by Anuradha Bakshi | Jul 18, 2010 | commonwealth games
Courtesy the Commonwealth Games, Delhi India’s capital city is going to have 300 Heritage Toilets, whatever that means. Each will cost 1 crore (10 million) rupees. Of course, the municipal corporation is quick to add that these loos will be seven star and better than those in any five star hotel.
A recent article in a leading weekly highlights the abysmal state of public toilets in India. There are still places where women have to walk miles in the dark to relieve themselves. Girls drop out of schools because of the lack of toilets, and women from all walks of life master the art of holding on. I remember doing that too many a time. The article goes on to say that girls are now are making toilets an essential demand to a marriage proposal. I wonder how many no star loos could have been built with ten million times three hundred!
The Commonwealth Games seems to be the playground of the rich. The poor, even if they are over 50% of the population, are not welcome. A leading NGO has published a report on the games. I urge you to read it (available as PDF at the bottom of the link). The Games seem to have violated every right enshrined in our Constitution. Over 200 000 people – men, women and children have already been evicted and as I write these words, 44 slums will be demolished and 40 000 families rendered homeless to beautify the city!
Need I say more!
by Anuradha Bakshi | Jul 17, 2010 | Uncategorized
You can’t live a perfect day without doing something for someone who will never be able to repay you wrote John Wooden. Yesterday was one such day. We were taking Manisha to boarding school. Manisha had spent the night at the foster care and was ready early morning, her little bag in tow. She was quiet though a little perplexed. I wondered what was going on in her little mind.
We were a little late and had to set off in a hurry. There were four adults and the tiny tiny girl. She sat in silence throughout the journey. When we reached school she followed in silence and sat in the office waiting for the next step. Soon it was time to write her entrance test and she did to the best of her ability. You must remember that this little girl’s world was till now restricted to a tiny hovel in a slum and to project why. And here she was today in a strange place, one larger than anything she had ever seen, one filled with strangers: enough to rattle anyone, let alone a little girl. But she did us proud and soon it was time to take the little bag and move to the hostel. She still sat in silence but when it was time to bid farewell, a few silent tears rolled on her little cheek. I sat bravely knowing that this day would change the tiny soul’s life and was a blessed one. The tears were just a small price we all had to pay.
Once Manisha was settled in what was to become her home for years to come, we set out looking for our little gang. The bell had just rung for morning refreshment and the children were gathering in the playground. Someone was sent out to gather the brood and soon we saw them all: Utpal, Babli, Nikhil, Aditya, Vicky, Meher and Yash. They all wore huge smiles on their faces . After a short photo session it was time to catch up, we knew we only had a few minutes till the end of recess bell rang. We also were aware of the fact that these were stolen moments as parents were not meant to be in school!
It was a perfect moment with each child trying to tell us something and frankly I must admit sheepishly that I cannot quite remember what was said. I just imbibed the mood, the joy, the smiles and laughter, the kid speak: all small ways in which these wonderful children were telling me that all was well and that they were happy. I felt blessed and rewarded beyond words. In their own inimitable way my incredible seven had repaid me for everything.
Enjoy some pictures of that perfect day
by Anuradha Bakshi | Jul 16, 2010 | manu
We have gone from famous five, to incredible seven and now to exceptional eight. Yes little Manisha will be joining Utpal, Vicky, Nikhil, Aditya, Babli, Yash and Meher. Manisha’s story is heart rendering and I guess once again the God of small things decided to intervene. I must admit that after Yash and Mehar I had decided to put a stop ( at least a temporary one) to the boarding school saga, one that is quite extraordinary to say the least. A simple walk down memory lane brought me to a blog I had written almost 4 years ago, where I had shared what seemed at that time an impossible dream. Like all dreams it was promptly tucked away and almost forgotten. But then the God of small things (GST) decided otherwise. When things looked bleak and almost hopeless, out from the blue came a messenger who revived all dreams, even the wildest ones. It all seemed to good to be true and over and above my cherished dream of planet why, this messenger wanted to change lives of children and we set out to do just that with hope in our hearts. But then the incomprehensible happened. The messenger backed out: the dream seemed too fragile to invest in and I was left holding on to it alone.
In my shaky lap lay not only the future of Manu and his friends, but that of 4 little kids who had been taken away from their homes with the promise of a bright morrow. In hindsight I think the erstwhile messenger was simply God’s way of bringing me back to order. I knew that nothing would ever come easy but come it would! No matter how impossible. And miracles came our way, tiny ones perhaps, but blessed nonetheless. Manu was home safe and happy and soon the little children packed their bags and entered the portals of almost hallowed ground: the boarding school. I heaved a sigh of relief. It has been a long haul but one that was worth it. Who knows one day these very kids would become doctors, engineers, stars! Nothing was impossible. I wondered however whether I would be still around to see them.
Five kids in boarding school was more than enough. We still had 10 long years to go. But my friend the GST had other plans in store. Five soon became seven with Yash and Meher joining the gang of five and of course all my resolutions and resolves went for a six. It is true that when I first laid eyes on little Meher, I knew that this kid had no future. Her little face was scarred making her poor wedding material and her tiny hands maimed making her access to skills very limited and yet her joie de vivre was infectious. When a kind soul offered to repair her body I immediately added a caveat: if we did then we also had to give her a way to break the circle of extreme poverty in which she was imprisoned. Meher belonged to a very poor family where the men lived in the city and worked as house painters, the women stayed in the village and the kids played in the nearby graveyard that was the best playground available. It was a stroke of luck, or rather the GST’s ploy that she had been in the city the day I first met her!
