by Anuradha Bakshi | Jan 31, 2009 | Uncategorized
Cinema Paradiso is a touching film. It is about youth, friendship, hope and the magic of movies. Cinema Paradiso is also the name of our new cine club that was inaugurated yesterday with a special show for our very special children.
The idea of a cine club for slum kids was first mooted by our dear friend Xavier many years ago. I must confess that the idea seemed rather incongruous to me as I struggled to survive perfecting the art of a hand to mouth existence. But Xavier held on to his dream and he is one who makes dreams come true.
The dream did come true as a sparkling home theatre was bought and set up in our new library. After many discussions it was decided that the cinema club would be inaugurated with a screening for our very special kids. This was because most if not all of these children have never been to a movie hall and are never likely to. This was also because these children are never taken out of their homes or given any treat. So yesterday as the clock struck ten, the 20 odd kids were bundled up in our three wheelers and taken to the library located a short distance away. There was palpable excitement as they put on their shoes and set off for the short journey. There was even more excitement as they entered the the small room and saw the screen on the wall. They quickly sat down, eyes wide open staring at the images on the screen. After s small introduction where each word I said was greeted by warm applause and vehement nods of the head, it was show time: one the menu a 1915 Charlie Chaplin film.
The kids sat mesmerised, laughing at each slapstick moment. Everyone was having a ball, even those who could not hear. The giggles were infectious and we laughed with them, more moved by their enthusiasm and joy than by the on goings in screen. Everyone has a great time. It did not matter if you could not hear, speak, walk, talk: the show transcended all barriers. It was a runaway success.
Some may wonder why have a library filled with books in an alien language an a state of the art home theatre for a bunch of poor slum kids. I must admit that there are many who think this way, the kind of people for whom charity is a good way of getting rid of your rubbish and easing your conscience. In their parlance beautiful, enriching and elevating pursuits are the prerogative of the rich and not fit for consumption for the poor. But we at pwhy differ and believe that every child has a right to get the best of everything. So our little library and small cine club aims at just that: bringing to deprived children a little bit of the magic of books and the wonder of the silver screen.
Welcome to Cinema Paradiso!
by Anuradha Bakshi | Jan 28, 2009 | Uncategorized
In a country where the constitution guarantees that the State shall ensure provision of free education of equitable quality for all children (Artice 21A), the Government of Delhi has approved a fee hike in what is known as private schools.
Do not think that private schools are only for the privileged and well endowed. In today’s Delhi such schools cater to a wide cross section of society. The reason being that the so called free education to be guaranteed by the state is in a state of total despair and not fit for consumption. Parents today, even the humbler ones look for other options, and these come with a price tag. But parents are willing to walk that extra mile and give their children a better start in life. And as the demand grew, in keeping with markets forces, private schools grew at an exponential rate. It was the boom of teaching shops that mushroomed at each street corner and event though they flaunted all rules in the book they nevertheless catered to the needs of the day.
Private schools big or small became laws in themselves and helpless parents had no option but abide by all the rules they imposed. Regular fee increases, development and building funds and even donations had to be paid. And as the power of such schools grew, the option of the free school dwindled by the day as state run schools went from bad to worse. We at pwhy have first hand experience of the state of such schools as most of our kids frequent such schools. We watched with dismay the booming school business thrive.
What was truly infuriating was the fact that with a little help kids from government schools were able to perform well. The question that needed to be asked was why nothing was being done to improve the state of government run schools and make them a sound and viable option. The answer was written on the wall: the private school lobby was too strong. The common school system that India so needs and that would finally ensure free and equitable education to all of India’s children has had a very troubled history and is nowhere near becoming a reality. Quite the contrary is happening as the government seems to be turning into the best advocate for private schools. Even the 25% reservations of seats in private schools for economically weaker students was quietly dropped by the government. One would have thought that governments were meant to protect rights but the rapidity with which the latst increase in fees was accepted shows what the reality is.
In a recent debate on this very issue, a rather pompous private school manager brushed aside a question asked by a parent by declaring that if parents were not happy with the increase they could take their children out and send them to a state run school. Well Sir, I wish this was a viable option as many would just do that.
Parents will cut corners, tighten their belts and meet this increase and maybe the next one too, but there will be a day when this will not be possible. I wonder what will happen to the children then as nothing is being done to improve the institutions that are supposed to be providing the free education of equitable quality that is the Constitutional right of every single child born in this land.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Jan 28, 2009 | Uncategorized
The despicable, abhorrent and loathsome attack on young girls in a pub has outraged the entire nation. The incident defeats all reasoning and has left everyone in a state of shock. What is even more appalling is the fact that the reprehensible assault on young women was done in the name of religion by so called and self professed guardians of morality who had the audacity to state that they are acting to preserve Indian culture.
As expected there is widespread indignation among civil society. Sadly the whole issue has also become fodder for dubious agendas and political bashing. What is even more regrettable is that the perpetrators may be go scot-free or at best with minimum punishment.
That women were treated with such contempt by a bunch of hooligans while many watched is shameful and speaks volumes about the prevalent state of affairs. How far will we stoop in the name of religion.
I remember a December day sixteen years ago when I felt ashamed of my religion just as I am today. It was the day a house of God was destroyed in the name of another God, in the occurrence mine. On that fateful day I questioned my own faith just as I do today.
I am a Hindu by birth and by choice. I was born to profoundly Hindu parents but grew up in lands of diverse faiths. My parents never imposed their views or beliefs. At home Hindu festivals were celebrated with fervour and some ritualism and the many questions I asked at different moments of my life were answered candidly and without fuss. It is much later in life that I discovered that my mother was not really bent on ritualism but it was her way of introducing me to my faith. I grew up with my set of questions and doubts and each one got cleared with simple honesty.
