaries of a page 3 charity do. This came as a surprise because our brush with page 3 soirees and bashes were things of the past. There was a time many moons ago when we did make almost regular appearances at such events but those days were long gone and somehow our tryst with the rich and famous had been short lived. So imagine my surprise when they came knocking again. I was informed that I had to go the next day and present our case to the members of the executive committee of the planned event. My first reaction was to refuse but beggars can never be choosers.
The meeting was fixed for the very next day. It seemed that all the short listed organisations were to be given 15 minutes to present their case and then the said committee would decide which one would benefit from the proceeds of the evening. It all seemed very cut and dry. I decided to give it my best shot and leave the rest to the God of Lesser beings.
I reached the appointed place with a few minutes to spare. Somehow I felt very alone and lost in a world I had said my farewells too long ago. Soon it was our turn and I was led to a room where 6 people sat around a conference table. An empty chair beckoned me. I sat down. A few brief presentations and greetings and then the stage was mine. The countdown had begun and I had just fifteen minutes to put forward 10 years of work, to share the hope and dreams of so many and to prove to all present that we were worthy of their help.
I did but somehow I felt no one was really listening. It seemed like a show put up for some unknown reasons, it seemed as if all decisions had been made well before the game began. The people around that table belonged to the other side of the fence and did not really want to know about Manu, Utpal or Radha. I wondered why I had been invited at all. When I had finished my presentation, the leader of the pack asked be bluntly what would happen after me. Normally that question would have shocked and angered me but it did not and I simply smiled and told him: planet why!
That is when I realised that something had changed and that I had taken a huge step without knowing. Gone was the angst of the past, in its place was a sense of acceptance and calm. I remembered the time when any mention of what would happen to pwhy once I had exited this world brought anger and wrath. Today it just brought a smile. True I was still worried about pwhy’s future, true I wanted above anything else to see planet why happen, but if it did not then I somehow knew something else would happen and take care of the problem. This new found attitude stemmed from the fact that I felt that matters were no more in my hand, but in the hand of the one who had placed the future of so many in my care. He and he alone would show the way. Today it seemed like it would be planet why but were that not to happen I am sure an alternative would come about and ensure the succession.
You have a soft corner for the under privileged, which is so good. People generally don’t have time to spare a thought for the children of a lesser God said the comment on my post Game Over! A few days later a surprise note on a social network urged people to reach out to project like ours. The note aptly entitled the inconvenience of charity was written by a dear friend.
Seemed like some Jungian synchronicity!
For the past weeks I have been wondering how I would address our everlasting and never ending funding issue for the coming year and find the missing numbers. I was running out of words and did not know where to begin. I too am aware of the strains of the purse strings even when the heart is big. But I am also aware of the hundreds of Children of a Lesser God who depend on my capacity to once again pa(e)nhandle with conviction. For the past 10 years I have tried to perfect the art of panhandling and the fact that I am still at it after a decade goes to show that I must have done so with a good measure of success. But each year there are missing numbers that require to be met. I guess this is again a trick of my friend the God of Lesser Beings who wants to ensure that I never sink into a comfort zone and thus forget what my true mission is.
Panhandling is very humbling particularly for one who had always found money matters to be infradig. That was before pwhy and before my encounter with children of a Lesser God. Once they came into my life, things changed at the speed of light and what was once hateful simple became par to the course. Thus began my years of soliciting help from one and all. To say it was easy would be an untruth. And yet it had to be done because each coin that was dropped my way transformed in a smile as if by magic.
In a way I am glad that things have not come easy. This has enabled me to appreciate the true value of what I hold in custody. As my friend aptly said it is nothing short of trying to climb Kilimanjaro or run a desert marathon. And yet I find myself doing it each and every day with joy. And though the God of Lesser Beings does play his tricks, he also creates the right backdrop each time I find myself in doubt. Just like this time when he gently reminded me of my soft corner for the underprivileged. I must admit that there are times when the bones ache and the pace slackens and I find myself wondering how much longer. But these moments are mercifully short and fleeting. All that is needed to call me back to order is a little hand that finds mine or a cheek quietly proffered for a kiss.