So six it would be, or so I thought. But then what would happen to the little boy who had almost been adopted by some fancy outsiders and then dropped like a hot potato when they found a ‘better’ child! You see six had to become seven. And when a kind gentleman absolutely wanted to sponsor the school of another child, another masterstroke ensured that Manisha would be the chosen one! Seven had become eight!
In a few hours little Manisha will be joining her new friends in boarding school. She spent the night at the foster care so that she could be ready on time. We were a little concerned about how she would feel but to our utter surprise she spent the evening quietly watching TV and telling the housemother about her life. Children like Manisha are born survivors. They sense intuitively what is good for them and hold on to it with their heart and soul. I first saw this in little Utpal long ago.
It is a spirit I for one salute. Chapeau Bas! God bless them all!
by Anuradha Bakshi | Jul 15, 2010 | commonwealth games
Last week’s torrential rains made even the most optimist soul wonder whether we would be ready for the much heralded Commonwealth games! Just an hour or so of good monsoon showers threw the city in total disarray: water logging everywhere and traffic snarls that lasted for hours. Even our quiet and placid backstreet was choker block with traffic and a friend parked outside my gate could not leave for over two hours. Now monsoon rains are predictable and every self respecting city should be prepared for them but you see with the CWG round the corner, our city is undergoing the mother of all face lift with every single road dug up.
The wisdom of hosting such games is debatable. I would urge you to read an article on this issue written by our former Sports Minister. The article may seem a tad rabid but it comes from a responsible person and quotes very trustworthy sources.
Those of you who read by blogs regularly know how I feel about the Games and how I have reacted every time some aberration or the other has taken place. But even I was shocked by some of the facts highlighted in this article and wondered at why our Government was so keen on hosting this 10 day extravaganza. Well I guess it is a matter of misplaced prestige by people who seem to have conveniently forgotten the realities that plague our land. So what began as an acceptable show soon became a free for all. Every good pavement dug up to make place for a new one was a simple means to line some pocket or the other and as everyone wanted its share of the pie, no road has been left undug, even the one on the tiny road I take every morning to reach work, one that no esteemed visitor to the CWG would ever drop by!
As an Indian I am in a fix. Much as I despise the whole Games saga and am appalled and upset at the way the poor of this city have been treated, I guess one would not like them to bring dishonour to the country as they say the show must go on and must go on well. It is a matter of pride however misplaced or false. But I also wonder why the press that has been so vocal on many issues of public interest has remained silent till date. Maybe they too are waiting for the Games to be over. I do hope they take up the issue after the last medal is won and the last guest seen off. As the article rigthly says: the only good that will come out of the Commonwealth Games would be a decision to never again bid for such games until every Indian child gets a minimum to eat, an assured basic education and a playground with trained coaches to discover the sportsperson in himself or herself. I second that!
by Anuradha Bakshi | Jul 11, 2010 | commonwealth games
The Commonwealth games claim one more victim, the tongas! The death knell has sounded for the age old horse drawn carriages that were part of Delhi’s heritage. True only a few remained, 200 or so, but the clack of their hooves and the sound of their bells were an intrinsic part of old Delhi, and added to its old time charm. In a few days they will all be laid to rest. I guess the day had to come but what is terrible is the way in which it all happened and is happening. The past should be allowed to fade out gently and gracefully. But that was not to be. You see the Commonwealth games are coming and someone had decreed that all that is not modern has to be sanitised: smells, sounds and sights: so street food is banned, street vendors are evicted, beggars are hidden, slums raised and tongas taken off the roads. Strangely the common denominator seems to be the poor! They simply have to be wished away.
Yet all that is thought ungainly, ugly and apparently un-modern and thus not worthy of the Game is also part and parcel of this city. They are what gives Delhi its soul and thus need to be handled with care and sensitivity. This so called cosmetic modernisation is unacceptable and yet we watch it helpless and hurting.
I know tongas would have had to go one day. But the way in which it has been done is nothing short of inhuman. The 200 odd tonga owners find their livelihood snatched from them overnight. They were promised a space with hawking rights. They were promised covered stalls, all that is being handed out to them is a pavement along a busy road, miles away from the place they called home. Some have been promised three wheelers or rickshaws but the author ties are still working out the rehabilitation plan! God knows how long it will take! Most of the tonga owners are old and have never done anything else but tend to their animals and drive their carriage. Asking them to become hawkers overnight is nothing short of inhuman. They all plan to sell their horses to a state across the border and then try and reinvent themselves.
Street vendors or horse carriages have never upset any foreign visitor, on the contrary they were part of every picture a tourist took and every memory they carried back. Modernisation does not mean dealing a fatal blow to tradition.
I am sure there were more humane ways of phasing out the 200 odd tongas left in this city. Maybe they could have been spruced up and made a tourist attraction as is the case in many cities the world over. My heart goes out to the tonga drivers today as they set out finding new ways to feed their families.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Jul 10, 2010 | okhla
PWhy’s blog sometimes makes me sad, sometimes happy. This is a lovely story, so today is a happy day wrote a dear friend after reading Project Why, Namaste. So thought I would write another sunshine tale today, one I must sheepishly admit I should have written long ago! But sometimes there are people who like remaining away from the lime light and Mithu is one such person.
Just like Preeti, Mithu got struck by polio when we was very young and just like her by the time he came to us it was too late for calipers and other such aids! But unlike Preeti, Mithu was a boy and restrictions did not apply at home so Mithu learnt to survive and thrive legs or no legs. He moved at remarkable speed with the help of his hands, climbed trees, played cricket where he bowled a mean ball and lived life to its fullest. When I suggested we get him a wheel chair, the young teenager looked at me with bewilderment and stated: I want to stand on my own feet! Needless to say I felt very small.
