LittlePrakashis not being punished. Far from that. He is just spending his daily 20 minutes in the sun, part of his treatment the rickets he acquired because he lived a huge part of his tiny life in the dark.
Every time I look at him as he treats me either to his lopsided smile or to his rather cross look, my heart goes out to him. Where he should have by now been hopping, jumping and babbling, Prakash can barely stand though he is well over two. He only cut his first tooth a few weeks back.
Prakash has been a student of pwhy for more than half his life. For many months he simply sat propped up by the wall and barely interacted with others. It is only now that he has begun joining his pals and participating in some of the activities. But the road is long and the future uncertain. We do not know whether little Prakash will be able to one day catch up with all his pals. We only know that we will do everything we can to make sure that the he does.
A few days back a mail dropped in my inbox. It was from a young lady who loves in the US and who has been a staunch supporter of pwhy. I have never met her in person but a couple of years ago when we were going through one of our dark moments she and her friends got together and organised a super raffle for us aptly called two-to-tango!
More than what was collected, it was the love and support they showered me that overwhelmed me. Sonal is now a married lady ans till lives in the US. Last week, the first snow in her city made her think of the pwhy children and she wrote wanting to send them warm clothes. I gently convinced her that it would make mores sense if I bought them here as postage would be prohibitive. Sonal agreed but with a small request: if you could have them gift wrapped, I would feel really happy.a little something extra….As it is, it pains me that I cannot be with the kids there and that I have to live so far away from my home…..but if I know that they enjoyed receiving them, and see their happy faces in the pics, I would feel like I can enjoy my holidays this year! đ
We did just that. And the packets were distributed on Sonal’s birthday and the children made a big thank you banner for her. The pictures were duly sent to her. This is and always will be my best birthday gift she simply wrote back.
What truly touched me in this roadshow as Sonal called it was the fact that she insisted that the gifts be wrapped as to her that made it that more special particularly for children who rarely receive gifts.
As I was still basking in the warmth of this wonderful gesture another mail dropped by. Young Harriet who came to spend a few days with us last month wanted to know how she could send some of the money she had collected for us. She has also informed me that she was busy planning a cake sale in her school and had also asked all her friends and family to give a donation to pwhy instead of the usual Xmas gifts!
Sonal and Harriet, two wonderful souls that make you believe that all is well in the world.
No entry: domestic helps, service providers, drivers, luggage, pets screamed the headline of my Sunday morning newspaper. And though I had promised myself not to harp any more, at least for a while, on the have and have not issues or social strata syndrome, I just could not hold myself. I agree that the world over service elevators exist and for a good reason but what made once again my seething blood boil were some of the reasons given for the segregation of elevators.
âWe have kept the lifts separate to maintain hygiene. Helps do not keep themselves clean. Either their clothes are dirty or they have body odour which makes it uncomfortable for residents and visitors said one person.
Electricity supply is erratic here. In case of a power cut, one could be stuck in the lift for 10-15 minutes. If a resident or a visitor gets stuck in the lift with a servant or a driver, he/she might feel awkward added another.
I donât like it if a domestic help uses the same lift as me or my children. I feel we do need separate lifts quipped yet another requesting anonymity!
Millions of questions come to mind but let us just a simple one: are these not the very people to whom you entrust your children, who cook your meals and keep you house clean so that you can live a comfortable life. And are they not human being just like us!
My 799th post seems to have been the most popular one I have ever written, if one is to go by the number of comments (a whopping 24 to the normally 1 or 2!)). I agree that the heap of rubbish lying on our tiny terrace did get the better of me for some time at least, till things settled and one got hold of one’s self.
No I did not return the things as many suggested as to me what matters is not to make an enemy, but to try and get people to change the way they look at the other India and treat it with respect if not affection and compassion.
