In Valencia a little town in Spain live three wonderful people: Andy, Irene and Mike. Andy and Irene are old friends. They came some time back and spent a few days at pwhy and helped us build a brand new floor for our Okhla project! I guess they got touched by what I call the magic of project why as form that day onwards they have always been there for us. Running a race or sending regular mails filled with words of support and hope, Irene and Andy have taken us to heir hearts. A few days back Irene wrote tehse simple words: I’ve just read your post on the web site – surviving on promises. Every time I visit the PWhy site, I wish I was rich and could help you more, but I’m not so I just continue to do what I can.
And they did just that: convinced their good friend Mike who runs the sale where Irene and Andy run the book stall to support project why! This morning when I opened my inbox there was a warm mail that simply said: We had a wonderful time spreading the Project Why message this morning. One of our neighbours has promised to circulate details to everybody in her email address book, and another has donated four boxes of books, CDs etc for our August stall, so as you can see, PWhy is reaching out into the Valencian community.
Whenever I am down and out and wonder how pwhy will survive, there always comes what I call a message from God. Irene’s mail was just that: a blessed missive reminding me that I cannot give up as pwhy is not just another organisation, it is one that has been woven with threads of love and hope by people who feel for it and want it to live. True the road may sometimes look difficult but it is the one less travelled, the one I have and will always walk as it is filled with exciting surprises and wonderful people like Irene, Andy and Mike.
Rinky is one of our oldest students. This beautiful and extremely talented hearing impaired girl is one of a kind. She is a fully trained beautician and works part time in a local beauty parlour. While with us she also took sewing classes and tailoring classes.
For some time now she has been asking us to give her a sewing machine so that she can supplement her earnings by stitching clothes for others. Last week a dear friend presented her with a brand new machine and Rinky was on cloud nine. Her dream had come true!
In our land, sadly, hearing impaired children are treated as handicapped and often cannot accede to any formal education or training. Yet if given a chance they surpass themselves and even others. We saw the same spark inSaheeda who sadly left us for a better world and little Pooja will also follow the same path. With just a little help and oodles of love these children of a lesser God amaze everyone. You just have to believe in them and help them grow new wings.
Elise and Catherine, two of our summer volunteers, decided to make a fruit salad with the junior secondary girls in lieu of the normal English afternoon class.
The first step was to go and purchase the fruits from the local market. The idea was to buy at least one of each kind and thus to learn all the fruit names. For many girls it was the first time they saw a kiwi, a peach or a bunch of grapes. Once the fruit bought it was time to come back to class and get started. Each step was a new lesson: in colour, texture, aroma, a real treat for all the five senses. Then out came the knives and a new set of vocabulary as they peeled, pared, cored, sliced and diced. Each moment was filled with fun and laughter the biggest one being handling the pineapple. As juiced flowed and pits were cast away the excitement grew by the minute.
Soon the salad bowl was full and it was time to taste but not before another lesson this one in geography as the origin of each fruit was reviewed and maps were gleaned. A simple fun activity like making a fruit salad had become a real interactive lesson that every one enjoyed and loved.
The shocking, repulsive, abhorrent incident that happened in Patna recently has left me speechless and numb. I do not know whether to be angry, sad or bewildered. A woman is lured away from her home with the promise of a job. When she discovers that she has been duped and is going to be abused she tries to run away. However she is caught, molested in public, stripped and humiliated for over an hour while hundreds watch and even join in the game. The so called law enforcers a.k.a the police watch as mute spectators, one of them even joining the predators.
I cannot even begin to imagine what the poor woman felt as she bore the humiliation and outrage. Only one of her tormentors has been arrested, the others still run scot-free. No one stepped in to stop the ignominy. Everyone standing there simply watched the show with glee. The entire incident was caught on camera. Wonder why the camera men did not reach out to help her.