Mithu joined as a student in class IX but he had only one fascination and love: computers. Classes were a simple excuse to access our computers. Very soon he became savvy in every aspect of computer learning and we decided to ’employ’ him as a teacher’s aid in our main computer centre. He learnt fast and was soon taking independent classes. When one of our teachers left Mithu quietly walked into his shoes.
When we opened our Okhla computer centre it was a foregone decision that our own Mithu would head it and today he is the ‘in charge’ of that centre. He still walks on his hands, but we would like him to have a motorised tricycle that would enable him to move around with dignity!
by Anuradha Bakshi | Jul 9, 2010 | Uncategorized
If you call 9811424877 in the mornings, you will be greeted by a very sweet Project Why, Namaste! Yes we have a new receptionist trainee and it is a very own Preeti from the special section. Preeti is one of our special girls!
Preeti walks on her hand as polio struck her when she was very young and by the time she came to us, her led muscles had become too atrophied for calipers. But that does not stop her from living life to its fullest dance and even be a karate kid!
So when we started dreaming planet why, where we had decided that we would walk the talk and show off our special children to one and all, we knew Preeti would be the one to man the reception desk. So now Preeti is making up for lost time, learning English, computers and training for a few hours a day at the project why office!
I must admit that there are times where my old bones and aching back nudge me to give up the daunting task of setting up planet why, but the soft Project Why, Namaste brought be back to order. Preeti deserves her place in the sun and I just have to see she gets it.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Jul 6, 2010 | Uncategorized
Yesterday I got my first monthly report from BiharWhy. I sat a long time reading the two neatly typed pages, my eyes moist and a lump in my throat. Was this really happening? Somehow it all seemed to good to be true but true it was. All the years spent trying to empower people and make them believe in themselves had borne fruit. Even the gentle prods on the wisdom of taking the road back home and reversing the migration seemed to have worked. It almost seemed I had come full circle, even if it was in a tiny way.
I was reminded of the umpteen staff meetings where I had urged my proteges to walk the extra mile and fly on their own wings, and where I had despaired at the sullen or at best blank looks I got and yet I had never given up. I guess that is the one thing I personally learnt at pwhy: never to give up!
Today I stood vindicated and somewhat liberated. BiharWhy was not some pipe dream of seeing the why spirit soar in the land of my ancestors but a vibrant reality. And Chandan who I must confess never seemed to be the one to take the lead and had made this dream come true. And as I read his report I saw that this quiet and sometimes sullen looking young man had learnt his lessons well. In a month he had managed a parents’ meeting (something we still battle with), filled admission forms, made time tables, held a painting competition and taken a monthly test! What warmed my heart was that he had even convinced 18 parents to come for adult education classes. Soon he will be starting computer classes and even stitching ones. Wow!
His report ended with a simple statement: We are taking the classes in Bihar why project without roof. The words were pregnant with meaning: they need a roof on their little heads and I hope you will help us give them one.
Please take some time and look at these pictures: they speak volumes.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Jul 4, 2010 | Uncategorized
Got a call yesterday. It was all the way form the USA. The caller was a passionate young Indian who wanted to make a difference. He had been deeply disturbed by the hunger that still prevailed across our land and wanted to help alleviate it. A young professional, he had quit his lucrative job to follow his heart. A young man after my own heart! He had been given my number from another young man who thinks with his heart and I was all ears.
We chatted for a few minutes and then the young man stated: My ambition is to somehow work to appease issues of hunger in Delhi. Wow! That was a stunner. Millions of images zipped through my mind and though some were undoubtedly of hunger per se, most were of the enormous amount of wasted food I have seen over the years I lived in this city: be it the humongous wastage one saw at up market dos – weddings, parties of all hues, religious functions etc – but more than that on the streets and garbage dumps in slums. I remember an instance a few years ago that made me write a blog entitled morning after! It was the site we saw the morning after a wedding that took place in our street and the wise words of a little girl who simply said: why did they not give the food to the cows.
Rewind to 1986. My first visit to an Indian village. It was a godforsaken village in the Jehanabad District of Bihar where I had gone for some developmental work. What surprised the most when I visited the home of one of the poorest family of this village was the pristine cleanliness of this small mud house: no flies, no garbage, no filth. Everything was spotless; it was the perfect example of recycling you could think of. The leftovers ,if there were any, and the vegetable peels were fed to the animals, the dung turned into cakes and used as fuel, the ashes used to clean the few utensils that sat sparkling on a small shelf, next to the Gods. Voila! No need for garbage bins, plastic bags and all the implements essential to urban life.
Forward to 2010 and after. On the sights that greets us each and every day is wasted food lying helter–skelter on the street, in the slum lanes, in garbage dumps, just about everywhere. You see there is always a wedding, a birthday party, a jagran, a religious do, you name it and it is there and at each and every venue there are heaps of plastic and thermacol plates still filled with good and clean food. It is just strewn on the ground till the cleaners sweep it away and carry it to the dump. But food is not only wasted during festivals or special occasions, it is wasted every day in every home as if throwing food was a way of stating that you had reached, that you had graduated from the rural to the urban status. It seemed the be the new mantra of success in the slums. I see it every day. In every home I go if it is meal time every member of a family will leave something on the plate. But come to think about it, this was not the case a few years back. In the same household no food was wasted and children were chided if they did not finish their plate. So what had changed.