A friend directed me to a video that he thought I would as he said understand! The idea is simple and stark: simply ask a cross section of people what they would do if they were given hundred rupees. I share the video with you and urge you to spare the few minutes required to watch it:
Some of you may not understand the answers in Hindi. They are the ones given by the other side of India, the hidden and forgotten one. They simply range from I will buy food, I will paymy school fees, I will give it to my mum to simply I will hide it.
I hate the giving of the hand unless the whole man accompanies it said Ralph Waldo Emerson
Continuing the saga of the art or chore of giving let us talk today about one more avatar of the giving tale: feeding the poor on birthdays, death anniversaries etc. This is extremely prevalent in India and we have had our share of this over the last almost 10 years.
When still greenhorns we readily accepted any such offers and I guess that is how we learn many a lesson. I still remember the day when a lady called wanting to feed children. She gave us a time and over 100 children waited patiently for the food to come. It was meant to be lunch and the agreed time was 1pm. By 3pm there was still no sight of the lady and her food. We tried to keep the kids still by playing games and singing songs but even that had a limit. Finally the lady and her retinue arrived with oily purisand over spiced curries. Needless to say the whole thing was a messy fiasco. After that day we insisted that anyone wanting to feed children had to bring things on time and that we preferred fruit, biscuits and juice packs.
But how can I forget the day when a lady came with biscuits and juice and distributed them to the children. She had a few packs left over as some of the kids were absent that day, so rather than leave the packets behind or give them to the handful of teachers she simply took them back!
Yesterday another mother celebrated her daughter’s birthday by giving a food packet to children and a small gift. She came at the prescribed time and made all the right moves, but somehow the heart was absent.
But there is one young girl named Yashu. her parents decided to celebrate her birthday in a very different manner. She spends her birthday taking the entire special section of pwhy for a day out at Dilli Hath bringing the two Indias together in a wonderful celebration. They play, sing dance together. The pwhy children make gifts for their special friend and there is always a birthday cake and return gifts! Yashu has never forgotten her specialdate with her very special pals. A befitting tribute to Emerson’s words.
Here are some pictures of yesterday’s birthday party
âThe fragrance always stays in the hand that gives the rose. â wrote the 17 century British poet Hada Bejar I do not know whether I am livid, desolate or have just become inured to whatever comes my way. I do not think so as each time I come across an incident like the one that happened yesterday my blood boils and then curdles. Over the past years I have often vented my anger when faced with situations that demean the very act of giving.
Let me end the suspense. Here is what happened: last week I got a phone call from a well to do up market lady who lives in one of the poshest colony of our city. She asked me to send someone as she had things to donate for the children. In spite of having been bitten many times, specially when the so called donor is from a particular strata of society, we promptly sent one of our three wheelers to the lady’s home. He came back some time later with over a dozen plastic bags of all sizes stuffed with things. The bags were deposited on our terrace waiting to be emptied.
Jenine and Nina two volunteers from Canada and the US and some of our staff were given the task of sorting things so that they could be handed over. It did not take long to realise that what had been sent to us as donation was a heap of rubbish: dirty and torn clothes, broken toys – half a Barbie doll, half a chess board etc – dusty and stained lampshades, broken shoes and even stained and tattered undergarments. It was a nightmare to sort things out. At the end of it all there was not one article that could be put to use. Even the kabariwalla (recycle man) called later refused to pick anything up!
Needless to say that the volunteers were shocked beyond words and our staff members angry and even humiliated. The question on every one’s lips was: How dare she….
Charity as one sees it today is often nothing short of galling. I often wonder what the real motivation is: a topic to discuss at the next kitty party in the hope of getting a pat in the back, a desire to be written about on page 3, a way to ease ones’ conscience, or simply a way of getting rid of the rubbish no one else wants. I wonder how the lady in question set about collecting the items she sent us. Did she just ask all in her family to set aside what they wanted to get rid off, or simply did a long overdue spring cleaning. I do not know, but what really riles me is that she could for even a second think that what she was sending could be used by anyone!