Nothing, simply nothing can condone this outrage. Even if the woman was the worst offender possible she did not deserve this treatment. We are supposed to live in a society where laws prevail but for that hour it seemed that all was simply forgotten as predators took the stage and played to the gallery that stood as silent spectators. I wonder why no one wondered how they would feel if they woman in question was one of their own: a sister, a daughter or a wife!
I could go on writing pages about how I feel today or simply limit my words and ask: Is it worth being born a woman in a land where women can be worshiped as an image but never respected in real life?
…it has not been considered as eligible due mainly to the fact it can be assimilated to a guest house were the words chosen by an MNC to convey their inability to fund our sustainability project a.k.a planet why. We had approached this particular organisation because they promote green and sustainable energy and planet why is first and foremost a green building with negligible carbon emissions.
It is time to explain a few things.
Planet why is certainly a guest house, but it is a guest house with a difference. The much maligned guest house forms only a part planet why which is above all a safe haven for lost forgotten souls like Manu and for those who like little Radha have become a burden to their families. It is a place where they can live and die with dignity, cared for and tended to with love and compassion. The guest house has a dual role: one is to enable us to earn the funds we need to carry on our work and the second is to give to our children of a lesser God a platform where they can be useful by taking on the plethora of small tasks any guest house entails: gardening, kitchen work, housekeeping etc. For how would they live with dignity if they did not feel useful.
It is after much thinking and many false starts that we zeroed on the idea of setting up a guest house as means to sustain ALL our activities. I know it may sound preposterous to many as the word guest house reeks of business and commercial enterprise a far cry from charity and CSR! But I urge you to once again look at the planet why guest house with your heart. I hope and pray it is a huge commercial success when it does come to be! Because every penny earned by it will go in securing the morrows of thousands of children and ensure that project why does not die a natural death, one that would be intrinsically linked to that of its founder.
The much maligned guest house is pwhy’s road to freedom: freedom from the fragile and tedious mode of financing it has known till now: the famous virtual begging bowl! True that the figures look daunting: planet why will need the equivalent of what is needed to run project why for 7 years and that is certainly huge but once it is in existence then pwhy can arry on its present activities and much more without any outside help.
Planet why is a sound proposal, a healthy social enterprise that CSR programmes should look at. Maybe we need to package it in a different way to make it palatable. Maybe we should find a new name for the guest house? I do not know. All I know is that we need another miracle to come our way.
Remember little Radha, the elf with brittle bone disease, the one who even appeared on national TV and who twirls like a dervish? The one we love so much and fear for? Well thanks to a kind supporter and friend Radha was examined yesterday by a top orthopedic surgeon and a paediatric surgeon in one of the swankiest hospital of our city.
In the early evening Radha set out with her teacher Shamika and Tiphanie an occupational therapist from France. The little child was frightened and awestruck as she entered the portals of what would have looked to her like a fairy land. She held on to her teacher and did not utter a word. Soon they were in the examining room and the doctors got to work. The child was petrified but did not move or fuss. The examination was soon over and the doctors gave their verdict: Radha would need rodding surgery, a complex series of operations that would straighten her curved bones and perhaps reduce the frequency of her fractures and maybe get her to walk. The decision proclaimed the doctors would be the mother’s. We knew it would have to be ours.
Rodding surgery in any osteogenis imperfecta case is not a cure but simply stabilizes the bones and may improve the quality of life of the patient. A perusal of any article on OI shows that what the child needs is to be handled with care. I wonder how that is possible when you live in a hole in a slum! What goes by the name of home is a hornet’s nest where even the most basic task is fraught with dangers. It is no wonder that Radha has in her short life had more than 50 fractures! Were she to undergo a series of complex surgeries there is no way she could live in this home. She would need safer moorings.
