by Anuradha Bakshi | Sep 24, 2010 | Uncategorized
Last week was PTM time and boy I needed it as this is the only time when I get off my spinning planet and catch my breath. The day dawned dark and cloudy. The rains were imminent but that did not lessen our enthusiasm though we were apprehensive of traffic snarls. We set off early. Agastya my grandchild was with us. That made the day even more special. We of course had not forgotten all the goodies that the children has demanded: cookies, biscuits, chocolates and of course the pizzas!
The roads were empty and we made good time. It began pelting though but we were almost there. The school ground was inundated and looked almost like a swimming pool. There went Agastya’s favourite playground! But we knew we would still have lot of fun. The first stop was the children’s classrooms to get the unit test results. I felt a little hand in mine and looked down: It was Utpal who had come from nowhere and joined us. I asked him how he had done and he looked a little forlorn as he told me that his maths and English results were not good. I was a little perplexed but then tried to rationalise my reaction: it was not right to always expect the impossible. I did not know that my little Popples had played a trick on me: it transpired later that he had A+ in both subjects. We did the rounds and collected the results; as always the children had done well: Aditya and Meher topped their class and the rest were second or third. Only Nikhil’s results were disappointing. It seemed the child wanted to convey something we were not able to comprehend. A challenging behaviour of sorts. Would have to delve further.
On the way Agastya made new friends, two being class XII students. Quite a charmer! It was then time to go to the hostel and meet Dolly Ma’am the housemother. We would also be able to unpack the goodies all the children were waiting for. I decided to rest my bones and sit with Dolly whilst the kids ate their pizza. The rest of the goodies was to be handed over for later.It was lovely to see them all looking so happy. Agastya had taken his cars out and soon everyone was on the floor playing with the cars. Dolly briefed me on the children and most got glowing reports: Babli was very well behaved, Meher was the little granny, Manisha was now well settled, Yash was still a holy terror, and the boys were just that boys! Dolly also shared how Manisha ate a lot, I guess she was making up for years of want now that she was in the land of the plenty. I did realise she had put on quite a lot of weight. I sat for along time taking all this in and savouring the moment. This was a dream come true. I wish I could have given this chance to many more. This was what each and every child born in the country deserved.
It was soon time to go. We had all had a terrific time as always and I had more than caught my breath. My batteries were fully recharged at least tell the next PTM!
by Anuradha Bakshi | Sep 22, 2010 | commonwealth games
This is in the continuation to my previous blog: all the king’s horses! After hitting the publish button I had gone to have my lunch. The morning paper lay on the dining table. Because of the rains it had been delivered late and I had not seen it yet. I gleaned over the front page and my eyes settles on a strange title: Disappearing Maids – Cops terrorise migrant poor, push them to leave Gurgaon. Now what on earth was this. I should have guessed: more of the image building saga. But as I read my blood ran cold again. This was preposterous. The article stated: and thousands of maids, drivers and industrial workers are being packed off to railway stations and forcibly made to board trains to their native states — all as part of security ‘clean-up’ for the Games. This in spite of the poor souls having ration cards and election cards, the much sought after civic identity proof. It seemed that these were being torn and migrants were told not to return before the games.
For an instant my mind went back to yellow stars and deportation trains. It just seemed so similar. What kind of world were we living in. Now let me get things straight first migrants are wooed and given election cards as they are a rich vote bank; then one day they become an eyesore or a security risk – wonder why – and you just throw them out like you would garbage. I am livid and sad and hurt and so terribly helpless. These people have homes, families, children going to school and survive on the money they make each day. They are also the ones who make your life easier, clean your homes, wash your car, drive you to office, mow your lawn etc. I never knew they were eye sores and party poopers too! How can anyone treat a fellow human being like this!
by Anuradha Bakshi | Sep 21, 2010 | commonwealth games
Just a few days back an official made this shocking statement: They cannot be allowed to remain on the main road since they will spoil the image of the city we are trying to portray. The they were poor slum dwellers displaced by the floods and camping on a road side. For the past months or more we have seen destruction of homes, displacement of people, elimination of sources of livelihood all in the name of the so called image of the city. It seemed that the presence of street vendors, visible slum dwellers, road side cobblers etc would damage the image of our city.
Today we are a nation that has been humiliated and shamed not because of the so called they but thanks to the official and his ilk. Every news channel worldwide is talking about the state of the Games village which is in their words filthy, unlivable, disgusting an more. And this expletives dear Sirs, are not for the they you so ruthlessly did away with, but for the Village that was, in the words of the leader of your pack, to be better than Beijing! So what happened? We need to know. You plundered our pockets unabashedly and we at least hoped that you would deliver. But we are not prepared to accept this international humiliation silently. We demand answers. Someone has to be made responsible. And the answers you give are unacceptable. How can you say : Everyone has different standards about cleanliness. The Westerners have different standards while we have different standards. How can you talk of different perceptions of hygiene. Even the poorest of the poor does not accept a dog pooing on his bed! Please do not include us in your cover up game. And stop blaming the weather, the stray dogs or God knows who!
And if that was not enough as I write these words the clean up is going on with impunity. And I do not refer to the cleaning of the Games village but to the removal of people’s livelihood. Yes businesses that have been operating for years are being razed if they happen to be on the route of a games event. You see they spoil the image! I wonder how people having tea at a tea stall or sipping a glass of juice at a juice stall spoil the image of a city. But then I guess I do not have the same principles of aesthetic as those in the seat of power.
Everything seems to be falling apart and I really do not see how it can all be put together again. Even God would be unable to do so but then God does not seem to be on your side, if he were maybe he would have at least stopped the rain.
As I watch all this in total bewilderment I am reminded of a rhyme I sing to my grandchild:
Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall,Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.All the King’s horses, And all the King’s menCouldn’t put Humpty together again!
Note: the commonwealth games are being inaugurated during the Pitr Paksha or Shraad – or days of the year dedicated to the dead – considered inauspicious. Wonder who decided on the dates.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Sep 21, 2010 | manu
I first dreamt of planet why more than a thousand nights ago! It was almost a magical moment where fact and fiction coalesced under the watchful eyes of a little prince. Like in all dreams everything was in the realm of the possible and I allowed the dream to seed first in my own mind and then in that of others. At that time planet why to me was: a happy place where those with no hope could seek not only refuge but find meaning, where no one’s children would study just like others, where skills would be taught, where days and would filled with laughter and happiness and childhoods would be reconquered with renewed assurance watched by my smiling little prince.
