The children of the special section never cease to amaze me. Each time you step into their class you feel lifted and all your worries and woes vanish – albeit temporarily! You have barely entered that a shrill voice greets you with a loud Namaste Maa’m. It is little Sohil. And then almost in unison you hear a loud greeting from all the others in the class. The greeting is touching as even those who cannot speak or hear join in their own inimitable way. They then resume whatever task at hand, be it the vigorous morning exercise session, the tedious math problem or the complex puzzle. You have many options: you can sit and watch them or join them in their activities: you are always welcome.
The wonderful thing about these children is that they never judge you, they just open their hearts for you to walk in. It is we, the so called normal people, who spend our time surmising, criticising, judging. If we see a person that does not look, act or think like us we are quick in labelling him or her as disabled or incapacitated. We deem them as inferior and want to teach him our ways and if that is not feasible we are quick to find a way to somehow shut them way. Special kids do not expect you or anyone else to be like them.
In our special class no two children are alike. Some have fractured bodies and others broken minds, some have both. Yet they all accept each other and reach out to each other in very touching ways. We may think they have limited understanding but that is not the case. The best example is the way they treat little Radha and her brittle bones. No one ever had to explain anything to them. They understand with their heart and even the rowdiest ones like Umesh or Munna never do anything that may hurt their little pal. Radha participates in all activities be it dance or musical chairs. Instinctively everyone makes room for her and ensures that she too has her share of fun. Sohil and Himanshu, the babies of the class, are cared for by their elder friends and a perfect synergy reigns in the classroom.
They have many lessons to teach of us if only we bothered to learn. They more than anyone else have understood the true meaning of compassion, tolerance, camaraderie and team spirit. They are not wasting time in proving points or oneupmanship. If only we had the ability to emulate them, the world would be a better place.
The mail simply said: iCONGO Team Congratulates you on your selection for the Karmaveer Puraskaar. I was stunned. A few months back a dear friend and supporter had written to me saying she was nominating me for this award. I was touched by her gesture and though I was quite certain I would not make it, I duly and diligently filled the form as required and sent it in. I thought that was the last I would hear about it and went on with my life. That was about two months ago. I must admit though that I did browse the net to find out a little more about this award, I guess it was but human that I do so. This what i found: Karamveer Puruskar: National Awards for Social Justice & Citizen Action are being commissioned to recognise individuals who have been pivotal for leading change beyond their business as usual by being committed on individual levels to work on social issues. The awards shall be given to individual for their contribution to promote social justice and action. As I read the words and perused the list of past recipients I smiled to myself: this was way out of my league. What was my friend thinking of.
Imagine my surprise when the mail informing me of my selection landed in my inbox. I fell of my chair. Why me? What I had done to deserve tis recognition? I had simply done and was doing what I truly feel everyone of us should do: give back a little of what life has generously bestowed upon you.
I would not have written this post were it not for another mail that stated: In your individual interest, you may go ahead and have your office issue a press release and announce your award in the media and on your blogs, websites, facebook, twitter and other networks. I have no office that can issue statements and pres releases, I can only blog about it myself and hope that my readers will forgive this unusual personal digression.
My selection for this award is humbling and overwhelming. It is an honour and makes one even more aware of how much more remains to be done and how little one has really achieved. It makes you realise that the journey is no way near over. The onus of proving that you are worthy still lies on you.
It has been an incredible journey. One that was started with the simple unsaid words: If I can change one life, it will have been worth it. I can say that in the past 10 years many lives have changed and that in itself is a huge reward. Getting this recognition leaves me speechless. All I know is that it could not have been possible without the help and support of so many, and it is their award more than mine.
I cannot believe it. This is my 1000th blog! It took me four years and six months to get here. I took a trip down memory line and read some of my earlier posts. Their candour and naiveness brought a smile to my face. I must admit that taking the plunge was not easy and writing that first blog was a herculean task. I stopped at one of my earliest blog to take stock of the time gone by. The little boy who was then fighting for his life is today a little young man who lives in a boarding school and tops his class. He has indeed lived through many trials and tribulations and yet proved beyond doubt that life is worth living and fighting for.
During the past four and a half years I have written about the joys and the achievements, the failures and the defeats. I have blogged about issues that disturbed me and those that elated me. I have shared tiny moments of happiness and larger moments of frustration. I have poured my heart out time and again and been touched by the support and encouragements I have received. I have wept tears of joy as well as tears of exasperation. I have shared times when my heart filled with pride and also with despair. I have talked of my dreams, the fulfilled as well as the broken ones. I have pontificated and preached and sometimes surrendered.