Do we or don’t we. We are faced with an existential question. In her present situation little Radha’s leads as normal a life as possible: she eats, sleeps, plays with her siblings, even looks after the younger ones. She comes to pwhy where she learns, dances, plays and even fights with her classmates. She is handled with as much care as possible. Sometimes a false movement or a forgotten object results in a snapped bone, a trip to the government hospital and the ensuing cast, but Radha is a pro at that by now. In the present situation her bones are deteriorating. In the past month she has lost the use of one of her arms as her bones are slowly bending. In the present situation she may lose the use of the other and then become unable to feed herself or even write. Would the operation solve that. Not quite as the doctors are only talking of her leg bones. How many surgeries would one need to rectify all her problems.
Rodding surgery is complex and lengthy. Her post op care would above all need a clean and hygienic environment where she can heal her bones as the risk of infection is huge. Surgery would mean long absence from all that is familiar to little Radha: her home, her family, her school, her friends. It would entail pain and loneliness for yet unknown results. But one thing is sure: she would never be cured.
Do we or don’t we. Even with surgery Radha will never have a normal life, the kind a girl from a family like hers can aspire for: a marriage and a family of her own. She may be able to get some education, and learn some skill but in a society like ours where does it get her. She would always need to be handled with care and thus need someone to do so.
Doctors give their opinions without assessing the whole situation. They simply see the ailment and the best medical treatment available. But we have to have the courage and grit to view the situation as a whole and see how best to act. At this moment I am unable to decide what to do. I hope the God of lesser beings will once again guide my steps.
During the course of the debate on education that brought Hillary Clinton and actor Amir Khan on a platform a young volunteer stated that she had been trying to teach five children under a tree, but that the kids’ parents would rather they begged or sold trinkets on trains. This was a touching and yet very real question.
Some time back I had asked my staff to ensure that all pwhy children of school going age should be enrolled in school. Parents had to be convinced and in case they did not agree, the child was not to be accepted in our programme. I was soon to learn that it was yet another silly diktat issued without truly assessing the reality of the situation. There is a bunch of girls well in their pre teens who attend our classes and yet do not go to school. The reason is that their mothers work in the morning and need these girls to man the home and tend to their younger siblings. In the afternoon the moms are back at home and the children can come an attend classes at pwhy and thus educate themselves. Needless to say I immediately reversed the diktat and told the teachers not only to accept them in class but to give them special attention. Some of these girls are exceptionally bright and it occurred to me that if they could not been mainstreamed they could perhaps do their schooling through the open school. Something we need to look at.
There are many instances when children are kept away from school not to be put to work and earn money but to enable mothers to work and this is a reality that all law makers and educationists should keep in mind. And if we were to go a step further, parents who send their children to beg or sell trinkets as was the case with the young volunteer, here too it is a matter of survival. The few rupees brought by the child go a long way in keeping the fires burning. In a country as large as ours and where millions live in poverty any law has to be sensitive to the situation on the ground. In pwhy classes we allow girls to bring their baby siblings to class as if we did not, the child would not be allowed to come. The situation is critical in urban slums where often both parents need to work and the only way they can do so is if the elder child is left at home to tend to the smaller ones. And in our society it is the girl child who is sacrificed.
There were two back to back discussions on education on national TV yesterday evening. One was a recording of the Hillary Clinton Aamir Khan event at St Xavier’s Mumbai, and the other was a live debate with the new education minister and a handful of educationists, NGO reps, students and parents. I sat riveted for two hours as for the first time much of what I have been harping about was being debated. It was music to the ears. For the first time people were talking of school education and the need to give every child quality learning. Many new ideas were mooted. The grade system in preference to the incomprehensible and unjust percentile system, choice rather than marks to decide what stream a child would enter, introduction of vocational subjects and more.
Though the two debates were very different they touched on many common concerns one of them being quality of teachers. Both forums accepted that teaching had to be given more social acceptance. In today’s world you became a teacher because you were unable to become something else. Both forums felt that this was a skewed view and needed to be redressed and many possible solutions were mooted. One person even talked of setting up an Indian Education Service on the lines of the Indian Administrative Service, something I have been suggesting for a long time. It was wonderful to hear the idea mooted on national TV in front of decision makers!