When I asked one day whether I could go to church and partake of communion as all my school friends did ( I was in a convent school) my parents simply answered that I could if no one had any objection. I guess I had expected a vehement refusal and was a little perplexed by their reaction. I did go to church often and even found a humane priest who allowed me to taste the holy wafer. Some years later while in an Islamic country I wanted to fast in the holy month of Ramadan and once again I got the warm approval of my parents. I celebrated the Sabbath with my Jewish pals too and with every such occurrence my belief got strengthened as I was proud of belonging to a religion that did not close any door in my face but on the other hand allowed me to embrace all faiths. I was proud to be a Hindu.
The tales my parents told me only went to reinforce my faith. I was delighted by the pranks of Lord Krishna and by the touching tales of Ram when he ate the fruits proffered by Sabri or rode in Kevat’s boat. I never felt the need to question the sagacity and humanness of the religion I was born in. Till the fateful day in 2002.
Once again my faith is wavering. Which form of Hinduism is supposedly being defended by attacking women in public? What culture is being preserved? Are we not one of the only religions that worships Goddesses with misplaced fervour? So how can anyone stoop down to such acts. Where are our so called religious heads, and why are they silent. I have often asked myself why our so called god men, the ones you see on TV and that have huge following never speak out when such incidents take place. They simply chose to remain silent. Be it the killing of a girl child, the burning of a bride for dowry, or the raping of a Dalit girl, one has never heard a public condemnation by the innumerable religious men. They seem to be stubbornly silent on burning social issues. And yet they have the power to bring about the change we so badly need.
At a time when my faith is vacillating my thoughts go back to a day when i had a terrible head ache and a little boy folded is hands and shut his eyes tight after informing that he was going to ask his Bhagwan (God) to make my ache go away. The headache disappeared as the little boy’s prayer was heard a faceless and nameless God. That is the one I want to believe in today.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Jan 26, 2009 | Uncategorized
The slumdog euphoria is in full swing. Awards and kudos galore and the ensuing media blitz: slums have suddenly become the flavour of the day. Suits me as normally people are reluctant to hear the slum tales I often tell. I guess the hype will continue till Oscar night at least.
There have been a few detractors people who feel offended at the depiction of slum life, or others who want the word dog removed from the title, and yet others who feel that some scenes may whip up communal passion. But all in all slumdgog has been a a runaway success, even in the eyes of those who till now had never deigned to look at slums and its dwellers. Today slums are no longer invisible, they loom larger than life thanks to a story told.
In all interviews and talk shows the slumdog team has been pitching the film as a tale of hope and love. I am sure it is because slums are replete with tales of hope. And of the umpteen questions asked the ones that struck a chord with me was the ones pertaining to what one could simplify in one word: payback! Yes what did all those who won acclaims for the movie intend to do for the slums and their dwellers. And if I may be allowed to stretch the question further what do each one of us who are oohing and aahing about the film intend to do to reach out to them. I would like to believe that miracles would come by but experience compels me to think otherwise. It is true that the slumdog team has pledged substantial help to the Dharavi dwellers, the director even mentioned that children who acted in the film are now in school. Laudable indeed but a drop in the ocean. It needs much more than one film and its team to change things.
I would like to ask why it takes a film and images on a silver screen to shake us out of our deep slumber. Children like the ones you see running across the screen or on posters are everywhere if you are willing to look. But we have become inured to them and have stopped asking questions. I often wonder why the powers that be, the local authorities and civil society itself does not wonder why so many children hang around every red light when they should by law be in school? You do not even have to walk through a slum to see them. I wonder why we are not disturbed by the sight of people living in abysmal conditions like the lohars (gypsy iron smith) who live along roads we travel each day, or little Radha whose house is so tiny that you have to crawl into it. We simply pass by unfazed an unconcerned.
It is OK for us to sit in the audience of a talk show and ask what others are intending to do, but what about some soul searching. It is wonderful to applaud a story where a young slumdog becomes a millionaire but do we realise that it is within us to make this happen for someone in reality. What if I told you that it is within our reach to weave tales of hope and make dreams come true. At this very moment four little children are waiting patiently for someone to make it happen for them. Is anyone listening?
by Anuradha Bakshi | Jan 26, 2009 | okhla
India celebrates its 6oth Republic Day! All day long there will be ceremonies and parades in different parts of the country. In a remote corner of its capital, on top of a reclaimed garbage dump a bunch of children celebrated Republic Day a day earlier. Two tiny flags on top of a battered speaker marked the occasion. If the props were few the spirit was high. Every child has prepared an item for the occasion.
Little Mithi danced with gay abandon. Her little feet tapping to the beat of the music, a huge smile on her face. There were songs, poems and skits all performed with utmost seriousness and concentration. Yes the little Okhla children celebrated republic day with aplomb! The same happened in other pwhy centres too! I could not be present at all centres and as is often the case lived the moments by proxy courtesy the innumerable photographs taken on the occasion. What was touching is that in each and everyone of them the children were beaming and happy.
These were children of India, protected by the very Constitution that was being commemorated today, the one that was meant to guarantee them a string of rights: justice, liberty, equality words that had scant meaning for these little children. Most of them belonged to extremely poor families, their parents having often fled a flood or a drought or some other calamity to seek greener pastures but sadly found themselves in situations often worse then the one they had left. The pot of gold that they sought remained a chimera.
The children sang and danced oblivious of what awaited them. They were still protected by the innocence of childhood when everything is possible. Tomorrow little Mithi will come to the centre her school bag in tow and will follow her lessons and painstakingly complete all tasks assigned to her. What no one knows is how long it will last: the arrival of a sibling may just put and end to her childhood and her school days. Is this not the plight of many a girl child?