So here I am again seeking help and support or as a young friend once said here I am seeking permission to continue. And this is truly what it is. I am asking you to allow us to carry on what we are doing: ensuring that one more batch of students complete their studies or move into the next class, ensuring that a group of little souls are able to acquire the skills needed to enter the portals of a school, ensuring that a bunch of very special kids spend one more day of their lives in laughter and joy. Simple things that should ordinarily happen without much ado, but that often come at a price for children of a lesser God. Every penny we sought and continue to seek is to do just that. No more, no less.
The scooter stopped at the red light. This was the light next to my house, the one where I had encountered my little beggar girl many months back, the one where I often found myself rummaging in my bag for some of the goodies I carry to give out to the little beggar children that crowd around my auto. For the past three weeks not a single child greeted me as courtesy the Commonwealth Games all beggars had been rounded up and hidden away. So for the past weeks I had sat quietly in my auto and continued reading my book. That was exactly what I was doing when I felt a tug at my pants and heard a little voice demanding: Chocorate, chocorate! I instantly looked up and there was one of my little beggar girls. They were back. By they I mean the beggars that live under the flyover next to my home and beg at the red light. And chocorate is the generic used by the children to demand the goodies I carry. It could be a biscuit, a banana, a toffee or a bar of chocolate. They all knew that I never gave money.
I looked at the child woefully as my bag was empty but promised her chocorate the next day. She looked at me first crossly but then gave me a huge smile and set off to knock at the next car window. The gang was back in business as the games were over. I must admit I felt a sense of relief in seeing them back. Maybe we were finally getting back our lost soul. Please do not misunderstand me. I am not offering an apology for begging, far from that as it is something I abhor and was the first why I wanted to address but sadly could not. Our nutritive biscuit programme failed miserably. We did not find any takers.I guess people were just not ready to accept their part of responsibility. We still had to learn the art of looking into people’s eyes.
As I said it was comforting to see that the beggars were back because I wondered where they had been banished to and feared for them. Their return proved that nothing had really changed. You see beggars are not a real problem for the satraps that rule us. They were simply and embarrassment, something you were sort of ashamed of and needed to hide while you supposedly put your best foot forward. So you hid them and now that the show is over you let them lose again. You are not ready to assume responsibility and address the problem. It makes me see red. We are talking of people and of children who should not be knocking at your car window but sitting on a school bench. They should not be asking for chocorate but learning to spell the word correctly!
You are one of those few people I know who truly love what they are doing wrote a friend. Innocuous words at first but they got me thinking and setting of on an inward journey. For the past ten years I have been so caught up in keeping the ship afloat that I have rarely given myself time to take a back seat, catch my breath and savour moments the way I should have. But my friend’s remark made me stop in my tracks and realise that what she said was incredibly true. For the past ten years, in spite of all the problems and hardships I have truly loved what I have been doing. I guess it is sometimes a sense of perhaps misplaced decency that refrained me from letting out whoops of joy each time something special occurred. My friend’s question ultimately nudged me to ask myself the question: who am I today.
Who am I? I do not know how many of us ask ourselves this question over time. There can be simple answers. You are from a particular country, of a particular gender, have a particular profession, a particular religion, a certain age and so on. So I am Indian, an old woman, a social worker etc. Some of these markers can change with time, some stay with you for a life time. Some of not much consequence. The others are the ones you build yourself and have the liberty to alter and even change. And the question you need to ask yourself is Who am I, today!
Often you are portrayed through your relationships with another so you become a good or bad daughter, spouse, friend, sibling, citizen and so on. But here again the description is insufficient and inadequate leaving you still wondering who you truly are.
Another friend recently wrote about the importance of finding your voice. It was an innocuous remark pertaining to a very specific situation but somehow it struck a deep chord inside me. It seemed an answer to a deep search I had embarked on, the search of who I truly was. Over the past 10 years, when I began the pwhy journey I have felt more and more alienated by what was once comfortable and sufficient. As pwhy grew so did my loneliness. The situation was paradoxical as when I set up pwhy I was painfully alone but pwhy brought innumerable new souls into my life. Then why the loneliness? Perhaps because I suddenly felt alone in my world, perhaps because all reference points suddenly seemed pointless and empty. I realised that the time had come to redefine myself but that was no easy task.
With each step on the pwhy road I felt I moved away by quantum leaps from the world that I had known and found ample. Suddenly it felt painfully deficient. Once I had crossed the invisible line I had unwillingly abdicated the right to be one of my erstwhile peers. I had done the unthinkable in a land where you were conditioned to remain in your determined framework. If you did dare venture out of the box you had to be prepared to pay the price. Sounds cryptic. Let me try and elucidate.