The debates continued touching on many valid points aiming at ensuring that every child gets the opportunity to achieve his or her potential: inclusive education, caring teachers, quality education etc. Many questions were asked and answered and yet something was missing. Each time one touched on the subject of giving quality education to ALL children, answers remained vague and one could even sense an air of unease. You see only one half of India was represented, the other was absent. Solutions proffered to this disturbing questions seemed more like hand outs, the zeal to reform and redress was strangely absent. Once again one fell on the value of programmes like the SarvaShikshaAbhyan, or in other words a parallel system as one needed to respect the society of schools! To a question from a young girl on how to teach English to poor kids, as it was her ability to speak English that had got her to be present in this distinguished forum, the answer was to try and excel in one’s own language. It seemed as if English, the real even field leveller was only for the chosen few.
I would have liked at least one person to talk of the common neighborhood school.To me it would be the panacea to all the ills that plague our education system. A common school where children of both Indias could learn and grow together taught by the best talent available: a pipe dream maybe, but one that I will hold on to till I breathe my last.
Parkour is a discipline that appeared first in France, more similar to a martial art than to a sport, focused on moving from one point to another as smoothly, efficiently and as quickly as possible using the abilities of the human body. It is built on the philosophical premise that any obstacle, physical or mental, can be surpassed . This is the wikipedia defenition or what parkour is! I guess in every one’s mind it entails physically and mentally fit human beings. Not quite so. Our special children partook in parkours thanks to Marie and Tiphanie two occupational therapists from France. It really did not matter whether you could walk or not, hear or not, think or not this brand of parkour was for everyone.
A stick between two chairs, a ball on a bench, two hoola hoops, a bucket and some stools were all that was needed to create our very own set ofparkours. Everyone completed his or her parkour, even Manu who has not been wanting to move much since his terrible illness. It was truly touching to see children crawl under or jump over things, throw balls or simply reach out to an object. The outside world had suddenly entered the four walls of our special class. Things that till that very instant were normally denied to those like our special kids became part of their little universe. It was overwhelming and I could not suppress the tears of joy that flowed unabashedly. Every child surpassed his or her physical and mental ability and came out a winner. Thank you Marie and Tiphanie for this very special moment.
You can share some of these very special moments here.
With you, for you, always is the motto of the police of our city. Each time I see these words slapped on the side of a vehicle or on a larger than life poster I instinctively recoil. Nothing could be more untrue and the last encounter you would want to have is with the police. Somehow stepping into a police station is an experience one would not wish for anyone. It is the last place you will get help or justice.
It is with extreme sadness that I read about the young girl who had committed suicide because the police failed to act against those who regularly eve teased her. Instead of getting the justice she sought from the protectors of law, the family was subjected to harassment and intimidation. It was too much for the young girl who decided to end her life. The reason for which the police behaved in this manner was that the eve teasers belonged to some well connected political family! The police is not meant for the poor, the helpless, the downtrodden or simply the innocent.
It is sad that the police in our country still behaves as a force created by the coloniser to beat the colonised to submission. It is just that the colonisers have assumed a new avatar: that of the unscrupulous politician or the moneyed men. And no matter how many nice soundings mottoes they invent, the essence remains the same. Once you don the uniform you are given the liberty to act as you please.
We too have had our encounters with the police and each has been distasteful and vile. If we need to repair any of our centres, before we can lay the first brick the beat officer is at our door his palm extended for blood money and no matter how hard we try to appeal to his better side, it is all in vain: once you wear the uniform you lose your better side forever. If we try and go to the police station to seek some assistance, we are viewed with such suspicion that we beat a simple retreat. And how can I ever forget the case of a young woman taken in by the police because a piece of jewellery had disappeared from the house she worked in? The jewellery was found and the information given to the police station but the poor young woman was gang raped by the posse on duty. Th next day an officer did take the men to task and the woman was offered monetary compensation but that one night changed her forever and scarred her mind. She today suffers from deep psychoses.