For the past four and a half years this blog has been my true companion, the one that has made the journey possible and fulfilling. The canvas has of course been project why but I have allowed myself the liberty for small forays into my own life be it share a wedding or a new arrival.
The past four and a half years have truly been exhilarating! And these 100o blogs bear testimony to an incredible journey that I am privileged to be part of.
There is a new reality show in town. I read about it quite by accident in a leading news paper.The show website defines the show in the following way: Prepare yourself to witness a life-changing experience, as 10 seriously rich spoilt youngsters are plucked from their lavish lifestyles and dropped into the claustrophobic confines of a Mumbai slum… with cameras focused on their every move 24 hours a day! The rich contestants are paired with a slum buddy who guides them through the pitfalls and opportunities within the slum. Each week the contestants have to complete a task – the teams that perform the worst face the possibility of elimination from the show. Up for grabs is the big prize – the chance for the rich contestant to help fulfill their slum buddy’s dream.
The whole idea is perplexing. It sort of falls short of something and leaves me uncomfortable. The tasks that the contestant are expected to perform are push a cart across the street, sell trinkets, polish shoes, pick rags, wash clothes etc. While the show is being canned it is being visited by a string of celebs, all adding their glam quotient. The rick kids are expected to live in a slum for 14 days and the one who stays on the longest and manages all tasks earn a whopping amount to fulfill the dream of the slum buddy her or she is paired with.
On the surface the show seems to be worthy and even honourable. The contestant earn nothing, the celebs are coming for free and the winner is a slum kid who sees his or her dream fulfilled. But the more I look at the site and articles the more uncomfortable I feel.
For the slum kids it is a string of dreams come true: being on a TV show, meeting Bollywood celebrities, and perhaps getting a lot of money to fulfill some unfulfilled desire. Their excitement is almost palpable as they embark on a journey that can be life changing. Their thrill is touching as each plans a new morrow.
It is the coming together of the two Indias and I for one should be thrilled. Is it not what I have always wanted. Am I not the one who carps about the fact that we see too few volunteers from the rich end our own city at project why. And yet all this done been done in the public glare makes me thoroughly uneasy. An article states that the inspiration of the show is Slumdog Millionaire. I have shared my views on the film more than once. I have felt riled at the way the SM children were used by all and sundry. I would have preferred to see them safely locked in a good boarding school so that they could one day transform their lives. This show somehow seems to rob slum lives of their reality and turn them into some sort of joke. The kids are meant to live in a created slum and not truly share the lives of their buddies. Would have like to see that happen! A set a la Big Boss has been created with mosquitoes et al. The tasks seem more like fun challenges rather than real survival situations. A person who sells ware at a red light does it to survive. If he does not make it there may be no food at night. Pushing a cart is harrowing and back breaking and not fun. The same goes for polishing shoes or washing clothes.
As I said I would have liked the show to have each contestant live for 14 days in the home of his or her buddy and experience the life of many millions. This pasty slum experience is all wrong. Life in a slum is filled with dignity and courage, values that are strangely absent in this show. Choices are few and needs many. Try coming to work every day in spotless clothes when you live on the roadside like the Lohars do. I see it everyday. Try surviving with brittle bone disease in a hole and never loose your smile even if you loose your flimsy shelter and land on the street. Slumming it out in a created set is an insult to all those who dwell in slums.
Of the 10 slum kids, one will have his or her dream come true and the others will go back to their lives with a starry story to tell. Where are we going….
They are our special girls! Champa, Anjali, Preeti, Ritika and Neha. When together they can bring the roof down! They love dancing, singing and giggling like any teenager, and like any teenager they sometimes sulk and fight.
Champa and Anjali live in our residential programme. Anjali is an orphan and Champa’s mom is too old to look after this very special child. Preeti who is as bright as any of us was struck by polio at a young age and walks on her hand. Her muscles are so atrophied and would not be able to hold calipers. If inclusive education existed in India, Preeti would have been in school like other girls her age and led as normal a life as possible. Instead she is shunned by her own family who find her an impediment. During the recent festivals she was left all alone at home while her family went out to temples and fairs. Anjali walks with a limp and is a little slow, but she too could and should have been in a normal school, but that was not to be. She lost her mother a few months back and was left all alone in an unsafe environment with predators lurking. Champa is perhaps the most disabled of all. Though she can belt one Bollywood hit after the other she is unable to even dress herself. She is so childlike that anyone could lure her with a simple toffee.