Say you belong to a particular social class, then all your activities are defined by it. Your conversations, your likes and dislikes and so on on are almost predefined and that is the world you are meant to navigate in. Now say you have tasted other flavors and dare bring them into the closed doors of your predetermined orb, you are immediately considered persona non grata! I remember how quickly people moved away from me when I use to try talking about pwhy in up market parties. I felt like a pariah. But the other side of the coin was that the other world was not ready to accept you as one of them. There you were put on a pedestal and had to remain there and that is when the loneliness set in. You suddenly became no one’s child. And yet you so wanted to belong at least somewhere. It was a real predicament and there seemed to be no ready answer.
But slowly as time passed , people grew less in awe of you and more willing to accept you. True these people would never become your intellectual sparring partners, but they surrounded you with so much love that you once again felt content and wanted. Wonder who they are? Let me introduce you to some of them. It is Utpal and his endearing ways, Manu and his lopsided smile that greets me every morning, the band of special children and their cheerful Good Morning Ma’am, the tiny creche kids, the Okhla children, the Khader children and their incredible smiles. But that is not all: it is also the Lohar ladies who never failed to produce a syrupy cup of tea and a lovely hand slapped roti; the innumerable families who have always opened their homes and heart to me; the simple people who illuminate my day every single morning and make it worth living.
So today I am above all Anou Ma’am and I like what I see and truly feel that this is who I want to be till the end of my days.
It is finally over.. I mean the CWG and we can all get back to our lives.. or so I hope. Games over, let the audit begin scream headlines as everyone is on overdrive trying to exonerate themselves and pass the buck. Committees are being formed, agencies roped in to examine all charges. I do hope something does come out of it but why then am I feeling so despondent. I guess, without being a cynic, it is because of a sense of deja vu.
A few days back I urged everyone to spare a thought for the myriad of workers who had toiled to ensure that the show happened. Salute them we must. Today another touching set of pictures brought the same people to mind. A photo essay entitled the Other Games, depicts the plight of the CWG children. The worker’s kids who played their own set of games well before the Games began. It is extremely touching and speaks volumes. Again I gently urge you to spend some time looking at the pictures. I did and as I looked at the innocent faces I could not stop myself from asking the loud question that begged to be asked: where were they today? Most of these children’s families, like thousands of others were brought from other states. Wonder whether they are still in this city or have gone back home. Wonder whether their parents have found jobs. And if they are still here do they have a roof on their heads? Questions crowd the mind. Don’t these children have rights like all the other children of India. Right to education to begin with. Yet while their parents toiled they were left to their own devise in makeshift inhuman shelters or on the pavement, living their childhood as best they could. Who usurped their rights? I guess we all did and must bear the shame.
As the mud slinging continues and the enquiries get on their way my thoughts go to all those who lost their homes because of the Games, to those who lost their livelihood, to those who were compelled to leave the city for the hallowed fortnight as there was no work. To my Lohar friends whose life changed forever simply because they lived on a road guests would zip past. Will the enquiries, audits, probes give them back what they have lost. No way. They will need to rescript their lives and reinvent themselves. Wonder if they will be able to do so. Hope the God of Lesser Beings will once again conjure a miracle.
There was a PTM at the boarding school yesterday and as always it was pure joy to see our exceptional eight! It was also Kiran‘s birthday and she had decided to celebrate it with her special pal Utpal and his friends. So we had chocolate cake and pizza and other goodies. It was a quaint birthday party held in the housemother’s room, with a band of very special children and lot of laughter and cheer.
But that was not the highlight of the day. You may wonder what it was then? Well it was little Manisha who just could not stop smiling. Her happiness was infectious and heartwarming. She just beamed all the time, her smile getting bigger if you asked her if she was happy at school! In two months she had put on weight and was looking for want of a better word: sparkling!
It was indeed a special moment to see this child who just a few months ago had been living in a hell hole and who by a twist of fate or should I say by the grace of my friends the God of lesser beings, saw her life touched by a miracle. The tears and anxiety for the past were gone for ever and in its place was this big huge smile that said it all. I tried to imagine what could have been going in her little head but stopped myself as it may just have taken away the pure magic of that blessed moment.
Once more I say Chapeau Bas to the God of lesser beings!