The family in question had bettered its plight. More members had jobs now and thus the household income had taken a quantum leap. The advent of credit had enabled the family to buy two TVs, a refrigerator, coolers and many household items. In other words they had arrived. Their rural antecedents were laid to rest, the young adults of the family were all to the city born. The parents ere the only ones who still remembered the ways of village life with nostalgia and no one to listen.
From a people who worshiped food and deified it, we have turned into a nation that wastes with impunity and alacrity as we feel that we have all arrived! But have we? Look around and there are still people rummaging for food in garbage dumps but that is not all and believe it or not every 8.7 minutes a child dies of hunger while mounds of grains rot in the open. But we seem to have got inured to every and any thing. Have we really? I urge you to click on this link and look at the picture of a little three year old from Madhya Pradesh who weighs the same as a three month old healthy baby. It is not trick photography but stark reality in a land where 3000 children a day die of malnutrition. The picture of little Neeraj should be enough to make us think twice before we throw any food in the future. But will it? I do not know. It seems we have put our conscience on hold while we are busy arriving!
In the light of the above I wonder what to answer my young friend when he writes : My ambition is to somehow work to appease issues of hunger in Delhi. True there is hunger in Delhi but there is more wastage and disrespect for food then ever before. Should we mot address those issues, or at least find a way to address them first. I am at a loss.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Jul 2, 2010 | Uncategorized
After more than ten years of working with the less privileged, I often think I have seen it all and am now inured to things. But that is not quite so. Yesterday we went to Manisha‘s home to talk to her mom about her going to boarding school. Yes you rad right our little Alien is off to boarding school sooner than we thought! We had hoped to catch her mom at lunch time but that was not to be as she was still out picking rags and was not expected till late afternoon. However the little home was not left unattended as Sonu, Manisha’s elder sister, was in charge. She is just eight years old.
Sonu welcomed us with a serious smile and asked us to sit down. We did and looked around.
Manisha’s home is not bigger than a store room and yet what struck us was that it was spotlessly clean and well organised. Everything seemed to have a place be it the little school bags in one corner or the mom’s sarees that hung in another. A tiny plank set on two bricks in the third corner was the kitchen and well organised. To beat the incredible heat a table fan was tied to the wooden beam that held the low tin roof of the house in place. One could see that in spite of all odds Manisha’s mom had tried to give the best she could to her children. I cannot find the words to describe what we felt: awe, respect, bewilderment laced with anger and even helplessness. This was the world of the survivor, one we could only salute.
We sat a while talking to Sonu. She told us she was very happy Manisha would be going to a big school and then little a true little mommy she turned to Manisha and told her quietly in a tone way beyond her years: you must study hard and do well! We asked her whether she too would like to go to school and again she relied with a wise smile: how can I, who will look after the baby, she does not stay without me. Those simple words summed up the plight of so many little girls across India. Here was a little girl, one who should still be playing with dolls, who had become an adult overnight. If she did not look after the home, the mother would not be able to earn and no one would survive. She knew it and what was killing was that there was no resentment or bitterness in the girl, it was simply her life.
As I said I thought I had seen it all but this little girl moved me beyond words and was a stark reminder of how little we had achieved and how much more needed to be done.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Jun 27, 2010 | Uncategorized
A few months back one of our regular and committed donors came to visit. We of course discussed future funding and in the course of conversation he quite candidly admitted that it was easier for him to market individual stories. Finding funds for larger projects like primary classes was more difficult. He wanted me to ‘find’ more possible candidates for boarding school as he felt that was something donors ‘liked’. I must admit I was a little vexed but did not let my feelings show as beggars cannot be choosers! And though I told him that it was not easy to find parents who would hand over their kids and even if they did then it would open flood gates we would be unable to handle, I also promised to look into the matter and find him a suitable candidate.
The one child that came to mind was little Mehajabi. Would it not be wonderful to give this little girl a good education. It would transform her life. So sure were we of this possibility that we wrote to our funder friend and he was all set to send Mehajabi to boarding school. But that was not to be. Her mother who at first accepted came back a few days later telling us that she would not send her child away. And when mothers decree one cannot but follow. We did try to gently tell her that this was a one in a lifetime chance for the little girl but the battle was uneven: the mother won. Nothing we would say could change her decision. We had to let it go.
I must admit we all felt sad and even a little unnerved. More so because we knew that mommy’s was jeopardizing the little girl’s morrows. But we did not have the arguments to bat for her. The mother’s logic was simple: she stated that after the heart surgery she could not bear to be parted from her child. Never mind if food was scant, if the roof leaked, if there was no money to pay the few rupees needed to send her to school. She was adamant and we were helpless. No logic could counter the almost irrational love of this mother. We knew what awaited Mehajabi: a few years in a third rate school and then perhaps she would join her mom in cleaning other people’s home just like her young aunt did, till a suitable match was found. Then her life would simply mirror the one her mother was living. On the other hand Babli who also had an open heart surgery was busy making up for lost time and excelling in school. Her mom’s love had not stood in her way.
We wrote to our funder and told him that in spite of our best efforts we were unable to convince the family and thus Mehajabi would not be joining the other pwhy kids at boarding school. He wrote back telling us to find someone else as he really wanted to. We promised him we would do so. A few days later, Vinita our early education coordinator suggested Manisha’s name.
Manisha is a quaint child. She is spirited, vivacious and her little puckered face and uneven teeth makes her look like a little endearing ET. Her teachers fondly call her ‘alien’. But this child’s story is heart wrenching and her future as it stands today very bleak. Manisha comes from an extremely poor family of migrants from Bihar. She has 2 brothers. Her father is a drunk. He is abusive and violent and does not give a single penny towards the running of the household. All they get is blows. Her mom has learnt to survive. She is a rag picker. Every morning she sets out with a big bag and ferrets through garbage heaps trying to salvage anything that can be sold. What she earns from her effort determines what the family will eat.They live in a sunken, dark, dingy hole with a tin roof which is their home.