What is the future of such girls. Bleak is anything. And yet when you seem them together you get touched by their zest for life and their joie de vivre. It is for these very special girls and others like them that we felt the need to go beyond our initial mission – education of children – and think of a viable alternative: a place where such young ladies could live their entire lives in a safe and enabling environment. That is how planet why first came to be conceived. A simple residential option was not sufficient. We wanted to give our girls a reason to live, a place where they would feel useful and wanted. Hence planet why the guest house!
I can imagine my girls thriving on planet why. Young Preeti has all it takes to become the manager of the guest house and Anjali could become a great housekeeper. And in spite of her shortcomings and limited skills Champa would also find her place in the show. The journey that has barely begun, promises to be exciting and we hope to be able to reach our destination in a not so distant future. So help us God!
The Okhla children wanted to paint their school for Diwali. Instead of coming to us and asking for money, they decide to do it themselves. They all contributed five precious rupees and bought all the material and then rolled up their sleeves and painted the school themselves. The result a pink school. Not my preferred colour for a school but that is what they wanted it to be an after all is is their school!
This make look like an innocuous piece of news to many. But it is far from that. This is the first time children have taken the initiative to do something that would make their school look better. And five rupees may look inconsequential to many but for these children it is a huge amount. They must have had a lot of convincing to do to get it from their parents.
It is a very special moment for all of us at pwhy and for me in particular. Okhla had from its very inception been a community initiative. It has also been steeped in the love of people big and small. It has been hit by problems big and small, bet it storms or trucks. And it has survived all as it is imbued with a rare spirit no one could ever destroy. The spirit of children willing to overcome all odds to reclaim their often usurped right to education.
It is these very children that we have let down time and again. We have done it again with the recent scrapping of the Xth Boards or the latest decision on IIT admissions. It is time we started thinking about them and making laws that would include rather than alienate them. But is anyone listening?
When I see the Okhla project I am filled with immense pride and joy. Way to go!
I had written about my apprehension about the scrapping of Boards and marks and switching to grades in a recent blog. Recent news items about the modus operandi have made me even more uncomfortable. Eight hours training sessions are being planned for principals who, in turn will need to train their respective teachers. The rush in getting it all done is nothing short of frightening.
My fear was validated by a mail sent by a volunteer who had come to project why some time back. He writes: the removal of the class X board exams is something close to my heart, so I thought I’d share my thoughts on the issue.
I am not exactly sure how high the stakes of class X board exams are for a child in India. However, I know that scrapping summative assessments in such a brute and unmitigated fashion and replacing it with what we call ‘formative/ continous assessment’ in education studies is a very very dangerous move. While it is true that formative assessment is becoming increasingly popular globally, in places like Hong Kong and Singapore, the changes are gradual, often incorporating a part of school-based formative assessment (abt 30%) with nation-wide high-stakes exams.
Such changes have to be carefully steered with good frameworks and appraisal rubrics, meticulous curriculum planning, adequate teacher training and the support of academic research institutions. I cannot imagine how things will turn out when India has not even resolved the intricate pitfalls that together contribute to a flawed school system. How are teachers going to be able to assess students in a long-term, formative fashion when many go awol ever so often? Added to the issues you raised in your blog posts about the inequality of opportunities arising from differences in socio-economic status, I really worry for all the children from the lower spectrum of the social ladder.
It is believed that the new assessment will cover a student’s for scholastic (curriculum-based) and co-scholastic skills including life skills, attitudes, physical and health-related merits. It is sadly obvious that such system will broaden the gap between children of the two Indias, children from better homes are bound to have better co-scholastic skills. The marks system at least gave the less privileged a chance to compete with their privileged peers. Once again our law makers have widened an already gaping divide. Kids from better homes will have a huge advantage. That is only one side of the problem.
Let us look at the other. Grades will be awarded by teachers who till now have been awarding marks. A simple eight hours training is all that is been given to change mindsets and old ways. How can one be taught to assess skills and attitudes when one has never done so. I cannot even begin to imagine how this will happen. Maybe the teachers of swanky public schools will pass the test but what about the others. Advantage the privileged child!