Mithi’s rights are not protected by any Constitution. They simply depend on the vagaries of the reality of her life.
As we celebrate our Republic, my thoughts goes to the millions whose lives hang by a tenuous string in this country that is getting polarised by the minute. As one part of it grows by leaps and bounds to meet a glitzy destiny, the other seems to be sinking with the same rapidity to darker abysses. And yet this is the very one that infuses energy in our lives, the one when hope still lives in the tiny feet of a child dancing, the one where values still rule the day. The one that the world toasts today in a celebrated movie.
If one India is busy debating whether schools should be allowed to increase their already high fees, the other is wondering whether their overcrowded and only school will be sold to build a mall. That is the sad reality of how things as we celebrate yet another Republic Day. I wonder how many more will come and go before all the children in India will the rights enshrined in the very body being honoured today.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Jan 24, 2009 | Uncategorized
In my newly acquired persona of a grandma, I find myself in a strangely contemplative and pensive mood, as if life itself is urging m to stop and take stock of times gone by and muse over those to come. I begin this journey by mooring myself on a real issue we are living now. The story of little Meher who has just come back from her first visit to the kind hearted plastic surgeon who has agreed to change her morrows. The verdict was promising though the road ahead is a long one: a series of surgeries that will repair her maimed hands and scarred face. No matter how long it takes, hopes looms large as it always does.
It all began when Nina a volunteer at pwhy decided to step in and do something for little Meher. The magic words at work were compassion and hope, words that can truly move mountains. Another journey of hope had just begun and I needed once again to start being grateful.
As I sat lost in my thoughts, I realised that the past decade has been a wonderful odyssey of hope, compassion and gratitude. It is true that there have been some choppy seas and harsh moments, but they pale in front of all that has been achieved. And what is truly magical is that each time one is at risk of delving too much on the darker side of things, a new journey begins and infuses one with the optimism and drive that had seemed in peril.
The year began with a sombre note. Many regular donors informed us of their inability to continue their support – recession woes – and we found ourselves wondering how we would survive. Hope, compassion and gratitude seemed rather useless values in the wake of the crisis looming large. But just as we were about to sink into despair, little Meher’s plight lit up the sky and all was forgotten. Hope has once again dispelled all doubts.
It is touching how over the years it is the little individual stories that have kept us going and given us the strength to carry on, be it our little braveheart Utpal, spirited Radha who refuses to give up or our super foster care kids who have broken all conventions and barriers. They show us each day that hope and compassion remain no matter how dark the days or difficult the journey. And as one looks back one cannot help feel grateful.
The road ahead is undoubtedly an arduous and difficult one, but as long as hope, compassion, gratitude and other such trivia are kept alive, you know you will overcome.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Jan 22, 2009 | Uncategorized
I beg your indulgence for this post that may look very different from the ones I normally write. I seek your understanding and request you to allow me to share one of the most beautiful moments of my life: the birth of Agastya Noor, my grandson.
He landed in our lives yesterday and though I have not seen or held him, I immediately felt lifted. Somehow the arrival of this little child made me look at life in a brand new way. Is it because in a split second one had been promoted to the next stage of life, one that always entails contemplation and reflection.
His parents chose to call him Agastya after the legendary vedic sage known for his wisdom and sagacity and Noor the Arabic word for light thus breaking barriers and walls and setting the right note for his entry into a world in need of healing and peace.
I sat watching his tiny face and wondering what life had in store for him. I thought for a long time what I would wish for him. Needless to say as any dotty granny I wanted everything for him and more! But as my thoughts settled a little I realised that what I wished most for him was that he grow up with the ability to understand the little fox’s secret : It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.
Yes what I wanted the most for my grandchild was the ability to feel compassion, the wisdom to know when to stop and feel the gentle breeze and hear the rustling of leaves, the strength to feel the hurt and pain of another, to look into the eyes of the beggar child and not walk away, to walk the long road alone if need be, for I knew that with this strength in him, he would be able to scale the highest mountains but not lose sight of the earth below.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Jan 18, 2009 | Uncategorized
Everyone is talking about Slumdog Millionaire. I have not seen the movie as it is yet to be released in India. I had read Q & A almost two years ago when the book had been recommended to me by a rather cynical acquaintance who felt I should read a book that talked about the world I had naively and bravely set out to change. I must admit that I was impressed by the clever and eminently readable way in which the author had managed to portray a world that no one is really interested in. And though it did seem a little far-fetched to think that all that was written could happen to one person, each story was a perfect cameo of the stark reality that I brushed everyday.
I had forgotten about Q & A till last week when it reappeared in its new avatar: a stunning movie that seemed set to bag every award possible. Slumdog Millionaire was the darling of each and every one and a world normally ignored and shunned suddenly became real. I myself received an email that said: I always knew about the poverty in India, but after watching the movie Slumdog Millionaire, I saw the severeness of what many young innocent children are going through.
I will not be cynical. I will not even begin to think how long will the euphoria last and how soon the world that so many are feeling disturbed about will once again be relegated to its usual status of anonymity and invisibility. I may have gone that way a few years back, but have since become inured to many things, and learnt to accept the world as it is. In the email I mentioned above I was asked many disturbing questions that all boil down to one loud and deafening WHY. Sadly I do not have the answers. I can simply say that I too asked myself those very questions many years back and not finding answers set down to finding my own. Today as the world toasts Slumdog Millionaire I simply hope that before the excitement dies down and gets overtaken by some other stunning tale, some whys are indeed answered.