The poor girl who committed suicide last week must have suffered extreme humiliation and known that her life too was scarred forever. She simply decided to take it away and she did. And no one could do anything to help her, specially not those who profess to be with you, for you, always!
It must seem as though you are surviving on promises wrote a friend I had sought support from. It seems like another message from up there. There seem to have been quite a few in the past days. Propitious or ominous only time will tell. I would rather believe the former.
Times are tough for all and yet promises abound each time you reach out to someone for help. Another friend asked candidly how we survived the first years hoping that maybe we could find some forgotten ideas. My mind wanders back to those days. It was easy then as I had an inheritance to dip in. But no inheritance is big enough to fulfill all the dreams you have and the pot of gold disappeared quicker than one would have thought. And then came the panhandling years that are still very much alive. Yes, pwhy has lived, thrived and survived on the generosity of those one reached out to. And even if you did not always get what you sought, words of encouragement and promises always abounded to ensure you did not give up. And then a miracle big or small came your way and you were out of the woods for some time at least.
Along the way and after many false starts we crafted our sustainability dream, planet why! We had hoped to see it happen by 2010 but recession made it take a back seat and the years of soliciting got a new lease of life. Have we really survived on promises? I guess so as promises uplift your sagging spirits and give you the strength to carry on. Promises of help, promises of support, promises of assistance. But I guess what makes us truly survive are the unvoiced and tacit promises I made to myself: that of giving Manu a home till he breathed his last; the promise to see Utpal conquer his morrows. There is a plethora of such promises I have made to myself each time a child walks into my life and my heart. And yes it is those promises that make me go on, even when times are dark and scary.
Don’t despair! Something will come along, and not just because it has to but because no one will let anything happen to the Project wrote a friend in a mail that dropped my way this morning. Did she sense that I was terribly troubled, or was this a message from the heaven’s above, I do not know. But the warm words felt like balm on a hurting heart! Wonder who the no one is; maybe my friend the God of Lesser beings who has always been there for us.
It is true that I am worried: our sponsor a child programme is just not taking off the way I would have liked it to and compassion seems to have gone AWOL in this times of recession. Each day we get our share of blows big and small and can only take them standing and not dare move. Many may wonder why one does not close shop or at least cut costs. The question is valid and deserves a proper answer. One cannot close shop because too many morrows depend on us: whether it is those of the little and bigger children in school who risk the danger of dropping out were we to shut our doors or the motley crew of special souls who can only claim their right to laugh or smile within the four walls of their project why class. In all we are talking of 800 morrows, no mean number you will agree. One cannot close shop because Manu and Anjali would be on the streets as they have no family but pwhy.
As for cutting costs believe you me we have tried our very best. Our classrooms are jam packed, our teaching staff is minimal and our administration the leanest possible. Moreover we cannot move out of the flat where Manu and Anjali live because no one is willing to rent their premises to house lost souls like them. The only thing we have managed to do is make maximum use of the space available and hence the rooms in the foster care house 4 classes during the day. So the only option available to us is to try and reinvent our ways of seeking help and hone our ability to make people see with their hearts. Something will come along is what I have to believe. So help me God!
I am quite Frequent Reader of your blog. Seriously I want to appreciate the efforts you are making to change the world around us. Good Job! Project Why Rocks! These were the words that greeted me this morning as I sat down to begin another day. I must confess they brought a smile to my face and made me forget, albeit for an instant, the plethora of problems that plague my existence.
I am not of the generation that uses rocks and chill! But today I felt years younger. And the comment left on yesterday’s blog was like a starred report card given to your child. As all moms I tend to get terribly critical of project why and look at its tiny defects and crevices with magnifying lenses, taking all that goes on well simply for granted. But this morning I decided to look at pwhy with benign indulgence and with my heart.