Then there is a third player in all this: the parent! I know how many hours I have spent helping my children in their project and assignments. I wonder how a poor harried, illiterate mother is expected to conjure the skills and find the time to do the same. Once again advantage the privileged child.
Then how will the slum kid be able to run this race at par.
Changes and plans that concern children should never be undertaken to meet some political agenda or to seek instant gratification. They need to be tackled with care and understanding. An idea may look good and even be path breaking. However what is important is the implementation and enactment. If not done properly it can boomerang. One has to tread with caution in any situation where children are involved. Hope our law makers realise that!
About a year ago a young teenager came with her parents to spend a few days at project why. Harriet is no ordinary girl. She has mastered the art of seeing with her heart and that is how she looked at project why. Since then she has never forgotten us and has conjured many a miracle for us.
Yesterday we were treated to one more such miracle. She simply wrote: Thought I would let you know that the cakes sale went really well yesterday. We raised £55. I would have said there were over a 100 cakes and all of them sold within 10 minutes! I have enclosed a picture of me and 2 friends if you would like to see it (both friends made cakes that they brought in.) I have just totalled up our collection of spare change that we have been saving since Christmas it came to £30 exactly!
To the day cynical or uninitiated this may look paltry. But to me these figures are inestimable. Let me tell you why. Fundings come in diverse ways. The normal one is to apply for large impersonal grants, fill innumerable forms and hope for the best. In such cases there are no bonds, no feelings, no seeing with the heart nonsense. The other one is to try and touch someone’s heart. And then sit back and watch miracles play out. This is what has happened with Harriet and project why.
Every penny that drops our way is blessed as it is imbibed with love. And in hindsight this is what matters as it gives the whole funding process a new meaning altogether. There is something touching about young school girls in an alien land finding time from their busy schedule to bake cakes and then market them for a cause dear to one of their friends. And we feel humbled.
Harriet and her friends are very special young ladies. God bless them always.
It is Diwali the festival of lights and new beginnings. Diwali is also the time when all, rich and poor buy new clothes at least for their children. Needless to say we too have been busy wondering what to get little Agastya, the new member of our small family. After much thought and much window shopping one zeroed in on a dhoti kurta!
As I set about finding new clothes for my grandson my mind went back to Diwali few years back when little Utpal still lived with his mom, way before he went to boarding school. On that Diwali morning he came to see us all spruced in the brand new clothes his mom had bought him: pants, jacket and even a tie and to crown it all little cardboard lined shoes. I do not know why but he reminded me of a pastiche of little Lord Fauntleroy. It was all the mom could afford and yet she wanted her son to look his very best, at least for this special day. Needless to say I kept my little packet of new clothes for Utpal hidden. That Diwali was his mom’s day.
Yes, Diwali is important to one and all. Every family tries to celebrate the festival to the best of its ability and make it as special as possible. It does not matter if the shoes are bought in a swanky mall or on a street market, it does matter if they are sturdy or lined with cardboard. On Diwali every child has the right to wear new shoes.
I do not why I remembered this small innocuous incident today. But I am glad I did. The sight of little Utpal on that morning was truly touching and precious, a memory I carry in my heart, one that makes every Diwali special.
A couple of months back I got a mail from Denmark. It was from a high school teacher and simply said: We have with great interest read about your Project Why. My colleague and I are going to New Delhi in October with a group of 23 students. For a long time they have been working with social and political conditions in India. In that connection it would be very interesting and relevant for the students to visit your project and talk to one of your representatives.
The idea of having 25 people at project why was daunting. Project why was such a tiny place, where would we fit so many people. Nevertheless I wrote to say they were welcome. As the visit was still some weeks away we somehow forgot about it. Last week another mail informed us of the impeding arrival of our young visitors.
On Monday morning as the clock struck 9, the young students and their two teachers reached project why. I must admit that 25 young people take a lot of place. They wanted me to present project why and we decided to move across the street to the foster care as there was a little more place there, or so it seemed. Soon we were all packed in a room. I had thought of giving then a short presentation and then send them to visit some of our centres but somehow the eagerness of these young souls made me tell the the project why story as I had lived it, straight from the heart. I spoke for a long time recalling small details. They listened almost mesmerised. As the story went on and we talked of Manu I could see a few hands surreptitiously wiping a tear. When I had finished there were many moist eyes and they has still not seen the project or met the children. I must admit I was taken aback and moved.