Manisha six though she looks four. She has been in our creche for 2 years but soon it will be time for her togo to school. Given her circumstances we know that she will never make it to school as school though free requires some resources. Today it is because we go and fetch her that she comes to pwhy. If that did not happen she would turn into mother’s little helper be it with home chores or rag picking. No one invests time let alone money in a girl child. Her life will simply clone her mother’s. Yet Manisha is bright and intelligent and had a hunger for learning, a hunger we see in many children like her.
We have asked her mom whether she would be willing to send Manisha to boarding school. Unlike Mehjabi’s mom, Manisha’s mom was quick to see that this was a one in a life time chance for her daughter, one that would free her from the invisble bonds she was fettered in and maybe give her better morrows. We hope that this will happen though we know that we will need to be with her each step of the way.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Jun 23, 2010 | Uncategorized
It is absolutely inane that as a society we have reached the sad day when we need to debate the issue of whether, what I can only call a cool blooded murder, can be viewed as socially acceptable and be called honour killing. I have listened with horror to the recent debates where those in favour – and yes believe it or not there are such monsters around – try to justify taking young lives to protect some misplaced value system.
There has been a spate of such murders in our city in the past few days and those who committed and/or favoured these barbaric acts justified themselves by saying they had no choice or it was inevitable! The story goes like this: if a young girl dares fall in love with someone of another caste or from the same clan then it is taboo and needs to be dealt with and deal they do: they simply kill the child. And to crown it all instead of downright and vehement condemnation by all we hear muted voices that say things like: we do not condone murder but… The but is too loud and unacceptable. The but reeks of vote bank politics, of misplaced and medieval and feudal ways, of weak minds and of rigid ones that refuse to bend. No one is willing to address the situation head on be it within the family, the society or the vote seekers.
Winds of change are blowing and will keep doing so. There is nothing you can do about it. And each such murder is simply paving the way for the next one as politician and law makers remain silent or split hair in ways best mastered by them. So instead of addressing the core of the problem they simply hover around the periphery in the hope of protecting their vote banks. The perpetrators get bolder and bolder and all hell breaks loose. Murder gains acceptability and is even glorified once you call it honour killing!
Since time immemorial parents have opposed their children’s choices but it is almost inconceivable to think that a parent would kill or order the killing of its child. Even in the recent cases the dastardly acts have been committed by brothers helped by their friends and the reason given is to salvage misplaced honour. I have seen this at work.
The incident happened when we first began our work at pwhy. In those times I had no real knowledge of social norms and aberrations. There was a birthday party in the street where we worked and we had been invited. As is often the cases part of street had been covered with a tent and there was a music system in attendance. As is also the often the cases though the birthday party was that of a one year old child, the guests were mostly adults: the entire neighbourhood and a plethora of relatives and friends. And again as is always the case there was a lot of booze though it remained invisible. The party was in full swing and spirits were a tad to high. Bollywood dance numbers screeched through the bad quality speakers and people danced. A young girl, she must have been seventeen then and was one of our staff, started dancing too with her friends. She is a mean dancer and she twirled with abandon. One must understand that young girls rarely have the chance to dance, and parties and weddings are the places where they can show their talent. Her parents where there too seated on the chairs that are part of the decor. Every one was having fun. Suddenly her two brothers appeared and dragged her away hurling abuses. She was dragged to their house where the two lads started beating her. I followed and screamed at them but to no avail. All I could here was the word izzat – honour – shouted repeatedly, as well as – jaan se mardege – we will kill you. Soon the parents came and the beating stopped. The poor girl was in tears and deeply humiliated.
What must have happened is that some drunk guy must have passed a leering comment and the brothers instead of defending the girl who was doing no wrong, decided to salvage the honour by punishing her. It was the same kind of reaction as the one we witnessed in last weeks incident where the murderer brother stated in an interview that he was facing regular humiliation because his sister had married outside her caste and was constantly taunted by his friends. So male ego is hurt and the only thing to do is to eliminate the cause once for all. Never mind if the cause is your sister, the one you played with, laughed with or shared moments. In a split instant all that is forgotten and all the remains is misplaced honour that has to be restored ,so off with her head!
As an eminent lady journalist said recently: that in such cases the daughter’s body has become the vessel holding the family’s honour. She is not considered an individual with her own dreams an aspirations and her own rights. And this cannot be particularly when girls even from extremely traditional families have now stepped out of their homes to taste the world outside.
It is now a matter of choice. Many girls may still accept old ways and this has to be their choice. But if one of them does decide to do otherwise those who love and care for her must understand her choice and accept it. The young girl who danced many moons ago is today an empowered young woman who has been able to get her family to accept her choices. She is aware of the so called honour of her family and I know she will respect it but in her own way and manner and her family has accepted it, in their own way. The battle between generations will go on as it always does and solutions will be found. Murder is not one of them.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Jun 22, 2010 | Uncategorized
When I decided to start project why many years ago a host of supposed well wishers came out of the wood work to dissuade me to do so. There were the hard core cynics, the gentle detractors and the over anxious friends and relatives. I guess they were all stunned by my decision to sink a large chunk of my newly acquired legacy to as they said: help the poor!
The arguments used to discourage me were varied: what difference can you make in a country as big as India; you know nothing about running an NGO; you will waste you resources and be disappointed; you must be mad; what would your parents say if they were here; you are hijacking your children’s future; you cannot change things, it is a big bad world and you will not survive and so on.