I guess I will never learn. A few years back a bunch of ladies belonging to a respectable and even elite international club decided to donate us toys. These came beautifully wrapped and were handed over with great drama. After the ladies left we opened the packets and were shocked to see that all the toys and games were not only used but broken and incomplete. When I brought this to the notice of the convener she simply said: what difference does it make, it is only for a poor child! Needles to say that I returned all of them.
Are there any lessons to be learnt? I do not know. What I do know is that not a single of the slum people I work with would have the audacity to give any broken or dirty article to another human being. So what makes this and other ladies do such a thing. And there we once again reach the realm of the two Indias. Is it that they truly believe that the so called poor will accept anything with gratitude, that they have no right to feel humiliated or angered. Have values like compassion and generosity completely disappeared from the lives of the rich and affluent. Do they not realise that in acting in such away it is they that look poor and pitiable as in Bejar’s words the fragrance stays in the hand that gives.
And to the manner born, it is a custom More honour’d in the breach than the observance.
Shakespeare (Hamlet)
I wonder what it takes to be to the manner born. I have often been stunned by the unexpected gestures of pwhy kids that make me wonder about who is truly to the manner or manor born.
I look forward to the weekly report I get from Prabin, the housemaster of our foster care programme as each week a special treat is in store for me. This weeks report was short and crisp but had not one but two surprises for me.
Manu it seemed now wished everyone good night before he went to sleep. Nothing to write home about would be the normal reaction, but how can one forget where Manu comes from and what a miracle these two simple words were.
But there was more.
Last Friday the foster care children went for a visit to Lotus temple. At the gate of the temple a Canadian volunteer was greeting every visitor with a Namaste and handing out information flyers to all. No one answered her greeting or murmured a thank you to her. Our children answered her Namaste and thanked her for the flyer without be prompted to do so. The lady was impressed and took time to interact with them. Some people stopped and asked Prabin which school the children studied in.
Now remember these kids – Babli, Vicky, Nikhil and Aditya – come from the most deprived homes possible. When they came to us they were aggressive, used language and were a real handful. Today they make us proud.
I wonder what it takes to be to the manner or manor born!
Yesterday was children’s day. One would have liked to celebrate it with all the 700 project why children but for reasons beyond our control one just could not. So it was decided to give our creche children a special treat. One of the reasons that made us take this decision was the fact that most of the creche children come from extremely deprived homes and have never gone beyond their homes or the tiny lane of project why.
After much deliberation it was decided to take the children to the Doll Museum. Thirty children with 6 teachers and 2 volunteers were the chosen ones. The tinier ones were given a holiday. The next problem was transport: the cost of a bus being prohibitive we agreed upon using our vehicle of choice – the three wheeler. Four of them were booked for the day.
It was touching to see the children arrive in the morning in their ‘party’ outfits, each brighter than the other. A name tag was hung around their neck and clutching their water bottles the kids were ready to go.
First stop the Doll Museum. After a the required group photograph, the children were taken around the museum. It was amazing and touching to see their little faces looking at the dolls with bewildered eyes. The only dolls they had ever seen were the few that sat on the shelf of their classroom. None of them had ever owned a doll. They looked fascinated at the dolls from different countries and parroted the names the teachers diligently told them. Time somehow seemed to stand still as they ambulated around the room moving from one doll to another, too fascinated to even utter a word. For them it was a trip to another land, or even another planet. It was a magical moment for all.
After the Doll Museum the teachers decided to take them to the children’s park. Once again the kids were taken aback by the expanse of greenery, too spell bound to react. Their world was dirty lanes and dark homes where there was no place for flowers, grass or trees. At the park many activities had been planned for children and our little lot decided to join the dance competition. Staff and kids dances their heart away and would have for much longer had not little tummies started growling. It was time to look for food.
The teachers had yet another treat planned for the children: a meal at a proper restaurant. So it was time to climb into the scooters and zip to our favourite south Indian eatery, one that would not gall at having 30 slum kids. The children were again mesmerized. They had never been to a restaurant and at first could not figure out what the place was as it looked alien to them. But project why kids are one of a kind and they sat quietly wondering what would happen in this space that looked like a classroom. The wait was short as plats of hot vadas and other goodies were soon placed in front of them. They ate their meal with gusto, as if to the manor born.