Please bear with me as I travel down memory lane and unravel this puzzle of dream and reality. The need for planet why stemmed from a complex web of emotions and feelings the biggest one being worry. As I watched project why grow and flourish I also started sensing its fragility as its existence was deeply entwined in mine. Many a times I imagined what would happen if I were to exit unexpectedly and what came to mind was indeed frightening. Would Manu have to roam the streets and rummage in dustbins for food? Would Utpal be compelled to leave school as no one would pay his fees? And where would would Champa, Anjali, Radha, Munna and their pals go? In those moments my blood would run cold and I would break in a cold sweat. I could not allow this to happen, pwhy had to live beyond me in some new avatar. The umbilical cord had to be severed. But how: that was the question. How would this dream become reality.
I did not know. I simply held on to my dream with both hands and all my heart. I could see the happy place and knew I had to make it happen. For a long time my dream lived in my mind. I use to conjure it at will and spend hours fine tuning it: I could see it live and thrive. And yet if dreams are to become reality you have to muster the courage to address the uncomfortable questions and the one that plagued me the most was how would my happy place sustain itself if I was not there to hold its hand. That is when my friend the God of lesser beings decided to enter my dream and lend a little help. It came in the form of a person telling me about how another dream had come true thousands of miles away. She told me about Cusco and the Ninos Hotel. Don’t ask me why but I knew that was the way to go. My happy place would not only be a home for my loved ones but also a guest house that would sustain it.
The dream became stronger. I would not only be able to help my lost souls but also ensure that pwhy lived on, albeit in a new manifestation. It was time to share the dream no matter how impossible it seemed. And I did and believe me it did not go down well initially. Many found it preposterous. But I persisted. Somehow I knew deep inside me that it was the right way to go. There were many false starts, times when we actually believed that dream would become reality but then it all came down like a house of cards leaving me hurting and bewildered but I held on to my dream even when it looked improbable to all and even if the hurt seemed too much to bear.
I guess the God of Lesser Beings must have taken pity on the old biddy as he sent one of his timely miracles and we were able to purchase a plot of land, making planet why shift from the realm of fantasy to that of reality. And the soon the rock pile ceased to be one as St Exupery’s words came back to me: A rock pile ceases to be a rock pile the moment a single man contemplates it, bearing within him the image of a cathedral . The next step was to secure funding to build my cathedral. Naively as always I copied what was written on my heart to paper and credulously believed that others would embrace my way. It sounded so simple. But then the world shook as markets tumbled. There was nothing one could do but watch helplessly and tuck away the dream in the recesses of ones’ mind before someone broke it.
Time passed. The fears returned as the fragility of pwhy became even more apparent with each new grey hair or creaking knee. I could not keep watching, I had to act. I prayed for another miracle but none was forthcoming. I shared my angst with the few I trusted seeking help. Some one suggested a more business like approach; candid and passionate appeals had no place in today’s hard hitting world. The proposal needed to be vetted, but all that cost money and we had none. But when all doors seemed closed, God does open a window. An Angel appeared and agreed to do the much needed feasibility study of planet why. What followed were weeks of nail biting and furious pacing. But the God of Lesser Beings decided to be extra benevolent and the study was completed and ended with the words: 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. This was sheer music to my ageing years. But it also meant that the dream needed to be actualised and the search for funds begin all over again. This was nothing short of terrifying. Would I be able to achieve this? I knew I had no choice and I also knew that the God of Lesser Beings would be with me. And moreover planet why would take time as no cathedral is built in a day! That meant that funds would be needed to carry on our daily work.
As I write these words, many the world over have come forward to hold my hand and help me make my dream come true. What we need is a huge miracle, is the God of Lesser Beings listening?
by Anuradha Bakshi | Sep 17, 2010 | commonwealth games, women centre
Brace your self.. it will be a rough ride. Life in Delhi till the ides of October will not quite be the same and we need to prepare for it. An article in today’s paper entitled Life will not be the same from Oct 3 spells out some of the trials and tribulations we the common citizens will face: if you plan to enter the city from one of the neighbouring states then be prepared to wait at the entry points and then if by any chance you need to travel on the hallowed routes where CWG guests will tread then be prepared for huge traffic snarls. You see you are only allowed to ply on half the road. In many cases there are only 2 lanes so you see what I mean. And should you dare venture on the reserved lane be prepared to pay a 2 K Rs fine! If you ride a bus then beware there will be 5000 less available to the likes of us. You can imagine what that means. The 3rd and 14th will be public holidays: they are the opening and closing day of the Games but don’t think you can spend them shopping: most shops will be closed. Schools and colleges will be closed so better think of ways to entertain your kids at home. Vegetable vendors, hawkers, tea stalls, cobblers, press wallahs et al will not be allowed to trade: do remember this!
This is what the article says but now let us elaborate a little. A friend dropped by this morning. She told me that a few of days back the couple who worked for her asked her for 400 rs. This was the money needed to get a Commonwealth permit, whatever that means, that would allow them to stay on during the Games. Two days later their basti – cluster of shanks- was raised to the ground and they were asked to return to their village. The 400 s bribe was of course lost. They had no option as they had nowhere to stay. My friend of course is busy washing clothes and dishes, and mopping her home notwithstanding her arthritic knees! Anyway I guess this plight will befall on many!
But that is not where it ends. I had decided long back that we would remain open during the Games! I did not see why our kids should be deprived of their time at the centre. Anyway with schools closed they would be running on the streets. Moreover we were not, or so I thought, on any of the hallowed roads. But to my horror I realised that one of the main roads we use to fetch the kids was a hallowed one. It was the road on which the Lohar camp was located and was the access to the shooting range. Anyway we were prepared for the worst and were working out alternatives. A few days back some parents from the women centre came to us and told us that they were moving back to the village for a month as with all the new stipulations they would not get any work and hence would not be able to earn and so would not be able to pay their rents. They did not even know if they would come back! I was speechless. That meant that some of our children would be denied education just because of the Games! This was worse than I had thought. But what could we do. Most of our parents are daily wage workers, or have tea stalls, vegetable carts etc. With no money how would they survive? The best option was to give up their rented homes and move back to the village. And if they did come back, there was no guarantee they would find a room to rent in the same location. That would mean that their kids would not come back to pwhy!
There was more. I just learnt that the vegetable wholesale market located close to us would be closed for the 15 days of the Games. This is where we buy our vegetables for home and for our foster care and different centres. Now that meant we would have to stock up and though it is tiresome, it is still possible. But this is only a tiny side of the problem. Read on. The wholesale market or subzi mandi as it is called, is where all the local vegetable vendors go every morning to buy what they then sell either on a cart or on the smaller markets.The closing of the mandi simply means that they will be unable to do so. This translates into the simple fact that there will be no vegetables available to those who cannot afford to hoard. This also means that the small vendors will be unable to earn anything. Moreover the mandi gives work to hordes of daily wagers who will go hungry or have to leave town. What a clever way to ensure that the poor leave the city, remember they are those who spoil the image!