It was then time to start the visit and the first stop was at the special section. Shamika introduced the children to them and told them each one’s story. Soon the tears turned to sobs. Many of the young students were crying unabashedly. Many were surprised but I was not as I understood that they were looking with their hearts.
I wondered what touched these young people who came from the land of the plenty? Was it that suddenly all they had taken for granted till now seemed undeserved? I do not know. All I knew was that nothing would ever be the same for these young persons.
Seeing with your heart can be dangerous as it may entail unexpected changes in your life, changes you did not anticipate, changes that could make you a different person altogether. Perhaps that is why many of us resist seeing with our hearts.
Ray Kurzweil, the futurist recently predicted that in 20 years or so we might reach a stage where we could live forever, and even become ageless and immortal. What a frightening thought. Does it not make the meaning of our lives futile. Are purpose and achievement not linked to the simple fact that we are mortal, and hence have just that much time. Living forever would be like not living at all. One would simply be frozen in time.
Why I am writing about such issues today. Simply because today the one who gave me the gift of life would have celebrated her 92nd birthday. And no one loved life more than her. Even when she was dying of cancer, this remarkable woman refused any palliative care that may have anaesthetised her as she wanted to live till the last second of her life, a life that she had ensured had been worth living. Kamala was an ordinary girl from a small town. She should have lived an ordinary life and died an ordinary death. But she chose otherwise. She fought to be educated and was the first in her town to do so. She eventually got a PhD. She fought social mores and got married in her thirties as she did not want to bring a slave child into this world and thus not marry before India’s Independence. At a time when girls were mothers before becoming women, she chose to work to defend women’s rights in remote villages where she reached driving a truck. And when she did marry, the ordinary small town girl became a diplomat’s wife set to conquer the whole world.
Yes mama was an extraordinary woman. One who lived life to its fullest. And yet she did so because she knew life was a given gift but not an eternal one; that time was short and that you never really got a second chance. She wanted to leave her mark in whatever small way possible. Se did it her way.
Any notion of supposed immortality would rob us of the desire to achieve and do something so that we too would be remembered after our final curtain call. Life derives its very purpose from the very notion that it is limited and transient. Immortality would take away the very essence of life.
In India a child dies every 15 seconds due to neonatal diseases, and 2 million children die before reaching their fifth birthday, 20% of the world’s child death occurs in India, one in three of all malnourished children live in India, over 46% of children under three are underweight in India… over 28% of child’s deaths are linked just to poor sanitation and unsafe drinking water. These startling and shocking figures are from the recently released Save the Children “Every One” report.
I sat stunned as I read these figures. This was happening in a country where a 4 bedroom flat is rented at half a million rupees, a vintage bottle of wine sold at 50K ; where millions are spent on flowers for a wedding, where food is thrown in the garbage after nights of revelry, where gallons of milk are poured on deities. This was happening in a land where shopping malls are erected everyday, where shoes and bags can cost more ten times more than what 75% of India’s population earns in a year.
Austerity is the flavour of the hour. Heated debates are held on whether those in power should fly in one class or another. Absurd reasons are given to justify each one’s view and while all this is happening a child is dying every 15 second. Everyday new policies are announced amidst much fanfare. Every day new programmes are heralded to supposedly alleviate poverty. And yet children are dying simply because of unavailability of safe drinking water.
Missions are organised to conquer space, to reach the moon. Whoops of joy are heard because water has been found on the lunar surface but here children still die for the simple lack of it. Something is terribly wrong.
Every child, no matter where or to whom it is born has the right to live. And each and everyone of us have a moral responsibility to ensure that it happens. We must act and act now. We cannot turn our faces away or pretend that we cannot see or hear. The figures mentioned above were recently published in a national daily. How many of us read them and just moved on. I do not know. I can only say that they got seared in my soul and spirit. Things could never be the same again. Whatever one thought one had achieved suddenly seemed inconsequential. There was a sudden need to review, reassess, rethink everything and start all over again.
A child dies every 15 second in India and I hang my head in shame.
Megha visited the women centre some time back. She needed to write a blurb for potential donors. This is what she wrote:
Situated among the squalid gallis of Madanpur Khader village in South Delhi is located the Women’s Centre; one of the 13 centers operated by our project in the slums of New Delhi.
Unlike other centres of the project, this one is self contained in several ways. Led by Dharmendra, a man as charismatic as his film-star namesake, this centre has after school education programs for children from 1 – 8 standard, sewing and beautician courses for young women, a computer centre and a small apartment complex complete with kitchen for battered or abandoned women.