The meal over it was time to head back to the centre, and then home. The children were quiet, their little heads filled with images and sensations they would treasure for days to come. It had been an incredible day.
We too felt content as we looked into their little faces and read all the unsaid words.
You can share some of the very special of this day here:
I really wanted to let you know that Project Why is still very much in our thoughts. Now that a few weeks have passed since our return from India I can honestly say that what had the biggest impact on us was our time at the Project. Yes, the Taj Mahal was stunning and spotting a tiger was exciting but these memories quickly become more what I would call âphotograph memoriesâ. Our time at the Project on the other hand seems to move more to the forefront of our memories and it is certainly what we talk about to our friends.
These words dropped in mail mailbox this morning. They ere from a very special person who came with her husband and daughter to spend a few days volunteering with us before setting out to discover incredible India.
Incredible India indeed that lies waiting to be stumbled upon in the most unlikely places: in this case in the tiny lanes of slum India. People often ask why I accept volunteers who come for a short time and whether it is serves any purpose at all. You have your answer in Jennie’s words.
A day spent with the most unlikely ambassadors of a country, a dance where your partners are bright eyed 4 years old, moments spent with one that cannot hear or another that can just smile become a different kind of photographic memories: the ones that get chiseled in your heart and stay there forever.
A country is far more than its monuments and places of touristic interest. Its soul and spirit is embed in its real people. Sadly it is often the India that remains hidden and misunderstood. I cannot begin to recount how many puzzled drivers or guides that have frowned on all of us when visitors have come our way. It is almost infra dig to bring a visitor to a slum. And yet anyone who has come by has left with a song in his heart.
The soul of India does lie is its faceless and nameless mass. It is there that you still find the legendary generosity and hospitality that we are supposedly known for. It is often a place where pretense is absent as there is nothing to conceal.
Yet another tale of two Indias where one remains hidden, waiting for you to stumble upon it!
Sunday was the first PTM of the foster care. We were a little apprehensive about whether all the parents would turn up. The room was set up, every child’ school copy was laid out and we waited expectantly.
It was truly heartwarming to see that all parents were on time, some even turned up a hour early.This was perhaps the very first time they were attending a PTM. When everyone was settled, Prabin our stellar house master began the meeting by giving a brief outline of the daily routine and activities. He also showed the proud parents the children’s school books and copies. Then it was time for the parents to share their concerns.
As each parent began to speak, our hearts filled with pride. Nikhil, his father said, was a different boy. When home for the week ends he urged his siblings to complete their homework and chided them for wasting food. Babli’s mom was eager to tell us that Babli now spoke in English with her elder brother and loved sharing stories about her life at the foster care. Vicky’s mom, a normally shy lady, told everyone how happy she was at the change in the behaviour of her son. She had once found him so difficult to manage; now when he was home he not only helped her but scolded his siblings when they were rude to her. Aditya’s mom was delighted at the progress her son was making!
It was indeed a special moment. These parents who had never praised their children were for the very first time lauding them with immense pride and joy. I remembered the day when I had first suggested to these very parents that they send their children to us and there had been a little hesitation and reticence. But all that was gone now.
My mind traveled back to the days when many had expressed their reservations to our foster care programme. One of the concerns many had was that the children would reject their families and become misfits. I never believed that and always held that they would finally turn out to be agents of change. Our little bacchashave proved me right. In the span of a few months they have already starting carrying back messages and making a difference in the lives of their very own. I was overwhelmed.
But the day was not over and more surprises were in store for us. Champa’s mom came late and though she barely speaks Hindi she managed to convey to us that Champa loved the foster care and always wanted to go back. Champa had finally come home.