Many of the poor, or those I call small entrepreneurs, be they the vegetable vendors, the tea stall owners, the corner samosa man etc will not be able to trade as either they would have been forcibly moved or they would not be able to access their raw material. I wonder what they will do. I guess go back to their villages or simply tighten their belt till it hurts and wait patiently and with the resilience only the poor have.
Many of the rich are also leaving the city for greener pastures. Others like us will simply try and survive till the ides of October. So help us God!
by Anuradha Bakshi | Sep 15, 2010 | commonwealth games
I thought that nothing could hurt, anger, sadden and enrage me more then the destruction of the homes of my Lohar friends courtesy the Commonwealth Games. But that was not to be. The next morning an article tucked away in the inside page of a leading newspaper bore this headline: Flood victims camping near Village to be moved soon. Needless to say I began to read and saw it referred to the destruction of a slum school on the river bed close to the d***** Games village, something that had been written about even in a leading British daily. To put things in context the flood plain of the Yamuna river, where the Games Village has been constructed in spite of much opposition, is home to many families from time immemorial. Normally when the monsoons come and the plain gets flooded, they move their meagre belongings and camp on the main road waiting for the waters to recede. This year however the rains have been abundant and the place waterlogged and not likely to dry up soon. Some days back the little school that had been set up for the children of these families was raised citing security as the reason for such an aberration. Wonder what threat a handful of slum kids studying in a school could pose? Now it has been decided by the powers that be that these families cannot move back into their homes, even if the water recede as the whole place has been sanitised for the Games. Infuriating enough, isn’t it?
Wait a little, this is still not what made me see red. The article also quotes an official of our city and I will reproduce the quote verbatim: The Yamuna is showing no signs of ebbing and water in the flooded areas will not go down till the river recedes. This timer however we cannot wait for the water to go down so that the residents are able to go back since that will pose a security threat, They also cannot be allowed to remain on the main road since they will spoil the image of the city we are trying to portray.
Enough is enough, at least for me. I wonder though how long will civil society take to finally react and express their outrage. That a school is destroyed presumably because it poses a security threat to a highly protected area is bad enough but that citizens of this city are branded as party poopers is shocking. The people the official mentions with such disdain and contempt probably helped build the games extravaganza or grow the vegetables you and I relish every day. Today they are branded as outcasts and have become non grata like the beggars, the roadside cobblers, the street vendors, the horse cart owners, in a word like all the little people who are the real heart and soul of our city. The official at least had the honesty to spout the truth: they spoil the image of the city that he and his ilk are trying to portray.
Off with their heads or let us brush them under the carpet have been the real motto of these Games. But how can one do away with reality. It is an accepted fact, even by the officials and their ilk, that over 40% of our country is poor. So I ask how much of them can you hide. And if you are so embarrassed by them, then why have you not done anything till now to better their lot starting with providing them let us say better housing, better schools, better health care. Need I remind you that they too are protected by the same Constitution as you, and enjoy the same rights. The school you destroyed had been set up by a farmer couple for the 200 odd kids of the area as the closest state run school was 3 kilometers away! The couple was simply restoring the usurped rights of these children.
They will spoil the image of the city we are trying to portray are words that I cannot swallow. Who is the they! The answer is simple it is over 40 % of our fellow country men. As an activist said in the mentioned article: The urban development model followed in Delhi is all about the entitlements of the rich and not the poor since it is heavily loaded in favour of the propertied and the salaried classes, before sarcastically adding: Those who do not own property have been completely excluded from Delhi’s Master Plan. Let me take the sarcasm further and ask whether we are reay and willing to iron our own clothes, wash our laundry, repair our fuse istead of rushing to call the local electrician and so on, because the they we are treating with such contempt are the very ones who make our lives easier! Where are we going, can anyone tell me?
by Anuradha Bakshi | Sep 13, 2010 | commonwealth games, women centre
Memory is a way of holding on to the things you love, the things you are, the things you never want to lose wrote Kevin Arnold. I was reminded of these words yesterday when I finally mustered the courage to go and see what was left of the homes of my dear Lohar friends. Nothing could have prepared me for what I saw: a desolate stretch of road strewed with the last vestiges of what once was a vibrant and happy place.
I walked along the remnants of over three decades of life of more than thirty families I had learnt to know, love and respect, careful not to tread on anything. You see I was privy to what the scattered plastic bags, the lone table and bed left in a hurry, the bits of cardboard that littered the ground, the broken pot, the bricks actually were. They were what remained of the trials and tribulations of a proud people who had valiantly refused to let go of their heritage. I could not hold the tears that poured unabashedly from my tired eyes. All that lay helter skelter on the ground was also past of 10 years of my own life.
There were things in this almost hallowed ground that I never wanted to lose. I sat on the lone discarded charpoy – rope strung bed – and let memories flood my mind. I remembered the day when I first visited the Lohar camp. I had come to meet the head of the clan in the hope that he would agree to our opening a small class for the children. I did not know what to expect. I was made to sit on a charpoy – was it the one I was sitting on today? – and a few minutes later a diminutive man came and sat next to me and asked me what I wanted. I looked into his eyes and was immediately touched by the gentleness and serenity that emanated from him. He was the tallest small man I had ever met! The rest is history: we began our classes the very next day. There was no real reason for my coming to the camp again but that was not to be. For the next months, years and more I found myself coming back with almost obsessive regularity.
Whenever I had a problem that plagued me or felt under the weather and in need of a shot of optimism, I found myself walking to the Lohar camp and spending time with Tau and his people. Very soon they knew I did not drink fizzy drinks but had my tea black, and before I could even catch my breath a warm syrupy glass of black tea was in my hand. We talked of everything and nothing and got to know and respect each other in no time. I always found answers to my concerns and they shared their angst. And that is how I came to know about their plight and how they had been let down by the authorities. Soon we were ready to file our PIL in Court. I remember the day when the matter came up for admission. I had been too chicken to go to Court and had decided to wait for the outcome at the Camp with Tau. As I paced up and down, Tau came up to me and told me to stop worrying. Had they not waited for 400 years, they would for a few more if need be. I was stunned. How could anyone have such resilience in the wake of so much abuse. I must admit I felt very small.
I remember the day when I had taken Tau to the Habitat Centre for a conference on nomadic tribes. As we walked towards the hall, there was another meet going on. Tau asked me what it was and I told him it was a talk on the existence of God. He looked at me with a bemused smile and said agar hum hain to woh hai, agar hum nahin to woh kahan – if we exist then so does He, and we do not then how can He -. I was speechless. What a beautiful and logical way of resolving the age old debate of God’s existence! Wished Tau could have been a speaker at the very upmarket talk. I could go on about the moments spent with Tau, he puffing on his hookah a benign smile on his wizened face, his eyes filled with tender concern, and me rattling on about my problems which in hindsight seem so inconsequential. He would sometimes say something but most of the times just being able to pour out all my angst was enough to make me come alive.