At that time I must admit I had no defense to proffer. All I had was a deep intuitive feeling that what I was setting out to do was right and a stubborn nature that would ensure that I do it ans succeed. It was imperative that I do so and prove my detractors wrong. I set out on my journey with just one thought in mind: if I could change one life it would be worth it.
In the past ten years we have changed many lives and I will not subject you to a string of examples or try to blow the pwhy bugle. But I can say without hesitation that I have been vindicated on all counts. But what really struck me today as I looked at the two little sisters in the picture above was that when you change a life you set in motion what can best be called a ripple effect. Let me explain what I mean. Kiran and Komal are the nieces of Rani, a young woman who today practically runs our field operations in Govindpuri. She first joined pwhy as a unpaid volunteer way back in 2000 but soon graduated to the princely honorarium of 500 rs a month. A school drop out – not for academic reasons far from that but because she was beaten for not paying her fees and her mom decided that enough was enough – she joined us as part time volunteer but slowly she just became indispensable! Today she practically runs project why. Along the way the managed to pass her class X, XII and is now doing her BA second year. Along the way she also became computer savvy and even crossed the seven seas to go and root for pwhy! You must admit her life did change. But that is not all. Along the way two beautiful little girls were born in her family and that is when the ripple effect set in motion.
Today K and K are both in an upmarket school, the kind you and I would send our kids too. Tre admissions are not easy when you have a slum address but Rani never gave up. She wanted to give her little nieces everything she never had. The very best. But it was not easy. However all hurdles were overcome and the two little girls are now in school and doing exceedingly well. What is amusing is that we are all a part of this exciting journey helping with home work when needed or with the inane holiday projects children are subjected to. I must admit that when I watch them laughing and giggling I feel terribly proud and wonder what would have happened had I meekly listened to my detractors of yore years.
So today let me be a little cheeky and address all the barbs thrown at me a decade ago: you can make a huge difference even in a country like India; even if you know; nothing about running what is called an NGO, you can do so if you do not lose heart, your resources are never wasted if they can bring a smile on the face of a child; I guess one had to be a little mad to walk the road less travelled; my parents are surely proud and have walked with me every inch of the way; my children’s future was never hijacked but got better; things changed as the ripple effect set in and the world is not so bad when you learn to look with your heart. I have not only survived but thrived!
by Anuradha Bakshi | Jun 16, 2010 | Uncategorized
Bhopal is in the news.. again! This time it is not just the terrible tragedy that changed the lives of over half a million people in its aftermath but the other side as well: the cover up, the sell out, the dark games and more shocking revelations. What is disturbing is the disconnect between the real human tragedy and the flimsy excuses made for all the blunders: be it the failure to clean up the site or the escape of the main accused.
One thought one had become inured to almost everything as one does live in a land called India! But I could not believe my eyes, years, mind when I saw/heard our Environment Minister quipping: I have held that waste in my hand, I am still alive and not coughing. This after he visited Bhopal last year and was asked about the delay in cleaning up. And wait there is more. He also observed that the greenery around the abandoned premises was better than most other places. He asked if it would have been (so green)… “with all the toxicity around”. But that is not all: he announced that the centre would help in creating a memorial to the tragedy, one that would cost 116 crore, more than the amount needed to supply clean drinking water to the area. “It will be a national monument built in the memory of those who lost their lives in the tragedy,” he said, “and a reminder of the mistakes that were made so that they are not repeated.” I found this in an incisive article entitled Those who still go unpunished!
The article ends by stating that perhaps the envisaged memorial should have statues of all the politicians responsible for the aberrations of the last 26 years.
Bhopal is in the news again. And out comes the can of worms. When the terrible tragedy occurred 26 years ago there were no 24/7 news channels, no investigative journalism and all we got were the headlines in papers and the well filtered bulletins on the sole national TV channel. Then over the years small new items, rarely front page ones, informing all of the progress of the judicial process and maybe the protest of the almost voiceless victims. It is only last week that it all came tumbling out making us aghast and angry. We are suddenly privy to the political games, the judicial ones, the corporate ones and the diplomatic games and sadly once again what is enfolding in front of our bewildered eyes is a new cover up game. So committees will be formed and will give their reports and then what…. A few coins will be again handed out with the hope of shutting disturbing and annoying voices and the dark games will carry on.
The games that have been played for the last 26 years are beyond any sane imagination. A very comprehensive article appeared this week in a leading investigative magazine. Read it. It shows how for a few pieces of silver, every thing that is remotely good, fair, human, humane was sacrificed with impunity. How justice was subverted and how even today nothing has changed. The betrayal of hundreds of thousands of voiceless and hopeless victims is so huge that in the words of a leading activist all you can do is laugh helplessly. This activist was a young university student who had gone to Bhopal in 1984 as a relief worker. He never came back and became the voice the desperate victims so needed. I salute Satinath Sarangi. If there were more such children of India, things would be different. But a lone voice, however strong, however brave and however committed does get lost and silenced in the cacophony that has played louder and louder in the last 26 years. What is needed even today to redress the torts, to bring some solace to those who have suffered for so long is many such voices so that all dissonant voices can be silenced once for all. Otherwise all appeals for justice will turn into helpless laughter.
The victims have another reaction while some crushed and defeated wish they too had perished on that fateful night, others ask whether it would have been better if they had picked up a gun! Is this the last resort our democracy offers its people? When all fails – administration, justice, politics – is death the only option?
The writing is again on the wall but are we man enough to stop and read. I know this innocuous blog is not going to make a difference, but I have to write it because I am angry, because I too feel let down, because I want answers and because I have stopped and heard. And also because I have seen first hand how time and again the poor and voiceless get used and abused.