However I would like to share some thoughts that have been troubling me for a long time and that once again beg to be aired. The plight of slum children that today looms larger than life on a silver screen is actually there for every one to see. Sadly there is not a red light in our big cities where a little beggar girl does not approach your vehicle or where a maimed child does not make you wonder how he or she got mutilated. It does not take much to ask one’s self why gangs that use children are allowed to exist. And yet one passes them by, wishing they were not there, quickly rolling down a window and handing a coin just to be rid of what one views at best as a nuisance. We have lost our ability to feel compassion or empathy.
It is not simply the plight of the beggar child that leaves us unmoved. It seems also to be the plight of anyone in need. And I allow myself to speak with authority as I have been walking this road for almost a decade now! In my years of soliciting and panhandling I have come across resistance of all kinds particularly when one dares step across the invisible yet impregnable line. No Sir, there are somethings that are not for the poor!
I would like to share a story here in some way our very own Slumdog Millionaire tale. Almost a year ago a set of circumstances made it possible for us to envisage giving 4 terribly deprived children the unimaginable opportunity of breaking the circle of poverty they lived in and getting the best education possible. The stage was set, the protagonists in place and everything seemed to be working to perfection. Our euphoria was short lived and the dream turned sour as the individual who had initiated the idea and promised to fund it simply walked away leaving us high and dry holding the lives and dreams of 4 little kids in our hand. There was no reality show with a pot of gold waiting to be won. We had to make our own.
What followed was a battle against all odds, one we are still waging as there was no way we could have sent these children back to the lives we had saved them from. What we were not prepared for was the attitude and reaction of those we sought help from: how could we envisage giving a slum child what is actually the hallowed ground reserved for the privileged! But we did not give up and for the last year these children were in our foster care programme where they learnt and thrived and did us all proud. Last week they sat for their entrance examinations for their new school and are now all set to join it in their respective classes. As I write these words we barely have enough funds to see them through their first year and we are looking a miracle. We know deep in our hearts that the miracle will come by. It simply has to.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Jan 15, 2009 | Uncategorized
Take this said the desperate mother as she held out a 5oo Rs note but please admit my child. This incident occurred last week at the women centre. The women in question was a newly arrived migrant from Bihar. The child, a little five year old, watched in silence.
D, the coordinator, tried to explain to the lady that the classes were full, that there were long waiting lists and that there was no way he could do anything. She kept on insisting ad she waived her 5oo rs note. Someone must have told her that in Delhi, almost everything could be obtained with the right amount of money and five hundred rupees were definitely a handsome amount. D gently tried to explain to her that we did not function this way but she was adamant. I guess in her simple mind she could not fathom why this door was not opening, dis he not possess the magic key.
She did finally leave. D had promised that he would look into the matter and see what could be done. Perhaps in a month or two when new admissions would be considered. She put her note away still not quite comprehending why it had not done the trick.
Corruption is high on her minds these days with the Satyam Scandal. This is just another side of the same coin: the nameless and faceless corruption that permeates every aspect of our lives. It is ingrained in the very fabric of our society. It has become part and parcel of our lives. Even the simple migrant from Bihar was well honed in the ways of our world.
So how does one address the situation..
If we introspect a little, can anyone of us say with utmost honesty that we have never bent the rules? I guess not. It does not have to be money it can also be the phone call to the well placed friend, the office car used for personal work and so on. Have we not all at some time or the other paid a small bribe to avoid a fine, or to break a queue or to accelerate some paper work. Someone once told me that this was not corruption by facilitation money. I wonder what the difference really is.
The problem is that if you decide to take the long road home, the experience is nothing short of harrowing as we experienced some time back. Many of us quip that the few bills paid are well worth the wear and tear on nerves and the times wasted. They may have a point but it is my belief that corruption can only be addressed if we decide to walk the laond road, however arduous.
Can you blame the woman for brandishing her precious five hundred rupees in the hope of getting her child into what she was told was a good school. She was simply playing by the rules. It is time we took the first step towards defining new rules.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Jan 14, 2009 | Uncategorized
Last Sunday was a very important day for our little foster kids Babli, Vicky, Nikhil and Aditya. They were to sit for their entrance exam for admission to their boarding school. It was an exciting moment for them,as somehow they knew that they were about to take their first step in a brand new world. I watched them get ready with a sense of joy and pride laced with a tinge of sadness. In the next few weeks they would leave their pals and the comfort and safety of the tiny world we had created for them with love and care.
I knew I would miss seeing them every morning as I alighted from my three wheeler and they jumped into it to set off to school. Their bright and cheerful – morning ma’am – was something I really looked forward to. But life has to move on and was this not the day we toiled towards despite all odds. I should have been elated and I was. We had taken the bold step of breaking all barriers and ensuring that these little kids got the very best.
They left for their entrance exam with their teacher Prabin. It was to be a full day affair. The children did well I was told and we await the results with bated breath but what was truly touching was the welcome that little Utpal gave them. One must not forget that he is now an old hand having spent three years in school!
From the very instant he laid eyes on them as they entered the school premises, he never left their side. He gave them the guided tour showing them his school with pride. He waited for them outside the classroom while they wrote their exam. As they were also to be interviewed and that the interview would be later in the day, he ensured that they were not bored or lost. The five kids played to their heart’s content. They also shared lunch in the big dining hall and had their fill of swings and slides.
Interview over it was time to take the road back home. Utpal saw them off as any impeccable host would and waved bye till he lost sight of the car. The children rode back in silence, their head filled with images of a new world, one that would soon be theirs, one they never knew existed as they have rarely ventured out of their dreary homes.
My eyes welled with tears as I listened to the account of the day the next morning. When asked whether they would be happy to go to the big school all four of them had said yes with aplomb and conviction, their eyes twinkling with joy an expectation. It had all been worth it: the struggle, the snide remarks, the race against so may odds to ensure the required money in time, the daunting challenge of make sure that it would continue to be so for the twelve years ahead.