So many memories crowd my hurting mind as I walk this desolate road. And no just of Tau but of so many others. How can I forget little Ritu, a bonny three year old with a mop of curly hair, a burnt copper complexion and two huge eyes that twinkled all the time. She was our little guide when anyone came visiting. All I had to tell her was to show her house and she would take the person’s hand in her little chubby one and march off in the direction of her home which was the last tent on the far side of the camp. When she reached her tent she would enter it with aplomb and then with an almost regal gesture proclaim yeh hai – this is it – as if she was showing a palace. She would then ask you to sit on the bed and march off looking for her mom. Soon the tent would be full of neighbours and the inevitable bottle of coke would appear from nowhere. Such was the generosity of this proud people.
Then there was Geeta and Sarika our two creche teachers. They were so beautiful that it took your breath away and made you remember all the tales about the beauty of Gypsy women. What never ceased to amaze me was the fact that they and all the other young girls of the camp were always impeccably turned out, their hands and toe nails painted bright and never chipped. Now imagine achieving this when you live on the street with no running water and in the midst of coal dust and car fumes. Quite a feat! But that was not all, each of these waif like women were able to beat iron wielding a hammer so heavy that you would barely be able to lift it off the ground. They did that with such grace that it almost looked like the steps of an intricate ballet. I often looked at my shabby self and wished I too was born with such grace.
As I stepped across a broken chullah – earth stove – I could almost smell the aroma of the hand slapped rotis – bread – that I had so often shared with the ladies. I must admit I was so fond of them that I timed my visits accordingly. But it was not just the rotis that enticed me, but the women themselves as they were true free spirits and it was always a delight to spend time with them. We laughed and giggled as old friends would and I realised that we were so alike. I could go on about my Lohar friends but it hurts too much. Soon the last remains of their lives will be blown by the wind or simply swept away to make the stretch of road worthy of the passing glance of the Commonwealth Games participants’ cavalcade. I wonder how anyone would have been disturbed by the sight of women beating iron or selling their ware, children playing around or wizend men quitely smoking their hookas in the shade. But the powers that are, know better I guess. To me though the Lohars are a tiny bit of India we can truly be proud of and not desperate to hide away.
I miss my friends.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Sep 7, 2010 | Uncategorized
Delhi is getting a face lift courtesy the games! But there is a rider: only certain parts are being dolled out, the ones where the hallowed feet of the foreign guests will tread. And by the way during the games auto rickshaws will not be allowed to ply on certain routes. There goes our preferred and only mode of transport. Guess what: we will be grounded! That is not all during the games we common citizens will only be allowed to use half a road! There are even rumours that the dreaded section 144 – Joining unlawful assembly armed with deadly weapon – may be imposed on the lane reserved for the Games. Needless to say many are up in arms! For the state the Games are nothing less than a war that needs to be fought and won. Wonder who the enemy is? Let me try and guess: it is we, humble mortals, who still have a heart that beats in the right place and a modicum of honesty left.
I started writing about the Games way back in 2008 when the first slums began getting relocated and kept on writing trying to highlight the issues – the end of street food, the construction of the village on the flood plain of the Yamuna, the end of horse carts, flower markets, the wishing away of beggars, the obliteration of the poor, the multiple aberrations that spelt doom for those who were born on the wrong side of the fence. I wrote about the child labour on sites, the abysmal living conditions of the workers, the plight of beggars and so on. I guess I am who I am and what mattered to me was the terrible human tragedy that was slowly unfolding in front of our helpless eyes. The final blow came with the destruction of the homes of my dear Lohar friends. The sense of loss was indescribable.
Along way came the news of corruption and boy it was a big one. The crores spent on balloons, toilet paper, loos et al. It was comforting to see that many took up the cudgels and added their voice to mine. And then the Gods too lend their hand: it rained like never before and in a city dug to the hilt the dreaded Aedes mosquito proliferated and dengue invited itself to the Games. Wonder whether our masters of corruption will be able to bribe the beast? Maybe for once they will meet their nemesis. I believe special insecticides are being flown from other lands to stop the menace. Needless to say all the spraying is being done in places where the games guest will abide. In the rest of the city people are coping with dengue as best they can. As for the rains I guess soon yagnas and prayers will begin in earnest to appease the rain Gods, But who will appease the Gods of lesser beings?
The games are around the corner. The 60 crores balloon is up in the air, a stark reminder of days to come. We all need to survive the next 30 days as best we can. There is no joy in our hearts, how can their be…
As Neruda wrote… come and see the blood on our streets!
by Anuradha Bakshi | Sep 6, 2010 | manu, okhla, women centre
Aren’t you too old to take up a new challenge like Planet Why? What difference does your work really make in a country with 1.3 billion? Why should the world care, everyone has got a lot of problems of his own? Do you think you will change the world? These are some of the questions I have been asked to answer for forthcoming interview. As I sat pondering over how I would answer these, I found myself taking stock of what I could best sum up as my life!
If I were to answers these questions with one liners they would go like this: I am old but I do not think I am too old; have you heard of the ripple effect; because we have been given the gift to care; not the world but maybe one life. Anyway I will find the right answers when needed but for the moment I need as I said to review the decade gone by.
Rewind to 2000 and the scorching day in May when I first lay eyes on Manu. Something happened on that day. It was as if I had been shaken out of a long slumber and made to come alive. At that instant it was not the about 1.3 billion people but just one lost soul whose dignity had been usurped and needed to be restored. And hence began the journey many of you know as pwhy! Why should I have cared. I do not know, I only knew that I had no choice. And funnily all my own problems paled and almost vanished. It was not a matter of changing the world but of changing one life, that of Manu. The ball was rolling..
And over the years it has been a saga of trying to make a difference, caring and changing lives and above all knowing that there was no other option. Manu’s morrows needed to be secured and to do that pwhy saw the light of day. From a small spoken English class of 40 to a family of over 700 it was all a matter of making a difference and changing lives.
Fast forward to 2010. Let me tell you what we look like today. Manu now lives in his own home, sleeps in a bed and not on the street, shares his meals around a dining table with his two roomies, and though is health is not as good as we would want it to be, he is happy and safe. His classmates too are a happy lot and spend the day in our day care centre where they are respected and loved. After countless moves often prompted by factors beyond our control we have settled in a tiny lane in Govindpuri. There about 80 pre-schoolers, most from extremely deprived homes attend our early education programme. 50 primary children get after school support and even computer classes. Thrice a week a bunch of hearing impaired children come in for extra tuition and on the remaining days of the week women from the vicinity come for sewing classes.