As I write these words, a bunch of politicians are sitting in a huddle trying to set matters right. I wonder what new clean up game is being invented. Somehow I find it hard to believe that justice will finally be delivered and the real culprits made accountable.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Jun 12, 2010 | women centre
When I suggested that we begin environment awareness classes with the tiny tots of pwhy, many were sceptical but when Ma’am decrees what can you say! So the classes begun. Every day for about a quarter of an hour the creche kids were told about why water should not be wasted, why plastic was bad for our planet, why trees were needed and so on. Slowly the initially reluctant teachers got motivated and the children were told what to do in case they saw something that was not right. For instance, they if they saw a tap leaking, the teacher suggested they tell an adult and ensure that the tap was closed properly.
The children listened as they always do, with great concentration. Yet one wondered how much they really imbibed. I was confident that their little brains did process things and that time would tell whether I had been right or not.
Imagine my joy when our creche in charge told me that little Raj, all of 3 years had become a little water warrior. She recounted how a few days back he had gone to the bathroom and come back all agitated mumbling ‘water leak’ ‘water leak’ and tugging at the teacher’s kurta. At first she did not understand what it was all about and even chided him. But Raj did not let go and pulled her pointing towards the bathroom. The teacher followed him and found him showing her the tap that was dribbling a little. She closed it tightly and Raj all smiles clapped in delight. Since that day Raj never fails to point out a leaking tap if he sees one. I wonder whether he does the same at home.
Children are very receptive to such matters. At the women centre we now have quite a few water warriors who have evolved their own ways to save water. Some days back there was just half a can of drinking water left in the centre. Actually our coordinator had hidden the rest as he was irked at the children who threw as much as they drank as they fooled around or spent large amounts of clean drinking water washing the glass after each use. So that day there was no water to drink. When the children asked for water to drink, they were simply told there was none left because it has been wasted unnecessarily. The day was very hot and the children thirsty. The children went back to their class. When it was time to go home, they did not leave but spent time discussing the water issue. Some time later they came to the coordinator and told him they had found a solution. They asked the coordinator to stop allowing children to come and drink at any time but to begin water breaks when all those who needed a drink would go to where the drinking water cans were kept and have a drink.
The new ‘rule’ was adopted and from the next day the centre had drinking breaks. The children would come down and one of them would stand and supervise matters. Children had to drink without placing their lips on the glass so that one did not need to wash it each time, and the supervisor of the day was the one who filled each glass carefully, without any spill and ensured that everyone finished their glass. The system is now in place and works to perfection.
I have always held that change of any kind can only come if we include the smallest, the poorest and the less privileged as an equal partner. Once again I was proved right, or so I would like to believe.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Jun 8, 2010 | Uncategorized
Not so long ago the nooks and crevices of our house were regularly home to sparrow nests. At that time we often consider this invasion a nuisance though we never destroyed any. I cannot remember exactly when the sparrows stop nesting. I cannot even remember when we actually stop seeing any sparrow at all. But come to think about it it has been a long time since one has laid eyes on that tiny bird, one that once was an intrinsic part of our lives. When a friend told me that new urban designs were responsible for the disappearance of the sparrow, I accepted the fact quietly and learnt to live without our little friends. It was one more instance of man versus nature and man had won again.
Last week an article in a magazine brought back my little sparrow to life. It seemed that it was not architectural designs but cell tower radiation that had spelt the death knell of not only sparrows but of bees and other creatures. The article makes frightening reading. The cell towers with seem to be proliferating on the skyline with obsessive regularity seem to be the cause not only of the disappearance of little creatures, but of illness and death in human beings. EMR (electromagnetic radiation) seems to have invaded our cities and homes and we are helpless.
In the span of a short decade the cell phone, which was once the prerogative of the rich, has become an essential commodity for all. Look at people walking on the streets, every second one has a cell phone. I was surprised to find out that everyone that works in my home has a cell phone, the maid, the cook, the gardener. Our washer man who comes once a week has one too and so does the plumber, the electrician and everyone who rings the doorbell be it the courier boy or the delivery man of the local grocery store. Look some more, children of all age are proud owners of cell phones. And to meet this exponential growth in demand, cell towers have mushroomed everywhere. For many allowing a cell tower on one’s roof is simply added income. According to the survey done by the magazine even hospitals and schools have offered their rooftops to house cell towers. One can safely say that we are in the throes of a new invasion!
And yet there was a time not so long ago when we managed without them. I belong go the generation that grew up with one fixed phone in the house. Often, as was the case at home, the lone phone was placed in neutral space like a corridor. The phone had a short lead wire and I remember how one use to try and tug at it to get behind a door for those private phone calls that are the prerogative of every teenager. That was the only privacy one got. I also remember how one paced the corridor at particular moments of the day so as to be the one who picked up the phone, or how one glared at anyone else on the phone if that was the time one was expecting a call. The lyrics of an old favourite come to mind: Time it was, and what a time it was, it was , A time of innocence, a time of confidences, Long ago, it must be, I have a photograph, Preserve your memories, they’re all that’s left you (Bookends, Simon and Garfunkel). Come to think about it I have no photograph just fading memories.
I also remember the advent of the cordless phone and how it spelt an new kind of freedom. Never mind if there was a limit of a few meters, one was freed from having to pull and tug at a wire. When the first cell phone came it was way beyond every one’s reach and we all looked at it with some kind of wonder. We could have never thought that in the span of a few years
everyone would own one.