My incredible 4 had respected all the rules and never wavered. For the past 8 months they had played the game like champs. They had kept their side of the bargain. It was time we kept ours.
The journey has just begun. What lies ahead is yet unknown, but somehow I know that all be well, that somehow we will overcome every obstacle and win the race. The trusting eyes filled with hope are enough to move mountains and we will. Utpal is there to hold our hand!
by Anuradha Bakshi | Jan 11, 2009 | Uncategorized
It was Sunday afternoon. The air was a chilly though a watery sun was trying to break through the fog. The roads were empty. I normally do not venture out on Sunday. This Sunday however I took the road I take every morning to work. At the red light near the flyover close to my home lives a posse of beggars. Normally when we pass them by every morning at eight, they are still waking up. Some of them are still huddled under their blankets, others are brushing their teeth on the road side, some women are busy making tea on their makeshift stove. At that time of day you are rarely solicited for alms. Their working day has not begun.
This day was different. The space under the flyover normally teeming with beggars was empty. The only reminder of their existence was a heap of grubby bundles and bags carefully piled up in a corner. Everyone had left to take their positions at different spots.
We reached the red light and stopped. Out of nowhere sprung a little girl. She must have been two. Her feet were bare and she wore a tattered skirt and blouse that could not have kept her warm. She approached the three wheeler her tiny hand held out. I looked up at her and saw the most beautiful child I could imagine. Her eyes sparkled and were full of mischief as she enticed you into a game. She had almost perfect features and plump cheeks and looked a far cry from any beggar child I had ever seen. She looked more like the children you see on picture postcards or glitzy ads.
You could make out that she had been taught the right gestures and actions for her trade: the hand held out, the little chubby legs running from one vehicle to the other, the rehearsed speech. But that was were it ended. Was it her innocence that turned the sordid drama into a game she played with aplomb and glee. Her handler sat on the curb watching the child. She was much older and it looked as if she was assigned the task of training her. The child did run back to her often , as if she were seeking approval and encouragement. The light turned green and we moved on. As we left the little girl gave us the most endearing smile and waved merrily.
I had thought that I was totally inured to the menace of the beggar child after years of facing them at every red light you cross. I often carry biscuits and hand them over to the child that proffers his of her little hand. But the sight of this little girl changed it all. Something snapped inside me. Perhaps it was the walls I had carefully built to enable me to withstand the sight of the innumerable beggar children one comes across each day. Or perhaps was if the fact that usually, the children one comes across are either half drugged babes in arms or pesky kids well honed in the art of begging. But this little girl still had all the innocence of a child and looked at you as if you were an equal, one willing to be part of the new game she had been taught. The world I had shut away willingly had once again become real. No child, no matter how pesky should be used and abused in this way. And yet it happens each day and we just pass by.
Had I too become hardened or had I simply drawn false comfort from the fact that I was doing a great job. Was I not helping so many poor children! The sight of that tiny little girl made me feel very small and inconsequential. The work that seemed till that very instant fairly laudable looked pitiful. It would be weeks or at best months before the tiny girl lost her innocence and became one the pesky children and another still in the arms would be seen learning the tricks of the trade. But the question that needed to be asked was whether anything could be done.
Some years ago we had tried to do something for the children under this very flyover. Our idea was to run a one hour outreach programme where we wanted to try and give these kids some basic education, but we found out that this was not to be as the children formed an essential part of the begging trade as they were the ones most likely to bring in the moolah. We were rudely sent way by the rather forbidding leaders of the pack. This was a serious albeit disdainful well organised commercial activity and the children had to sing for their supper. Needless to say we left sheepishly with our great ideas and plans.
We have all heard about the sordid tales that underlie the world of beggars be it the child maimed or the ones hired for the day. Even I wrote my posts dutifully expressing my rage and then moved on. Somehow one had shut this world away as it seemed hopeless. The sight of the little beggar girl who was so different from her brood raised many uncomfortable questions.
Each one of us are in some way or the other responsible for the fact that this little girl is today learning this despicable trade. We are all guilty of dropping that fateful coin in the proffered hand and thus giving this trade some credibility and support. I know it is the easiest way of getting rid of the annoying child that knocks at your window or trails you mercilessly. But then as long as we continue doing this we give our tacit approval to the trade. These children are also citizens of this land and hence protected by its constitution and yet every single right of theirs is hijacked. They are simply a menace we have learnt to live with. We cannot remain silent and see more children’s lives destroyed. We need to act now!
by Anuradha Bakshi | Jan 11, 2009 | Uncategorized
I was wondering what I would blog about this morning. Writing a post is almost therapeutic for me and has a cathartic effect as it enables me to share what otherwise would remain bottled inside and threaten to choke me and cloud my functioning.
This morning I opened my mailbox not expecting much, it being a Sunday. A mail from the editor of a site named views point sat patiently waiting to be opened. Not knowing the sender I may have deleted in on another morning but not today. I opened it and found that it asked one to share ones’ opinion about the Satyam Scandal.
I had not planned to talk about this as I am a complete dodo with financial issues and corporate sagas. I barely find my way in the plus and minuses of the tiny project I run. I must confess that in spite of my poor grasp of things, the size of the swindle was mind blogging: 5000 crores and plus. I read the article I had been solicited to comment upon.
The article raised many issues that I have touched upon in my years of blogging: corruption, the lure of money, political nexuses and above all the need of apportioning responsibility. The author highlights the need for introspection and that is what I have tried to do and often urged others to follow.