A few kilometers away tucked in the middle of a reclaimed garbage dump in the middle of an industrial area is our Okhla centre. I cannot forget the day when it was set up by two incredible women fighting all odds walls broken in the name of love or battling the local goons. But nothing deterred us and we soldiered on. Today the Okhla centre has over 200 children from class I to IX, yes we now have a secondary section there and that is not all, the centre boasts of a tiny computer centre too! And there is more: from January this year the children have spoken English classes as part of our what I would call ‘brave’ Focus on Quality Programme. I must admit all this makes me incredibly proud!
Across the railway line, just a short kilometer away, is our women centre. There over 300 children from class I to X come and learn. They too have a spoken English teacher and a computer centre and a library! But there is more: over 60 women attend the sewing and beauty classes held each day and a new adult education class for illiterate women was inaugurated last month. It is heartwarming to know that many of the women who have obtained their certificates are now gainfully employed. Way to go, is’nt it?
But that is not all. I forgot to tell you about our main computer centre that is open to the community and that has helped many get better jobs and our senior secondary section that has never known failure as every student has passed his or her school leaving examinations. And how can one overlook the pictures of the 16 children whose open heart surgeries we sponsored that adorn the wall of our tiny office.
Pwhy also has its library a real dream come true, and even a cine club! Wow is all I can say. Funny that it is only when I decide to write about pwhy that I am able to fathom its reach and needless to say I am filled with a sense of pride and deep gratitude.
But the feel good factor lasts but a moment as I realise the fragility of pwhy. I become painfully aware of my age and of the fact that time is running out. But the sense of helplessness is soon replaced by the determination to ensure that pwhy becomes sustainable and is able to fly on its own wings. In other words this means the setting up of planet why. As many of you know we have the land and now even have a feasibility study done by professionals that concludes that the project is viable and sound.
The sum we seek is astronomical to say the least though many feel it is no big deal. My mission now is to raise it come what may. Ten years of passion cannot go to waste. So help me God!
by Anuradha Bakshi | Sep 1, 2010 | Uncategorized
The book sat on my shelf for many weeks. It had been written by a friend I admire. I had been meaning to read it but somehow never found the time or hindsight I think that the right moment had not dawned. It did today a day after all the hullabaloo on the grain wastage that rocked our Parliament yesterday. Finally an outrage on the unbelievable amount of grains rotting whilst children die every day for want of food.
Her account on the plight of the Sahariya tribe where children die of hunger by the hour is heart wrenching. She writes: I have been thinking ever since. About comments from administration officials on the Sahariya ‘culture’ of dying. About pregnant women who chew bits of gum plucked of gum trees trying to kill hunger pangs. About women who have not eaten for three days giving birth alone in dark hovels, knowing their breasts are dry. About the dismissive assistant in the nutritional rehabilitation center who said that Sahariya women hardly deserve the state’s help, because they smoke beedis. About Lakshmi, and how she was lighter than my purse. About a state that promises handouts to a group of people who are clearly on the brink, and then fails to deliver. Is this what you call being squeezed off the map?
Squeezed out of the map. The words struck a painful chord. Is this not what is happening not only to he Sahariyas but to everyone born on the other side of an invisible fence. It seems that our state is squeezing them off the map. True that this very State has fab sounding programmes designed to help the poor, alleviate hunger, send children to school and more but this is all a wily and insidious head fake: you see these programmes are actually meant to line bottomless pockets!
But let us get back to yesterday and the rotting grain saga. Why does it take a supreme court order for our rulers and administrators to realise that grains should not be left to rot and is better given to those who are hungry. Do you have to be a rocket scientist to know that grain left outside will eventually rot? Now those in power are busy quibbling about semantics between the word suggestion and order while more grain is rotting. And why does the Minister have to have the order in hand to begin to act. It was also revealed in a debate on TV that in Punjab granaries are full of perfectly edible rice but that this is not being given to the poor as it is 6 and not 5 % broken and rules cannot be broken. If nothing is done then where will the new crop go. You guessed right in the open and allowed to rot and a child will die of hunger every 8.7804 minute. It is all a matter of squeezing them off the map. No one seems to care.
This squeeze game is being played out surreptitiously in front of our eyes but we seem to have lots the capacity to see. Promises are made and never delivered. The squeeze game is in full swing each time someone loses his livelihood, when a family loses its home and the promised one never materialises: the list is endless. And to be part of this game you just have to be born on the other side of the fence. There is no winner or loser, the aim is simply to squeeze out whoever gets in the way and there are no rules, anything goes.
You want to build a factory, you squeeze out those who live on the land you covet, you want to beautify your city you squeeze out those who live on the place you need, you want to build a parking lot, a mall, you squeeze out part of a school and so on.
So the grain will not reach the poor because they need to be squeezed out. Pulling them on to the other side is not part of the game. I wish it were.
Note: The book I refer too is Known Turf by Annie Zaidi. Do read it.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Aug 29, 2010 | Uncategorized
Our Chief Minister is now praying for the success of the games and urges to pray too. And what should we pray for? I only keep praying that we won’t let the country down says she. But dear lady who is the we, kindly don’t include us common citizens as we have not let the country down.
A befitting answer to her plea was given by author Chetan Bhagat in an article entitled Please don’t cheer for the 2010 loot-fest. Do read the article. It echoes much of what many of us feel. He writes: The CWG is an amazing opportunity because all Indians have been robbed at the same time. Add to that the fact that the government is desperate to save face. Now is when we can get them. And the way to do it is simply what the father of our nation pioneered in his time — non-cooperation. Yes, and i’ve deliberated long before saying this — do not watch these Games.
But let us get back to the prayers we have been solicited to offer by none other than the CEO of our city. What do you want us to pray for I ask again? For the success of what can best be termed as the most obnoxious display of corruption. For the success of the best example of mismanagement. For having frittered away our heard earned money? For the years we will have to toil to pay for your misdeeds? Do I have to pray for what you call national pride when the whole world is laughing at us? Do we have to pray for the rains to stop and the mosquitoes to vanish so that the corrupt Games can have their place in the sun?
You say we all have to pray for the success of the Games. I wonder who is this we! The ones who lost their homes and jobs? The ones who sleep hungry or die for want of a proper meal? The ones who fight each day simply to survive? I am at a loss.
Yes I will pray Ma’am but not for the success of the Games. I will pray in the hope that no child ever sleeps hungry in my country, that every one has a roof on his head, that every child goes to school. I will pray for the Heaven of Freedom that Tagore dreamt of. But I will not just pray I will continue to do my tiny bit to ensure that one day this does happen.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Aug 28, 2010 | commonwealth games
The day did dawn. The lohar camp was raised to the ground courtesy the commonwealth games. And this time we knew it would not be allowed to be rebuilt no matter how large the tithe. The camp had been in existence for over 35 years. Over time it had acquired what we could rightly call civic recognition: a postal address – Maharaha Pratap Camp -, ration cards and voter’s ID card for all its inhabitants, electricity etc. Over the years promises were made by all and sundry – politicians, social do gooders, administrators – that the camp would be relocated and its inhabitants given proper plots with space to carry on their trade. Let us not forget that these are nomads and nomads were promised rehabilitation by none other than our first Prime Minister. I would also like to add that in most other states they have been properly rehabilitated.