As I visited the centre, narrowly missing being swooshed in the face by a buffalo’s tail, it was a relief to step into the neat library space of the women’s centre. Young women were busy learning how to sow in a straight line, the creche was wrapping up and Meher, a child who fell into boiling hot water was being nursed after her plastic surgery to open the digits on her hands.
Dharmendra-ji invited us into his small office, offered a cup of tea and spoke about the previous year. Each time I meet him his stories amaze me; mostly because of the innovative solutions he findsto most mundane problems. The Centre opened about a year ago and one of the fastest growing aspects has been library usage. This was so popular with the children that Dharmendra-ji kept it open on Sundays, effectively giving himself a 7 day work week.
A few months ago, some books went missing. Dharmendra-ji had an idea who had stolen them but did not want to embarrass the child in front of his peers so he declared that no-one would have access to the library unless the books returned. Upset that they may not be able to use the library, the children then took initiative to organize themselves into vigilant squads. Bags were searched; entry and exists carefully monitored. And just like that, a few days later the books returned. Dharmendra-ji created a situation where the children valued a service enough that maintaining it gave them pride; so now, its the children who manage the lending and reading activities in the library giving themselves ownership of this service.
Overall, this centre is so popular that he now keeps a waiting list for students wishing to join the after school program. This is what you donor money is doing right now – quenching children’s thirst for education in a safe and loving environment!
I do not quite know why but I was interviewed by CTV (Canadian Televison) on my views about the forthcoming Commonwealth games. Perhaps it is because time and again I have voiced my concern over destruction of slums and the removal of street food vendors all done in the name of the CG! It was an odd feeling to be sitting on this side of the fence, when 27 years ago I sat on the other as head protocol for the IX Asian Games village. But that was way before project why, at a time when I like many others, was almost blissfully unaware of the other side of the fence. Then the Games were a matter of pride and had to be run successfully. Today was another story.
Till this interview I had not really given thought to what the Games really meant to me. As any other citizen of Delhi I felt irked by the constant traffic diversions at construction sites; as someone who was somewhat environment conscious I felt enraged at the Games village being constructed on the flood plain of Yamuna. All in all I never felt good about the Games. But it is only when I had to gather my thoughts for the interview that I realised what the Games really meant to me today. I think what disturbed me the most was the lost of livelihood that the sprucing up of the city entailed and that because many of the parents of the pwhy kids were food cart owners. The recent cleaning up drive has meant that they have lost their only means of earning. It is true that the court order banning the sale of cooked food was meant to curb the enormous bribes that were being paid, but once again it is the victim that was punished and not the perpetrator. The aftermath is yet to be felt as many are still hoping that like always this will be a temporary measure. Alas that does not seem to be the case.
The end of food carts also spells the end of an age old tradition and somehow that is something difficult to swallow. Are the famed Games going to change the very ethos of our existence. Sad but true!
What else are we going to brush under the carpet. I guess what comes to mind are the beggars in the city. I am sure they will be rounded up for the duration of the games and then let free again. I would have been elated if the Games had been the reason for addressing problems and finding long term solutions. Maybe one should have started a campaign urging people not to give money to beggars as that is the only way beggary would end: the day it becomes not profitable. My mind goes back to the little beggar girl.
I wish the Games would mean the end of pot holes on Delhi’s roads. I wish the Games would mean a more efficient garbage disposal system.. I wish… the list is endless. But we got a taste of what the Games are going to mean to the Delhizen. Yesterday the CG Committee was on a visitation to assess the degree of preparedness of the city. The authorities came up with yet another cover up scheme: all the roads leading to the main event venues were simply blocked. The committee whizzed from one venue to another while ordinary citizens spent gruelling hours on choker block roads for their daily commute.
Brace yourself, CG times are not going to be easy or should I say be prepared for common woes!
I read with amusement laced with consternation and outrage the new gimmick adopted by politicians to we their voters. The publicity drama is being called: slumber party with Dalits whereby people of a political party spent a night with a Dalit (low cate) family. What got my goat was ensures that beds were from Lajjawati’s house and thereason given by a media coordinator was: “We have to get this done, the house should also look like a Dalit’s house”.
Stop! Where are we. It all looks like a page form Alice in Wonderland and the Mad Hatter’s party. Why can a Dalit family not have a bed? And why should all this made to be looked like a TV reality show? Something is terribly wrong.