You do not need a Satyam kind of scandal to find that we are living in an impossible imbroglio. My experience of corruption, political nexuses and greed is bases on my experience with a very tiny part of India, one that remains invisible and voiceless, where scandals go unnoticed because they are too small to increase TRPs or touch people too scared to voice their plight.
I do not know whether the real perpetrators of the Satyam scandal will be punished or whether another masterpiece in whitewashing will occur and a few fall guys will face a token punishment after an interminable legal drama. I must confess that based on my experience of the past I do not hold much hope. The Satyam scandal affects thousands of innocent hard working employees and millions of trusting investors -was not Satyam one of the no risk company-?
The nameless and faceless scandal I refer to is the one that touches scores of millions of people each day as they set out on another day of survival: the weekly tithe to be paid to the local beat cop so that one can set up one’s tea stall or food cart; the wad of now crumpled notes saved over months that need to be handed over to the wily tout to secure a coveted job in some remote government department, a job that will never come your way, only the size of the wad increases; the other wad of money borrowed at some astronomical rate from the local money lender so that one’s drunk husband can be released from the police station and so on. The list is endless. Corruption is rampant and has reached the tiniest crevices of society.
Can I dare hope that the Satyam scandal will perhaps awaken us of our slumber and our ataxia and make us say enough is enough. For only when each one of us mouthes those words will things begin to change. And that means not paying a bribe to the traffic cop when you bust the red light but accepting to go to the court and pay your fine and so on. The list is again endless and in each case the price to pay heavy! But I am convinced that corruption can be defeated only when each one of us agree to do so and stop wanting to cut corners. Looks daunting and almost impossible. That is where the need for introspection lies.
The Satyam scandal raises another question: the lure of money and the extent of one’s greed. How much is enough. That is again a question begging for an answer. I can easily say that I have curtailed my needs to a bare minimum since I embarked on the pwhy journey. The flip side is that I am constantly panhandling to meet the need of others. I guess the bottom line here is that the sky the the limit provided you go about garnering your wealth with honesty and hard toil. Sadly the consumer society we live in, the lure of materialistic ware aptly promoted by the idiot box and the access to credit makes it all very difficult and quasi impossible. So where does wisdom lie, or rather how does one build the right set of values in each one of us? More questions that need urgent answers and yet there seems no one who can give them.
I normally am not a cynic. If I were I would never have created pwhy. But faced with the present scandal I cannot but say that I have scant hope that anything will happen. Memories are short, and soon everything will be forgotten as another scandal aptly fanned by TV channels will replace this one. Life will just continue as always and I will go back into my world trying to change one life and then another hoping against hope that a miracle will come our way.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Jan 9, 2009 | Uncategorized
Yesterday was one of those strange days when a quirk of fate makes you come to face with both end of a spectrum. I am not one to readily accept a lunch invitation to the latest place in town, but a dear friend and supporter of pwhy insisted I come. I could not refuse. So there I was peeking into my wardrobe for an appropriate attire and getting ready to travel to a part of the town I had not visited for as long as I could remember. I was about to leave when a distressed and seemingly agitated pair entered the room: Rani and Shamika had just returned from a visit to Radha’s home.
Though visibly perturbed, the girls took a long time to find the words to express what they were feeling. After some time they shared their angst in almost incoherent phrases : You will not believe, you have to crawl in, the child was practically naked..there was nothing in the house… and so on.
I sat quietly listening to them. What till yesterday had simply been second hand information had today become real. You can raise your eyebrows in horror when you are told about a dwelling whose roof is four feet high, or that is barely 8 square feet, you can try and imagine what life can be in such conditions, but nothing prepares you for what you feel when it hits you in the face, even your 9 years of toiling in slums. The two young women had experienced just that. And I knew that it was something they would not forget for long and that may even hold their hand back the next time they set out on one of their wild shopping sprees.
It was time for me to leave. On my long ride in the chilly wind (three wheelers do not have windows) I kept thinking of Radha’s family and of all those who faced similar situations in this heartless city. A multitude of questions came to mind, each left unanswered. I reached my destination and finally the famous cafe where my friend awaited me. It was a swanky place, which made you wonder where you were, as there was very little of India there: the staff was all from the North East, even the clocks on the wall showed the time in about 5 different time zones. The crowd was mostly expatriate with a sprinkling of very westernised country mates, who even spoke with the accent acquired on their last trip abroad. No vernacular please.
My friend, also an expat was waiting on a terrace table and we were soon lost in conversation. Still filled with images of Radha’s world, the conversation soon turned to the plight of the poor and the ever increasing gap between the two Indias. One thing led to the other. My friend told me how shocked she was at the contempt with which the rich people she frequented talked about the poor, even those who worked for them. I simply listened. We talked about the lack of compassion in the young and the violence that was growing at an alarming rate. The gang rape of the young student was high on your minds. That the perpetrators were barely out of their teens made us wonder what was it that was missing in today’s nurturing of the young. And what was it that had been different in our days. We both agreed on the fact that no matter how privileged you were, in earlier times there were boundaries that we all respected: controlled spending money, respect of values, fixed time tables and so on. Today’s youth seemed rudderless and the only value instilled in them was that of money be it with the rich or the not so rich.
It was time to leave. I must confess that I had felt a tad uncomfortable sitting in that almost alien place. The ride back was even more chilling: was it the wind that had turned colder or my thoughts more disturbed. The day passed and I went to bed still perturbed.