For the past 35 years they have lived in this camp. Children are born, they grow up and get married and have their own families. Sanjay and Vicky both teachers at project why were born in this very camp. Over the past 35 years their camp has been raised regularly and then allowed to be rebuilt after payment of an adequate bribe. It was almost a game that we too have watched from the wings helplessly as for almost five years we ran a small creche and primary outreach and got to know and admire this proud clan.
A few years back the head of the clan affectionately known as Tau – elder uncle – brought some papers to me. These were bits and pieces of a file, very official looking with green sheets and heaps of bureaucratic notings by senior officials. A quick look at the papers showed that a rehabilitation plan had been mooted and surveys done. The Lohars of Delhi should have got their place in the sun. But that was not to be. The plan got hijacked probably by land mafias as is always the case and the Lohars remained where they were. We decided to do something and try we did! A PIL was filed in the High Court and a case was also filed with the National Human Rights Commission. Had not the rights of these proud souls been hijacked with impunity. They had been used and abused by all and sundry: hungry politicians prowling for new vote banks, uncaring bureaucrats, greedy land grabbers and so on. No one seemed to care.
The Lohars continued to live with their head held high refusing to give up, their legendary resilience intact watching impassibly the will it won’t it game that was enacted in front of their tiring eyes. And somehow each time we thought the game was over, some extra time was doled out to meet some new wily agenda. Till yesterday when the final blow was dealt courtesy the commonwealth games and the tiny camp was finally destroyed forever. Our Lohar friends are now scattered all over this uncaring and insensitive city.
I will miss them. Over the years I had learnt to love and respect this proud people. I often found myself walking to their camp whenever I felt in need of a shot of optimism. I would spend hours over cups of tea talking to Tau and imbibing his age old wisdom. I would watch the beautiful children playing in the dust breathing the fumes of the cars revving up at the red light. Were they not children of Indian born with the same rights as others, then who had usurped and hijacked their rights! What could one do. The PIL in court was lost in translation.
Sanjay and Vicky have not come to the centre for the past few days. They are busy picking up the pieces of their shattered life and building a new one. I know they will succeed as they have the wisdom of the gypsies in their veins. I cannot begin to imagine what it feels like to have your home and life destroyed in front of your helpless eyes. I just feel angry and sad at the way those in power play with innocent souls and ultimately always win. Is this the India our freedom fighters fought and died for? I just think we have let them down. Is there a way out. I do not know.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Aug 26, 2010 | Uncategorized
How can we forget that for Rs 28,000 crore we could have established primary schools and health centres in tens of thousands of villages? Can we ignore this splurge the next time a malnourished child looks at us in the eye? writes Azim Premji in today’s morning paper. I have been saying this for quite some time. I hope that when an eminent personality echoes the same it would be heard. Then why do I have the uncanny feeling that it will not.
I fell of my chair when I heard a Member of Parliament and also an industrialist state on National TV that 80 000 Rs a month salary was no big deal! This was in the course of a debate on the raise in salaries for Parliamentarians. The MP felt that 80K a month was not such a big salary and wondered why it was being made into such an issue. I would like to remind our esteemed MP that the present minimum wage is about 5000 Rs a month and many across our country do not earn even that. According to recent statistics over 37.2 % of Indians live below the poverty line and 5000 children still die of malnutrition every day.
The question is not whether one should or should not hold international events. The question is one of priorities. And these seem to be totally skewed. But then we are missing the point: such events are wonderful ways of making money and these Games have given us ample proof of that. What is worrying however is the total lack of concern of those in power for what I call the other India. It almost seems as if for them it does not exist. Though if you care to look, it is at our very doorstep. Be it the malnourished child who taps on your car window, or the poor labourer toiling under the rain to meet some new impossible deadline.
The Games are an eye opener to all that is wrong in India. Anyone can see that but we seem to have lost our ability to do that. We are too inured, or perhaps too ensconced in our self created catatonia and unable to move when we should be screaming. If at nothing else than at least at the helium balloon hired at the cost of 40 crores for the opening ceremony, mind you in case you use it for the closing ceremony then you pay more! And let me remind you lest you have forgotten it is you and I and our children who will toil a lifetime to foot the bill. Yes I said let us at least scream at this wasteful expense as we seem to have lost our ability to do so when hundreds of thousands have lost their homes, their livelihood and more.
I have now words left.. I will simply quote Mr Premji again. He ends his article with the following: At times like these, it will serve our leaders well to recall Gandhiji’s talisman: “Recall the face of the poorest and the weakest man whom you may have seen, and ask yourself if the step you contemplate is going to be of any use to him. Will he gain anything by it? Will it restore him to a control over his own life and destiny? In other words, will it lead to Swaraj for the hungry and spiritually starving millions?”
Is anyone listening?
by Anuradha Bakshi | Aug 23, 2010 | women centre
Volunteers are an intrinsic part of pwhy. They come from all corners of the world, from the most unexpected places: Senegal, Azerbaijan, Turkey, UK, USA, France, Spain, Singapore, Canada, Sweden. They have one common denominator: their love for project why and their conviction about our work. They spend a few days, a few weeks or even a few months and when they go, they leave a little of themselves in each one of us. They are undoubtedly a very important part of our success.
For the past four years now we have had volunteers from Cambridge University and this year it was Steve, better known as Steve Bhaiya!
I remember the day he landed in our world. It was incredibly hot and his flight was meant to land at 11 am so we expected him around 1pm. The plan was to have him wash up, have a cool drink and then send him to the women centre where we had planned to have him volunteer for the next two months. Steve arrived at my door at around 2pm. He had been stuck in traffic jams and was looking miserably hot. I was immediately charmed by his gentle and warm voice and his heartwarming smile. I asked him whether he wanted to rest or would be agreeable to go straight to work! He agreed to the later and hence began Steve’s tryst with our women centre.
Let us fast forward to two months later. Departure time has come. For the past week Steve has been trying to tell his students that he had to go back to his country and to say the least the news was far from welcome. The no, please dont’ go, stay here, when are you coming back abounded all expressed in the English Steve had painstakingly taught our primary students during two whole months. And every one’s feelings were summed up in Kajal’s words when she said: were are so grateful because that you all the way over from England just to help us. She somehow echoed what I would like to say to him.