Without sounding cocky or boastful I guess I must be allowed to whisper: Project Why Rocks! As I write these words extraordinary things are happening at pwhy. We have two occupational therapists from France living at our foster care with Manu, Champa and Anjali. They will spend three whole weeks helping us improve our special section. Six young and bright students from one of the top management schools of France are also spending a month at project why. They are busy teaching children in different centres. Two of them are even living at the women centre. They are the second batch of ESSEC students. We welcomed their seniors last year. Today I can say that they come to us because we do rock! And that is not all, young Elise is back to pwhy for the third time, having decided to spend her entire summer holidays with us.
Pwhy is not an easy option. To teach here you have to be willing to brave the heat, sit under hot tin roofs or in cramped spaces and put up with frequent electricity outages. And yet each one of our volunteers enjoys what he or she is doing. With schools having reopened all kids are back from the village and every class is choker block. Sometimes the heat gets unbearable but that does not deter our volunteers. They carry on with a smile on their face and a song in their heart.
I wonder what makes pwhy endearing to others and as today I have allowed myself some indulgence I will say unabashedly that what makes us rock is that we have been making a difference to the lives of others and I end this post with a quote by Forest Witcraft : “A hundred years from now it will not matter what my bank account was, the sort of house I lived in, or the kind of car I drove…but the world may be different because I was important in the life of a child.”
I often like browsing through my pictures library and looking at snapshots again. They each tell a story that one somehow misses when one first glances at a new download. This picture was taken who days back, when our fantastic five where dropped back to boarding school for a brand new term. To anyone or at first glance they are just a bunch of kids back in school, posing for a shot before taking off and join the rest of their pals. And yet if one was to pause, take a little time, let one’s memory wander back in time they each have a story to tell.
How can I forget littleBabli and her shrill voice when she first told me about her heart condition. And how can I forget everything that ensued the cynical voices that tried to make us see their kind of sense, the terrible day well after her surgery I saw her dreams shattering and decided to do something, and the day when we finally took the first step towards salvaging her dreams. How can I forget Vicky, Munna’s little brother who I first met as a tiny little boy, and his family that even today struggles for a meal. Or little Aditya and his proud mommy and her terrible ordeal? How can I forget Utpal my little braveheart and the day when I first laid eyes on his little body swathed in bandages and read the hospital paper that sounded like a death sentence? How can I forget how he proved everyone wrong and became the epitome of life itself and my little miracle maker?
Today all these kids that should have never met, live, laugh and learn together and are busy crafting their morrows. Who knows what they will become: a doctor, a police, a choreographer, a musician or a teacher? The world lies waiting for them. My only prayer is that each one of them become good human beings with the ability to comprehend the fox’s secret and see with their hearts. On that day I mean not be around, but from where I am I will surely look down and remember the faces on the photograph and the very special a very special wishwish I made today.
You must watch this clip. It is our dear little Munna talking on a cell phone. It is all make belief and what is touching is that Munna is probably one of our most mentally challenged kids. And yet as you watch the clip you will see him not only talking, but making gestures and seemingly barking orders. He is urging te person on the other side to get water!
Munna loves pretend play with a phone. I wonder who and how many people he has seen using the phone and why of all the thing he sees in his own way, this is something he has retained. I would give my kingdom and more to know what goes on in his mind and how he and others like him see and perceive our world.
Munna is back. His mom brought him to class this morning and all his pals were thrilled to see him. She also wanted us to admit her younger daughter to the creche. Her older daughter studies in our primary centre and goes to government school. Vicky her other son is part of our fostercare programme and will be leaving for boarding school tomorrow.
I remember the cold winter day when I first met this family for the first time almost 4 years ago. I was aghast at their plight. We decided to help them as best we could. But tragedy seems to be a constant companion to some. Munna’s father did get a better job, this time as a bus conductor and with three of the children taken care of, things seemed to be on an even keel. Munna’s family went to the village as they do every year. They came back a few days ago and the father resumed his work. Last week the bus he works in was involved in an accident. A man died. The drived managed to flee but Munna’s dad was caught and locked up. he is still in jail. It seems that he will stay there till the bus owner bails him out or the driver is caught.