This morning a mail dropped in my inbox. It gave me a link to a blog post entitled even these least, a post about in the words of the author: the bleeding heart stuff. It is an incisive and thought provoking tirade about why one gives to another. The author makes some interesting remarks and shares some real experiences. He writes: I’m not a bleeding heart, by a long shot. I could blame time and space and life, or perhaps it never was in me. I really don’t know. Moral triage is something every person carries out on a daily basis, navigating through the million abrasions of the daily grind. Constrained by my own needs, I can and do walk off from situations and places without necessarily feeling heart-broken. What is amazing, however, is that there always seems to be somebody who cares…These are cold, cold times, dear heart. Maybe they are merely lamps, giving a feeble light; maybe they aren’t able to warm anything except a few hearts. But I see plenty of people around me doing the most unlikely things…
People who, on a larger scale, are trying to do something, anything that will make at least one more person happy, one more person safe….
I have asked myself, in some of my retrospective moments, what made me do what I am doing today, have asked myself whether the kudos that come my way time and again are deserved, whether it is some virtuous road I walk or whether I just do what I can in a set of given circumstances? Probably that is what it is: not a quest for acclaim or a righteous crusade, I simply do what I can.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Jan 7, 2009 | Uncategorized
If you do not fulfill all the rites we will see that your daughters will never get married and you san will be banished from the clan, were the chilling words hurled at meena – Radha’s mom – as she sat desolate holding on to her four children. She had gone back to her village in Bihar after the death of her husband to complete the said rituals. At that time she did not know what awaited her. The rituals of the 10th day were complex and costly. Where would the money come from? And yet as she sat alone and devastated she knew she had no choice. Her hesitant and barely audible appeal had fallen on deaf ears. The answer had been cruel and categorical: we she wanted her children to remain within the fold of the clan she had to find the money.
And she did as in this complex and inhumane social imbroglio, predators lurk in search of innocent prey. The answer was simple: she would have to borrow it from the local money lender – in this case the local goldsmith. The die was cast.
The said ritual entailed feeding the entire village and thus Meena had to borrow twelve thousand rupees at the rate of 6% a month or 72% a year. The split moment decision had made her indebted for life. What was even more terrifying was that the so called clan that seemed to exercise such power was strangely absent when it came to extending a helping hand. Meena revealed that during her month long stay at the village her children had practically starved. My blood runs cold at the mere thought of masses of rich food being cooked for uncaring people while the little children of the dead man starve.
After completing the rituals and carrying the load of a huge debt on her frail shoulders Meena took set on her journey back to Delhi. Having barely any money left she bought he cheapest tickets the one that allows you standing space, for a three day journey. Exhausted and hungry she reached Delhi in the dead of night and waited till morning in the chilly night. A kind fellow traveler offered his left over food to the starving children. After having dropped her family in her house, she walked to our centre where we found her waiting as we reached office.
She sat on a chair, desperate and yet determined, knowing that she had to carry on as the morrows of her tiny family were in her custody. She recalled her tale of horror. Her eyes heavy with sleep were threatening to close but she carried on, sharing every detail. We just listened, too shocked to react, not finding the words that would help assuage her terrible pain.
When she had finished her story, we sat in silence for what seemed like a long time, not knowing where to begin. Slowly we tried to ask her what she wanted to do next. She simply answered: whatever you say. Not wanting to push her in anyway, we tried to show her the few and bleak options she had: to find s job, one that would perhaps give her a couple of thousands of rupees but would leave her nothing at the end of the month, or she could if she wanted come to our women centre where she and her children would be safe. She could work and even learn a sewing. Her older daughters could go back to school and we would find a way to ensure that spirited Radha come rejoin her friends at the special section and her little boy would join the creche. We did not push and simply answered her numerous questions: would my children get food, what work would I have to do, where is the centre…
We realised that perhaps this was the first time someone was being kind to her, and she was finding it difficult to believe what she was hearing. She was perhaps looking for the catch, the price she may be asked to pay. We did not push her, we knew she needed time. We just told her to go home, talk to her kids and to the other members of her family and that we would drop and by her home the next day and take her and show her the place.
After a much needed cup of tea, Meera left and we got on with our chores as best we could. Innumerable questions came to mind, each with no plausible answer. One did one begin to comprehend the perplexity of age old social traditions that had lost all their meaning but were still paramount to survival in an India we did not really know. How could one even begin to attempt to change things in a situation where the adversary was so formidable. How did you take on social mores and how essential were they to the lives of such people? Why had no religious head ever denounced rituals that ensured that you would be lost forever? And if the God of Lesser beings had intervened in Radha’s case what about the million others who suffered the same fate?
Tomorrow perhaps, Meena will decide to come to our centre – was it not set up for the likes of her – and a new life will begin for her and her family. At this moment this is all I can do though I know that the disturbing thoughts that have come to my mind will not vanish so easily. Maybe I need to remember what I had said almost ten years ago to someone who asked me how I would go about solving all the problems that plague India. If I can change one life, it would have been worth it. So help me God!
Note: Later in the day, Sitaram called to tell us that there was no food in Radha’s home and that they had no money to buy any. We sent a bag full of rations to ensure that the family sleeps well tonight
by Anuradha Bakshi | Jan 4, 2009 | Uncategorized
Utpal is back in his boarding school after his winter break. he dropped by to give me a hug on his way to school and that is when I managed to shoot this priceless picture. Popples spent his holidays in what he simply called mera ghar – my home.
After spending Xmas eve with me and getting his gifts, he stubbornly started insisting he wanted to go home. Home is the women centre, a place he has been going to for the past 18 months. Normally it is where mom is but for the past two breaks mom has not been there as she is in rehab again. But that does not make a difference is is still home.
I tried to get him to come to my place for New Year’s eve as the centre was rather empty and to me looked gloomy, but not to Popples who celebrated the coming of 2009 at home with his pals – the band of neighborhood kids of which he is the leader – and a menu he decided upon: dal and roti. I could not be with him as much as I would have wanted and spoke to him on the phone frequently. One evening he asked me to come to his home and have pakoras. Needless to say and in spite of the bitter cold, I made the trip. It was heart wrenching him to see him jump around me, make me comfortable, run to Roshni in the kitchen to get me a glass of water, and then my proverbial mug of green tea. He then started bringing the pakoras almost one by one, running from the room to the kitchen a little bowl in hand. He fed me as no one has ever fed with, with so much love and pride that I was unable to hold my tears.