Bees are not your irksome insect that needs to be shooed away. Their hum is a comforting reminder that all is well on planet earth, that the plants will be pollinated in time and food will reach our table. The silence of bees is frightening and the harbinger of terrible times.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Jun 8, 2010 | commonwealth games
Every time one feebly attempts to try and listen to those who extol the elusive virtues of the Commonwealth Games, heralded as the panacea to all our urban woes, as the magic wand that will transform our disorderly yet cherished city into a world class one, an aberration appears and calls us back to order. The latest was a news item on the front page of a leading daily. Vendors to be evicted in Games clean-up screamed the headline.
The vendors in question are part of the life line of our city. The local roadside cobbler that one rushes too in times of need, the lady who irons our clothes each and every day and has been doing so for decades now, the vegetable vendor who is an intrinsic part of every colony. They are the heart and soul of our city, people we depend on and cannot do without. My ironing lady has been ironing my clothes for the last 30 years. I have seen her children grow. She comes every morning to collect the day’s clothes and her smiling face is something I have got use to seeing. It somehow makes my day. When I was in Paris for 3 years and had to iron clothes myself…ugh… I remembered Phoolmati with fondness and realised how much we depended on her and needed her. The husband’s shirts were always ironed to perfection on so where my crisp cotton saris of yore years.
Many of our parents are such vendors. They are brave and proud people who left their homes many years back to come to the city in the hope of giving a better future to their children. Today their children are working in swank places but they still continue to labour and toil long hours, come what may. This is the only life they know, and quite frankly the only one we know too. I shudder to think where I will now have to head to get my shoe repaired or or to buy the missing element for the nights dinner! And the idea of not having well pressed clothes to wear is nothing short of abhorring.
Vendors, the powers that be say, are a security risk. I find that difficult to fathom. Gentle Phoolmati cannot hurt a fly, nor can our poor old cobbler. Then why this inane decision? The street vendors are the heart of the city and a real necessity. Why be ashamed of them? These small marginal economies are needed in a country with a population like ours. They help the poor survive. But then who cares about the poor. Off with their heads seems to be the order of the day.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Jun 3, 2010 | God of lesser beings
Last week as I drove to the project down our little lane, I saw a small posse of men standing on the street in front of our centre’s door. There were about 3 or 4 of them, and one held a sheaf of papers in his hand. They looked harried and worried and I knew at once what was happening. It had to be another broken heart that needed to be fixed. I must confess that my initial reaction was one of mild exasperation: not again were the words that fleeted across my mind. We are just barely recovered from the tragic death of brave and beautiful Heera. I really did not feel we could quite face another ordeal. But of course I did not let any of my thoughts appear on my face: the show had to go on.
This time the little heart that needed to be repaired was that of Kajal all of six years old. Kajal is a tiny little girl who hails from Bairi Aghu a small village in the Beghusarai village of Bihar. She has one older brother age 8 who is in school in class I. Her father earns 2500 rs a month and her mother stays at home. This is their sole income. The family does not won any land or property. When she fell sick last month the family took her to the local dispensary, then the hospital who referred them to Delhi and the All India Institute of Medical Sciences. They came to Delhi, and took a little room on rent @ of 1000 rs and set off to get the little girl checked. They wanted to do everything they could for their little girl. They were told she has a hole in her heart and would need surgery. The cost a whopping 70 000 Rs, almost 3 years of the father’s wage. They were stunned and did not know what to do. Someone told them about pwhy and that is why they stood in silence clutching their papers on that hot morning with hope and fear in their hearts.
My mind was working on overdrive as I alighted from the three wheeler and braced myself to meet them. At that moment I did not know whether we would be able to once again raise the needed funds. Our erstwhile heart fix supporters had long vanished and getting funds now was a long and tedious process. I could imagine myself composing the appeal, posting on the net an hoping for the best.
Not wanting the family to have too much hope. I told them quite frankly that we would do our best but that I promised nothing. I added that I needed a picture of the little girl and that I would get in touch with them as soon as I had some news but it would not be before a few days. I remember the early days when one spent time with the families, trying to talk to them and counsel them. This time there was nothing like that. I was taken surprised at my dismissive behaviour. Had I become inured at the pain of others. Not quite. In hindsight I realise that I was apprehensive and did not really know whether we would be able to live up to the family expectations.
Some time later we had the photograph of the little girl and I set the operation in motion. The first appeal was posted on the pwhy page of facebook. At that time I did not even know the little girl’s name. I wondered how long it would take to garner the needed funds.
I had forgotten that pwhy was a place where angel’s do not fear to tread. A short time later a response appeared on our page. It asked a simple question: how much would the surgery cost? I answered and a few instants later, thanks to the magic of the net, from thousands of miles across the globe I got another message: I will sponsor the surgery. I was stunned. It was all over. Kajal’s little heart would be fixed. It was only a matter of time. The God of Lesser Beings had hear, listened and acted. One of his angel’s had appeared.
This angel is a very special one as she has often appeared in our lives. I remember the first time many years ago when we were battling to survive, she came out of the blue and took charge of things and settled everything right. And since she has always been around, watching us form far. And yesterday she knew we needed her and there she was dispelling all clouds and making the sun shine again. God bless her.
Yes, pwhy, is truly a place where angels do not fear to tread!
Note: we have the funds for surgery but do need some more help to ensure that Kajal gets all her medication and proper nutrition to make sure that all goes well.
Courtesy the Commonwealth Games, Delhi India’s capital city is going to have 300 Heritage Toilets, whatever that means. Each will cost 1 crore (10 million) rupees. Of course, the municipal corporation is quick to add that these loos will be seven star and better than those in any five star hotel.
