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.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Dec 29, 2008 | Uncategorized
Yesterday was a special day. After almost six months little Utpal was to see his mom again. The day before I had asked Utpal whether he wanted to see his mom dance and act as the inmates of thecentre were putting up a new year show. Utpal’s eyes light up with joy and I was treated to his mischievious lopsided smile I so love. Mom dancing that was something he could not miss.
I felt a lump in my throat as I remembered all the false start mother and child reunions Utpal had gone through. Would this finally be the right one? Would Utpal’s mom come back to us healed and ready to face life? Easier said than done as she is deeply disturbed and needs a lot of healing and care. Would I ever be able to fulfill the promise I made to little Utpal: that of giving him back a mom!
The battle we have waged for many years has been quite uneven. Little Utpal has played by the rule and never made a false move. He settled in his boarding school without batting an eyelid. made friends, brought report cards filled withs stars, performed on stage, learnt to skate, and even began to play the piano. And each holiday he settled with ease in whatever place we sent him to be it a rehab centre or our women centre, with or without mom. As I have always said, he was is a true survivor.
So it is with a spring in his walk that he took off yesterday to see mom dance. He came back happy and full of stories: mom danced well said he as he proudly showed me the little clip on the camera, and then went on to show me the little paper windmill that his mom had made in her craft class adding with pride: you keep it, it is for you. Needless to say it now sits on my work desk next to his Xmas card and little cars.
Soon it will be time for mom to come home. I do not know what will happen but I do beseech the God of Lesser Souls to make this the final home coming. A little boy with huge eyes and an unwavering spirit deserves to have his mom back.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Dec 26, 2008 | Uncategorized
This picture was taken yesterday. Our class X boys busy studying on the roadside in the morning sun. They often do that as their classroom, or what goes by that name, is very cold. But somehow the picture took me back to the day it had all begun. I still remember the way a vile school principal contemptuously told me that the likes of our students were simply gutter snipe and could never clear their Boards. The challenge was taken and for want of a classroom, classes began in the road side just a few meters away from where this picture was taken. In those days we did not have chairs or stools, a simple mat sufficed and cups of tea kept the chill away.
What we lacked resources was amply made up by the passion, commitment and zeal we all displayed. I remember coming almost every morning and sitting close to the boys, hoping against hope that that my presence would make up for all that was missing. Time was short as we had just under two months to achieve was seemed impossible: ensure that all our 10 boys cleared their Xth Boards. And they did!
Since that day every year a new batch of students has repeated the feat and I must confess a little sheepishly though, that now one has almost taken this for granted. As time passed and the project grew one had to take on new responsibilities and meet new challenges and many small miracles just went passed unnoticed.
Another picture did take me recently on a journey down memory lane, but this own was different. It brought back the almost palpable energy, vitality and spirit of what pwhy truly was: the passion to take on any challenge that comes our way, even it seems impossible and even if all screams to the contrary. I guess that is what we are all about and will strive to always be.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Dec 25, 2008 | Uncategorized
When the terrible attacks on Mumbai occurred almost exactly a month ago, we like many the world over, watched in helpless horror. We mourned the senseless deaths of innocent people. We searched for elusive answers to the disturbing whys. And as is always the case in life we settled back in our ways and life took its momentarily suspended course. Mumbai somehow seemed very remote and we felt too small to have any role to play. But that was not to be. A wondrous moment was in the making.
A few days back a mail dropped in my inbox. A friend of a person whose life had tragically ended on that terrible Wednesday wanted to provide a small meal to pwhy kids in memory of her departed friend. So on Xmas eve, she along with her friend’s family, came to pwhy laden with boxes of yummy snacks and a bag of shining apples. I am convinced that the kids knew that the moment was almost hallowed. Their beautiful smiles and endearing eyes managed to convey what they could not word. And for those few magical instants time stood still and all that is ugly and sad was forgotten as one watched these little souls open their boxes or bite into their apples.
It was a blessed moment. One of hope and healing. One that urged us to look beyond the obvious and seek real solutions, one that compelled us to see that there were millions of little souls who still believed that a better tomorrow was possible even if the only evidence they had was the sweetness of their first whole apple.
It was a touching moment as I watched the brave little family who in spite of the terrible loss they were still coming to terms with, found it in their heart to come and bring a smile on faces who were still learning to smile.
It was a beautiful moment that proved that no matter how small or inconsequential one may feel, each one of us had the ability to reach out to another and craft something special.
I felt simply blessed.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Dec 24, 2008 | Uncategorized
I am going to be outrageous today as I dare to hope that the proposed school fee hike in public schools may just be a tiny first step to the cherished dream of a common neighborhood school. Let me try and explain what I mean.
That education has become a commercial venture is sad but true. And this is across India as I learnt first hand just a few days ago. Gita who works is our home has a young daughter who lives in Calcutta with her mother. Gita nad her husband who works in the Gulf have just one dream: to give the best education possible t their only child. The child is not ready for school and for the past weeks the family has been filling forms and going through the tedious and onerous admission procedures. They have dutifully bought forms at 500 rs a piece ans completed them. They were shocked when a school told them that they had to produce the mother as she needed to be interviewed. They tried in vain to explain the situation. The nightmare is far from over and I just hope the little girl will get into a good school.