My thoughts went back to a day way back in 2005 when the same little boy had offered me a meal of the most unique fish and rice you can imagine,or the day when I had been invited to tea by a little 3 year old who was returning the hospitality he had enjoyed. It was a moving meal as I gobbled pakoras afer pakoras, all digestive ailments forgotten. It was by far the most perfect meal, better than any meal money could buy. It was laced with love and unsaid feelings that hung in the air making the moment truly magic as I enjoyed my precious pakoras.
Many may wonder why a little boy chose to stay alone in what many may call a dingy place rather than be in a big home. the answer is simple: the women centre is where mom lives!
by Anuradha Bakshi | Jan 2, 2009 | Uncategorized
Sell schools to build shopping malls! You heard me right. This is no joke but that is the latest ploy of the Municipal Corporation of Delhi in a view to fill their coffers. And 15 schools are apparently ready to be auctioned, 60 others are in the pipeline.
I am aghast and speechless. In a city where over 500 000 children do not have access to a primary school this is preposterous. The MCD runs 65% of the primary schools in the city and hence is the main provider of primary education. If it abdicates its mission then we, or rather the vulnerable children of India are doomed.
Mall mania is the (dubious) flavour of the day and as we all know greedy predators are on the prowl for prime locations. Those who belong to Delhi know are aware that there are municipal schools in almost every corner of the city, even in the so called posh areas. In many cases these are an eyesore and yet someone a long long time ago, while planning our city thought it wise to set these spaces aside so that children from all walks of life could ge an education. That was when education has not yet become a lucrative business option, when mall mania had not hit us, when values still existed. Today these pieces of land have become prime property and thus good money spinners.
Who is being once again sacrificed at the alter of greed are voiceless children like the little girl in the picture. It is already a herculean task to convince parents like hers to send their girl child to school, but if no school remains than the battle is lost before it even began. I am not one to accept the lame excuse that the schools are not running well. Such schools do not perform well because of the total lack of commitment of those who run them. In the last 9 years we at pwhy have proved that it did not take muck to ensure that children that such temples of education had written off as gone cases could not only pass their examinations but even top their classes. And it did not take much to do that: a park corner and a teacher who believed in them.
I hope better sense will prevail and that the schools will be spared the auctioneer’s hammer. But I am afraid it might not be so.
It is sad that in a country where it took almost 60 years for children to claim their constitutional right to education, it is the very guardians of these rights who are taking these rights away from them. I have no words to express my horror.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Jan 1, 2009 | Uncategorized
“For yesterday and for all tomorrows, we dance the best we know” wrote Kate Seredy the well known children’s author. And yesterday some of our children did just that. This year we did not have a regular new year bash so each section of pwhy decided to have their own party. The special section kids and the junior secondary ones who have adjacent classes organised an impromptu dance party.
Favourite tracks were selected on the music system by the in house DJ (shamika) and some drinks and eats were bough and then it was party time.
The all danced with gay abandon even those who cannot walk or those who cannot hear. They danced to proved they existed, they danced to show that they too had hopes and dreams. And for those few moments time stood still, all worries and problems were set aside and we all just danced for yesterday and all our tomorrows.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Dec 30, 2008 | Uncategorized
When I was back there in seminary schoolThere was a person thereWho put forth the proposition
That you can petition the Lord with prayer
sang the Doors many years ago. The passionate lyrics of this song came back to me this morning as I sat composing what was to be my new year appeal.
In a few hours 2009 will dawn. New year greetings are flying across the world wide web, choking inboxes and saturating mobile phone lines. Each message bravely carries a missive for peace, understanding, and hope. Needless to say that the past few months have been notorious by the absence of peace, understanding and hope. Senseless terror and unfathomable economic vagaries have shaken every one’s beliefs.
Pwhy has not also taken its share of beating. It is sad but true that when things take a downside, people find it easy to downsize or even stop their commitments to causes leaving the like of us in dire straits. One would have hoped that the tumble everyone has taken would have redefined priorities and reinstated values like compassion and empathy. But alas, that is not the case.
It is time to petition the Lord with Prayer.
Had pwhy been a business house, it would have been easy to shut the door, put the key under the mat and sit down in some dark corner to lick one’s wounds and wait for things to pass. But when you hold over seven hundred smiles in custody you do not have that luxury. When you have umpteen doors each one concealing its set of dreams you cannot even start deciding which one do you shut first: the one that costs the most but is not also the one that shelters the most desperate souls, the newest one you put up but is not the one that is the most vibrant?
No, Sir, you just cannot shut any of them. You need to find new ways to survive and thus reinvent yourself and petition the Lord with Prayer.
Today more than ever, I wish my one rupee a day programme had taken off. I wish I had given it a better chance and withstood all the false starts. I wished I had pushed it with more passion and not allowed myself to be skunked. I know that too many the one rupee programme seemed puerile and even silly but the essence of the programme was to ask so little from each one that it would not be missed and hence no matter what happened, the tiny amount would still find its way to us and keep us going. In hindsight perhaps I was not able to make my case heard convincingly enough. So here I am again with the same entreaty in a new packaging. I am asking everyone who believed in what we do to commit a fix amount, no matter how small, for us every month so that no door needs to be closed, no smile needs to be lost and no child risks to drop out of school and lose his morrows. Is it asking too much.
Today I petition the Lord that I may be heard.