We have Dalits in the project family. Children as well as staff. Some are teachers and one is by far our best programme coordinator and slated for higher posts. But everyone has got his or her place because of his or her skills and merit. No one is there because of his or her social origin. For the past years we have been to their homes and shared many meals and fun moments. And let me tell you they have beds, sofas, TVs and more.
I do not know how effective the slumber party politics will be or how they will translate in votes. In my mind it just makes the gap wider and deeper. It is not by spending a night in a Dalit’s home that the social fabric of India will change.
I was pleasantly surprised to find a blog about our blog! The author wrote: Today I want to write about a blog which energize me each time I visit it. The blog, Projectwhy drowns my cynicism and taunts me too. I often lament about things but don’t do much about it, other than blog. But at projectwhy, one sees the other side of life and the way it is dealt with, in such a sincere manner. The author touches so many lives and continues to shine ever so brightly for them. I also love the way she deals with many of our current issues..
I must confess that I sat for a long time savouring the words and feeling elated. I must also confess that I began this journey way back in 2005 when I did not know what a blog or blogging meant. I use to write long emails and painfully send them one after the other to my mailing list. What I wanted was for people to share what was happening in our lives, to be sensitized to the reality around them and to learn to look with their hearts. I still sometimes peek at the very first post I wrote and smile at the naive words and candid tone. But it did set the mood for what was to come. Today I feel I have reached my destination and achieved what I set out to do. It took almost 1000 blogs to do so each sharing a joyful moment or raging about an injustice. The common denominator was probably that I only wrote about what I had experienced. The blogs are not only an account of the trials and tribulations of project why, but also a personal journey where I too have learnt to shed my cynicism and look with my heart no matter what I saw.
I has been an exhilarating journey of discovery that has had its nadir, but no matter how bad things looked there were always moments of pure unadulterated joy that has lifted the lowest of moods, the latest being little Sohil. When I watch him dance, I forget, albeit for a moment, that we are fighting for survival, that things are bleak and that tomorrow is very far away!
It has been a long time since I have taken you on a tour of project why. Somehow the picture of little Komal peeking through the balcony inspired me to do just that. True that from the pwhy building balcony you simply see another building but that is when you look with your eyes. Try to look with you heart and suddenly everything changes.
So let us talk a stroll through pwhy. It is 8.45 am. The office is abuzz with activity as most of the teachers have come to sign in after their early morning spoken English class taken by Jillian our long term volunteer. Instructions are given and everyone sets out to their respective class. By 9 am the office is empty. A walk down the stairs and we reach our creche. The toddlers are still coming in and little shoes are aligned in a straight row. Some kids are already settled. It is toy time and every is busy with hos or her toy of the day. We tiptoe out and walk own another flight of stairs and are greeted with a loud Good morning ma’am. It is the special class and morning exercise time. Whether you walk or not, hear or not, comprehend or not does not matter, morning gym is for everyone and everyone loves it. The music is blaring and everyone is happy.
A walk across the street and a climb up two flight of stairs and we reach our erstwhile foster care. The foster care kids are now in boarding school but their special roomies still lie there. Manu, Champa and Anjali still live there but while they are in class the space gets used for other activities. We walk through the second creche and the prep class. Every one is busy settling down. We leave them to their taks and peep into the junior secondary class. A score or so of boys are busy revising for their exam.
A short drive takes us to Govindpuri Nehru camp. We alight from the three wheeler an walk through a maze of lanes and reach the tiny jhuggi. A class is going on in earnest. We continue our journey and reach Okhla. About 100 children are busy studying. Two volunteers are also taking an English class. The teachers share their concern about a wall that has cracked after a truck banged into it. The matter is serious and we will need to find funds to redo the wall. A quick drop at Sanjay Colony and we are back to Giri Nagar where it all began almost a decade ago. Today the little street is host to our senior secondary and our computer centre as well as our library which also doubles up as a primary class. Everyone is busy and we quietly walk away.
A drive takes us to the women centre. We are surprised to see how choker block it is. Over 50 women are busys with their sewing and beauty class. A few children are left in the creche waiting for their parents and over 150 kids are packed on the terrace all lost in their work. It is impressive, 150 kids almost pin drop silence. You only hear the teachers!
Yes the walk has been virtual but it reflects the reality and fills me with a sense of pride and deep gratitude.