You may ask what Steve did during these months. His meticulous blog gives an account of his weeks with us and I must confess I enjoyed reading it as it gave me a insight into our work seen through someone else’s eyes. I of course had only second hand knowledge of his work. As luck would have it, Steve came at a time when our spoken English teacher had taken long leave of absence and we were in a quandary about how we would manage. The pupils in question were those of classes II to V and a lively lot at that. But Steve was not one to be deterred and took the task head on. 128 primary kids divided in 4 groups was quite a handful for anyone but Steve did a super job. Everyone was impressed. I use to get bribes of the going ons either by our coordinator or by Steve himself. I was told about the small pranks, the occasional mischief and antics but also about the incredible progress the children made under Steve’s guidance. I was pleasantly surprised to learn that even the parents felt that their children were learning English. This was a huge moment for me as how could I forget the very first words uttered to me well before it all began: teach our children English. It had taken a young college rugby player and stellar student to do that. Hats off to him.
But there was another side of Steve, one I have the privilege to be privy to quite inadvertently. It was a Saturday morning and Steve’s day off. We on the other hand were all set to take little Manisha to boarding school. We had all gathered in the kitchen of my home and were waiting for the car when Steve came down for a late breakfast. On hearing that we were off to the boarding school he decided to come along, breakfast forgotten. It was a memorable day in more ways than one. Steve truly liked the school and was even treated to a spot of colonial spin off as he was feted by the house master who fell backwards to please him. We all had a merry laugh though in hindsight Steve felt a little sheepish. That day I saw another side of Steve one that I can only sum up with a reference to my favourite book the Little Prince: Steve knew the fox’s secret and saw with his heart. In the weeks to come Steve was to visit the boarding school twice: once on PTM day, and on Independence Day where he was even seated on the VVIP sofa! Each time was special for him and us.
During his two months with us, I have had the occasion to share my thoughts, dreams, fears, angst and more with Steve. He always listened and strangely made me feel better as he managed to chase my blues and fill me with quiet optimism. I deeply value the moments we spent together.
Soon Steve will leave India leaving fond memories in our hearts. The children will stay in touch thanks to the web camera he gave them as a parting gift. I, on the other hand will find myself browsing photographs and remembering this very special volunteer.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Aug 20, 2010 | commonwealth games
Sanjay did not come to the project yesterday. The reason: an eviction notice by the Municipality. Sanjay is a Lohar who lives in what is known as the Maharana Pratap Camp but is actually a motley assortment of 40 ramshackle tenements made of plastic sheets and tarpaulin. The Camp has been in existence for 3o years and Sanjay was born there and for the last 30 years there have been innumerable evictions notices. Along the way the camp gained respectability and recognition with a postal address and voter Id cards for its residents: you see they were after all a sizable vote bank. As for the eviction notices, they were warded away with a few coins. It was almost a game being played to perfection, with every protagonist playing its role faultlessly. This by the way is a play running in many locations across our city. However this time there was a new entrant in the plot: the Commonwealth Games and it seemed that this time the denouement could be different.
Sanjay to say the least was definitely worried. Would this eviction be for real? The red letter day dawned and passed. A hurried visit to the local politicos revealed that perhaps the camp would be saved and the ludicrous idea of hiding it, the one mooted by our Chief Secretary, be enforced. The camp would be hidden not behind bamboo screens as once thought, but behind some kind of screen, maybe even publicity ones to rake in more moolah! The jury is still out on this one.
This incident raises once again the question of our attitude towards what we call, for want of a better word, the poor. With the advent of the Games this attitude has come out of the closet and is out in the open. We are ashamed of our poor and yet unable or rather unwilling to address the situation and find lasting solutions. We just want to brush the problem under the carpet and hope it goes away.
A TV show aired yesterday tried to debate the issue. Sadly most participants did not get down to addressing the real issue but simply tried to defend their position rather unconvincingly. The debate was on the lack of concern of the middle class towards what was termed as the other India. It actually became a weak defense on the said lack of concern. This is the sad reality. We have lost our heart and soul in our quest for riches. Yet we forget that to acquire these very riches we need the other India be it to construct our new homes and malls or simply to make our every day life easier and better.
The question that begs to be asked is how long will the other India remain silent? How long are we going to simply ignore the facts that glare at us: children dying of malnutrition, people living in inhumane conditions, farmers committing suicide: the list is endless. It is time we addressed these issues if we want our good times to continue. As one participant tried to say: we need to empower the poor and we need to do it now.
The last few weeks have been replete with stories of corruption in the CWG. Yet nothing much was said about the people who lost their homes and livelihood, about the children who worked on construction sites, about the labourers who lost their lives. They do not make news. Nor does Sanjay and his kin. They may lose their homes or may be hidden behind a screen as we are too embarrassed to accept their existence. And after the games the screens will be removed and the eviction game will resume after a brief interruption.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Aug 19, 2010 | Uncategorized
Today, almost every child in our country has access to primary education. It is our endeavour that every child, irrespective of whether he is rich or poor and which section of the society he belongs to, should be given an education that enables him to realize his potential and makes him a responsible citizen of our country. These words were part of the Prime Minister’s address from the ramparts of the Red Fort on India 63rd Independence day.
How I wish this were true! Sadly it is not so.
Allow me to share a story with you, one that is true. It happened on August 14th 2010, just a day before our Prime Minister delivered his speech. We had gone to the I Day celebrations of the children’s boarding school to be part of the festivities which were to end with the launch of a Literacy programme in a nearby slum cluster. We were very excited as this is the very area where God willing planet why will one day be seated. The rain Gods were bountiful on that cloudy morning and by the time we reached the slum cluster it was pouring the proverbial cats and dogs. The programme was to be launched in the tiny roofless community centre of the cluster where a small tent had been erected.
A few days earlier someone had visited the cluster and made a list of children interested in joining the programme. The names of around 40 children figured on that piece of paper and they were to receive a small token: a notebook and some pencils in a smart plastic folder. The show began. The flimsy tent was not able to hold the rain and soon the piece of paper was soaked and the names washed away. This was almost providential as we soon realised that there were not 40 but hundreds of children in the small tent with the same amount outside. Children of all ages. I was moved to tears when a young girl, about 16 or so, who looked married also held out her hand and said she too wanted to study! The books and pencils were soon outnumbered by the little hands held out in anticipation.
I moved away and started talking to the parents. I was soon told that most of the children did not go to school though the parents were keen they do. The reason :the sole municipal school in the vicinity had more than 100 kids in each class and even an illiterate parent was aware of the fact that no learning could happen in such abysmal conditions. Children passed from class to class without any learning! This was the situation a day before the PM’s speech just a few kilometers away for the Red Fort. Where was the access to primary education the PM announced with such confidence. Was this the way Independant India hoped children would realise their potential and become responsible citizens!