We could see the tears welling up in Munna’s mom eyes. She is a simple lady who can barely communicate in Hindi. She simply told her story. When I asked her how she would manage to feed her family till her husband came back she answered: we brought bag a bag of rice from the village. I saw the same dignity I has seen when I had first visited her and felt humbled.
Tomorrow we will see how we can help this family. Today was not the time to do so. Dignity had to be respected and the tears not allowed to flow.
R came to the women centre two months ago. His parents wanted him to spend the summer holidays with us. He was in class IV in a government school. According to his parents he was not doing very well. We all know that there is scant teaching in government schools, particularly those around the Khader area. R seemed an intelligent child and was quick to learn. In two months he had almost come to level with the curriculum of class IV.
A few days back R stopped coming to the centre. We wondered why and set out to find out what had happened. A teacher was sent to his home and sheepishly the mother told us that R would not be coming to the centre anymore as he was now going to a private school. His father, a factory worker, had decided to give a better education to his child. We asked what class young R was in and were horrified when we were told that he was in UKG. R had been in class IV in the government school and was 11 years old. Now he had been demoted to UKG.
Our mind went back to early times at Khader where we had found many kids in UKG matters to the notwithstanding their age or knowledge. The story was repeating itself. We tried and explained to the mother but she asked us to talk to the father. We hope to be able to convince him to put back his son in the government school in class IV.
This is the dawning of a new age in education as we seem to have a Minister willing to make sweeping changes. We only hope that he also keeps in mind the plight of the children of a Lesser God and puts an end to the multitude of teaching shops that proliferate in the city and are simply money making enterprises. What is needed is sound government schools where all children can be given quality education.
After many twists and turns, many false starts and many terrible moments, Radha’s mom has finally accepted to come and work at the women centre. We had tried everything to help this little family in every which way possible, even if at moments we were close to giving up. We wanted to find a solution because little Radha is one of a kind. We even got a national TV channel to cover her story but forgot that in our land there is no compassion towards a disabled little girl. Hardly anyone came forward to help this little family in distress.
And yet to me it had sounded so simple: Radha and her mom and three siblings could have easily moved to our women centre and lived a safe and protected life. But once again I was rapped on the knuckles: we had forgotten about the extended family, the one that thought they could use Radha’s terrible condition and extract whatever they could, the typical case of the hen that laid golden eggs and was killed out of greed. And Radha’s mom herself seemed reluctant to come and live in a place that had rules and regulations. The young widow was also a free spirit.
A few days back they lost their sole means of livelihood – a food cart – and even if they retrieved it from the clutches of the police, they would never be able to set it up again: new rules were now in place and food carts were a big no no! Radha’s mom came to us seeking help again. We knew that she would not give up her extended family. She wanted to work but who would give her a job as she had a one year old she could not leave anywhere.
We offered her a job at the women centre. She could bring her baby and leave him at the creche. But there was a rider and that was that she also attend sewing classes. She accepted. Radha’s mom began her job yesterday and even attended her first sewing class. The baby played happily in the creche. I hope she settles down and continues to work with us. Once she has completed her sewing course we will buy her a sewing machine which will enable her to earn some extra money from home.
Radha’s mom will rebuild her life, one day at at time and we hope that she realises where her future truly lies.
In Valencia a little town in Spain live three wonderful people: Andy, Irene and Mike. Andy and Irene are old friends. They came some time back and spent a few days at pwhy and helped us build a brand new floor for our Okhla project! I guess they got touched by what I call the magic of project why as form that day onwards they have always been there for us. Running a race or sending regular mails filled with words of support and hope, Irene and Andy have taken us to heir hearts. A few days back Irene wrote tehse simple words: I’ve just read your post on the web site – surviving on promises. Every time I visit the PWhy site, I wish I was rich and could help you more, but I’m not so I just continue to do what I can.