It is the word good that gets my goat!
Over the years certain schools have acquired the label good! Slowly and surreptitiously an insidious caste system evolved in what was meant to be an even playing ground, and slowly and surreptitiously the hallmark of good schools became the size of their fees, and not the quality of teachers or other such parameters. For a good school in Delhi you have to pay in thousands and more. And now with the dreaded rise the costs will become simply mind boggling. And as a parent said : we might have to pull out our children from expensive school to a cheaper one.
During the recent election campaign a politician aptly commented: Having a house in the city is beyond the reach of the middle class. If the fees of children are increased, then schools will go out of the reach of the middle class and only the children of the rich people will get education. Education is the fundamental right of children. This of course was uttered to gain political mileage but it seems to be the way things are going. Schools will soon become out of reach of the middle class and the likes of Gita and her husband who toil day and night to try and ensure their child gets the best.
Rather than the cheaper school can we not start talking of the common neighborhood school run by the state. Or is it is too infradig to think of sending your middle class child to such schools? How long will it take to some to terms with a reality that is staring us in the face. Is it not time to demand that state run schools be made into good schools, and redefine the word good once in for all!
As long as good is defined in germs of the size of fee paid, there is scant hope. Education is not better if imparted in fancy buildings. The best lessons can be learnt under a tree! By making education a commercial activity one is hijacking one’s own future. If good education is allowed to percolate to the lowest level, it will usher a better society for all. This is something we seem to have forgotten.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Dec 23, 2008 | Uncategorized
Meher came into our lives just a few months ago. Her story is nothing short of tragic and yet her
joie de vivre is infectious. From the time she walked into the women centre she adopted us all.
Though officially enrolled in the creche, Meher has become part and parcel of the centre where she practically lives. Her booming voice, her incredible self confidence, her larger than life smile and endearing ways make you forget the scars on her face or her maimed hands.
True that some may find her a tad spoilt, but what the heck, she deserves every bit of pampering and overindulging to make up for all that was taken away from her on the fateful night when a cheap mosquito net caught fire and scarred her for life when she was barely a few months old.
Meher has an incredible spirit. In spite of her tiny age she wants to live life to its fullest. She seems strangely aware of the fact that she is not like others and is probably conscious of the fact that people look at her with a mix of pity and even horror and yet she is not one to hide behind anything. She faces you head on and ensures that you look at her and acknowledge her existence. And once you do she treats you to her breathtaking smile that almost washes away all her scars. Her message seems simple: look at me, I also exist.
Meher is probably an extreme example but over the past decade I have seen this spirit in almost every child that has come the pwhy way. They all bear scars though for most of them these are invisible: scars of humiliation at the hands of uncaring parents, scars of indignity meted by brutish teachers, scars of embarrassment at their poverty, their disability and so on. The list is endless.
And yet, when given a chance even the tiniest one, these children, no matter their age, want to tell you just like Meher: look at me, I exist. They do it in subtle ways: a good report card, a lesson well learnt or sometimes simply a hesitant smile and a hand held out. And if you respond then there is no stopping them.
There are millions of such children, waiting in the wings for someone to simply tell them : I see you and know you exist!
by Anuradha Bakshi | Dec 23, 2008 | fostercare, manu
I am really livid! i was hoping that my mellowed mood of the day before would have lasted me this festive season and gently pushed me into the next year but that was not to be.
This morning a worried Prabin, the house master of our foster care programme walked into my office and informed me about a late night knock that came to disturb the peace of our little haven: a posse of uniformed men who romped in noisily as apparently they had been told that we were running a lucrative guest house!
A very lucrative guest house indeed where the permanent residents are 7 lost souls, given up by all and who pays us in smiles, stars on their copy books or a pile of neatly folded clothes. A very lucrative guest house indeed where the most unlikely roomies learn not only to live together but to respect and care for each other; where a half orphaned boy climbs on a chair to help his disabled roomie comb his hair! A very lucrative guest house indeed where simple meals of rice and dal are shared amidst laughter and chiding, where the TV runs for only an hour and all huddle in one room at night to keep electricity bills lows. I think it is time to redefine the word lucrative!
What makes me livid is the fact that someone found it necessary to go an complain to the authorities. What makes me livid is that everyone on the street knows what we do and yet the cops reached our door. What makes me livid is that over and over again we are bothered by uncaring and heartless authorities, even ten long years d won the line.
What makes me sad is that even ten years down the line, in a country where every one knows what the other is doing, one cannot carry the simple work one is doing in peace. If you want to repair the roof of your crumbling building, before you have even knocked off the first brick, a swarm of uniforms descend upon you with their hands lasciviously held out. If someone kind souls form faraway lands make the effort to a simple gift to the children a cryptic sign language greets you as you again wonder where you went wrong.
I wonder when the prowling predators will knock. I wonder if they were able to see the reality as they pussyfooted across our little home or were they too blinded by their greed. I do not know why I feel desecrated. The peaceful life we had crafted with so much effort and love in spite of the innumerable problems we had faced stands violated. The dream to give Manu a warm bed, or to secure Champa’s morrows or to give four desperate children hope now lies exposed.
And as is always the case in such moments, we find ourselves compelled to wonder where we went wrong.
I am incensed and terribly sad.