There is a universe of difference between what is on paper and the reality on the ground Mr Prime Minister. The children of your own capital city do not have access to education, let alone quality education and nothing seems to be really happening. It is time we did something. I do not know whether you will, but we at pwhy certainly will.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Aug 16, 2010 | Uncategorized
I was recently asked by a friend to make a selection of my blogs as he wanted to publish them in a a small ebook. I must candidly admit that I was thrilled. He also mentioned that maybe I should chose those where I talk of the God of lesser beings. There are over 1200 blogs and I did not quite know where to begin so the suggestion was more than welcome. My blogs are like children to me, some perhaps smarter, better looking and nicer than the other, but each one as precious. Thanks to the wonderful search tool I was able to zero in on the blogs in a jiffy. As I started sifting through them a smile on my lips, I began to wonder how, when and why the God of Lesser beings had come into my life and who he or she actually was.
I realised that there were moments in my last ten years when everything went suddenly dark for more reasons than one: it could be the total lack of funds that made me wonder how the next day would dawn, or the helplessness of a parent who needed help to save her dying child; or an absolutely incomprehensible and terrible situation that needed a solution that was not forthcoming. In those moments I needed help and had no one to turn and yet felt deep inside that there was somehow out there I could reach out to, someone who would rescue me. There were also times when I felt lost and dejected and ready to give up. At those times I needed someone to steer me back and give me the courage to carry on. And believe me there was someone who again heard and sent a miracle my way. But I never knew who it was.
One day little Utpal romped around the house a God mask on his face stating he was Hamoumam! At that instant I realised that he was the one who helped me, the God of Lesser beings, the one little boys prayed to and the one that heard prayers forbidding Gos did not, the one who did not need to be propitiated with costly offerings and complex rituals. The one who only heard those who saw with their hearts.
He has been the one who has walked by my side each and every day for the past ten years and has strangely become the only God I pray to!
by Anuradha Bakshi | Aug 15, 2010 | God of lesser beings
There is a post waiting to be published but I have decided to hold on to it, maybe till just tomorrow, as I wanted today’s post to be one of celebration and joy and the post I refer to was to borrow the words of a friend the kind that drives one to utter despair. But today is Independence day and in spite of everything, it is a day we need to honour. I must admit that two days back I would have been at a complete loss to find something to share with you but the God of Lesser beings decided otherwise and gifted me another perfect day.
Normally Independence day and other such celebrations are closed door affairs in the children’s boarding school but this year the school decided to launch a Literacy Mission in the slums near the school and were graceful enough to ask us to associate ourselves with them. The mission was to be launched after the I day school festivities. We were on cloud nine as this is the very area where Planet Why was to be located. And I must admit to be privy to what happens in school on days where parents are not allowed was indeed a rare treat.
The day was cloudy and humid but we were hoping and against hope that the rains would not play spoil sport. We reached bright and early and were greeted by a walk of honour where children held little flags and wished us Happy I Day! Utpal was one of them and I was terribly proud to see him smile and wave his little flag. We were then escorted to the tent where the show would take place. I must admit that I was a little weary as I wondered how long we would have to wait for the proverbial chief guest. We were seated on the front row making us sort of VIPs! A short while later a young student came to ask us to come for the flag hoisting and we knew the real VVIPs had arrived. The flag was hoisted as the school band played the national anthem and then there was a march past.
Once we were again seated the show began. I must again admit that I was on the look out for our kids and wondered when they would appear on stage. We had seen some of them all dressed up and were eager to see them perform. There were a few items by the older children and then it was time for the little ones and there they were Aditya, Meher, Yash and little Manisha who had been in school for barely a month. They performed what is called an action song to perfection and my eyes misted – as they always seem to do in such occasions – as I watched them dance and sing. It was a touching petition to God and I think that the God of Lesser beings was moved too as the heavens opened and it started pouring. The tent came down and every one ran for cover. My heart stopped. What would happen now. What about all the kids who had not performed yet. I dared not ask, too scared of the answer I may receive. I just waited with bated breath for what would happen next.
We were soon asked to move to the Principal’s room where the customary ‘refreshment’ was hurriedly served. There was tea and cold drinks and an array of eats. Then some time later as we were still guessing what would happen next the good news: the show was to continue in the dining hall. I was truly impressed by the speed at which everything had been reorganised. The show as the young MC said must go on! Babli danced in a lively number on national integration and Vicky was part of an enthralling yoga display. A few more songs and a great performance by the school band closed the show. There were a few speeches and then it was time to go. But the day was not quite over as the school had planned to launch its literacy mission on that day.
It was still raining but we were all very excited. The school had identified a nearby slum cluster and children and parents were waiting in spite of the pelting rain. A distribution of pens and notebooks had been planned but soon we realised that there were far more children then notebooks! The number of children was overwhelming and each one wanted to be part of the programme. Parents were eager too as the only municipal school in the vicinity did not really seem to be working as there were more then 80 kids in each class and not much teaching, and many children just did not go to school.
The literacy programme envisaged by the school was to be held on week ends when students would come and teach their little underprivileged peers. It was undoubtedly a great idea but we knew from past experience that much more was required. What was needed was an outreach programme like the ones we ran and I knew what had to be done. We had to start one as soon a possible. My mind went on overdrive trying to work out the logistics: how to start, when to begin etc. And as innumerable thoughts crowded my mind the rain stopped and the sun came out and somehow I felt that the God of Lesser Beings smiling.
I had been given my very special I day gift, one that showed me that for me the show was no way near over.
Last week was PTM time and boy I needed it as this is the only time when I get off my spinning planet and catch my breath. The day dawned dark and cloudy. The rains were imminent but that did not lessen our enthusiasm though we were apprehensive of traffic snarls. We set off early. Agastya my grandchild was with us. That made the day even more special. We of course had not forgotten all the goodies that the children has demanded: cookies, biscuits, chocolates and of course the pizzas!
On the way Agastya made new friends, two being class XII students. Quite a charmer! It was then time to go to the hostel and meet Dolly Ma’am the housemother. We would also be able to unpack the goodies all the children were waiting for. I decided to rest my bones and sit with Dolly whilst the kids ate their pizza. The rest of the goodies was to be handed over for later.It was lovely to see them all looking so happy. Agastya had taken his cars out and soon everyone was on the floor playing with the cars. Dolly briefed me on the children and most got glowing reports: Babli was very well behaved, Meher was the little granny, Manisha was now well settled, Yash was still a holy terror, and the boys were just that boys! Dolly also shared how Manisha ate a lot, I guess she was making up for years of want now that she was in the land of the plenty. I did realise she had put on quite a lot of weight. I sat for along time taking all this in and savouring the moment. This was a dream come true. I wish I could have given this chance to many more. This was what each and every child born in the country deserved.