But there was still more to come. I cannot find the words to express what I felt when Prabin told us that for the very first time Manu had a bathed himself alone thought it had taken him 35 minutes to do so. What a journey it had been but somehow at that moment I felt I had reached home!
It was almost six months ago or even more that I first heard about Nina. In one of her early emails to us she simply wrote: I am taking a year off because I am planning on going to graduate school next fall (2009) and thought this was the best time to do it, I have always wanted to spend more time in India as my parents and extended family are from there, but I was born in the U.S. and have only ever been there to visit.
To many this may look just like innocuous words , but they struck a deep chord within me. I always feel deeply moved when young people feel the need to find out their roots as it echoes an important part of my life when I sought to do the same. And what touched me even more was the fact that this young woman decided to reconnect with the land of her ancestors not by flitting around cities and places of touristic interest but by spending time with the most deprived and sharing quality time with them. Somehow intuitively she had understood where the real India was.
Nina walked into our hearts and very quickly adapted to our ways. After a few days spent in getting acquainted with the project it was felt that she should teach English to our teachers and also help us work out a curriculum for the primary classes. A pattern set in and Nina became a part and parcel of project why. She also has been busy helping us make presentations and now even handles visitors with great aplomb!
I have always warmed up to young people who take time off from their studies or other commitments to reach out to the less privileged. I am convinced that this makes one a better person as it helps reconnect with one’s self and discover who we really are. Sadly young Indians have not understood this.
As I watch Nina go by her activities I realise how important volunteers have been to us. They have each brought into project why something special and unique and made us that little bit better as they more than anyone have perfected the heart of seeing with their hearts.
Hopes are riding high in the wake of the Obama victory. Every news channel is busy trying to see whether the world will be a better place now, whether things will actually change. Even though we all know that miracles cannot happen, that the situation on the ground is far from happy, that what happens in the USA does not truly affect our realities, the victory of this black man of humble origins has somewhat given everyone a ray of hope and I guess that is what everyone is busy celebrating.
Yesterday a horrific incident brought to light the dark side of the reality we live, one that we try and conceal but that nevertheless exists; one that makes me wonder where the hope we are busy celebrating actually is.
A 13 year old girl was rescued from the clutches of her employers after 8 months of torture and pure hell. She had been in the service of a young up market educated couple with two children. The couple abused her mercilessly and endlessly. What was even more horrifying was that the couple admitted they acted in such a despicable manner to bust their stress.
I am wordless and cannot begin to understand the hows and whys of this tragic case. What frightens me is that this act was perpetrated by educate and well to do people. And if educated and well to do people act is such ways then there seems to be no hope for anyone of us. A litany of questions come to mind: why do educated people break laws (the child was under age)? what gives one human the right to abuse another (modern day slavery)? what is the point of education if one behaves in such a way? how can a mother treat another child this way? and will the law actually punish the perpetrators? who will heal the scars of the little girl and what will her future be?
The case of this girl is an extreme one. That anyone should feel the need to use another human being to deal with their own stress seems a psychotic behaviour. But let us not take solace in this: the week gone has seen many tragic occurrences: the honour killing of two young teenagers who had dared followed their dream, a hate campaign fueled by a senseless killing, protectors turning into perpetrators of terror, and more of the same. Such incidents lead us to believe that all is not right, that our search of hope seems very futile and empty, if not fake. The day when an Obama like person comes our way is remote if not chimera.
The reasons are many. Our society is still far too divided and fractured what is frightening is that this state of things is accepted and even sustained by the so called educated. I was appalled at the reaction of a well educated lawyer to the honour killings of the two girls. He seemed to almost condone the act explaining that if a girl in a family stepped out of line it would lead to the family being ostracised by the community. What was scary was the fact that he felt there was no solution or way out.
This is the sad reality we live. One where we are always politically correct in denouncing wrong doings but are never willing to walk the talk. One where issues are worth being debated but are never translated into action.
Rather than celebrating hope, it is perhaps time we for once looked at ourselves honestly and candidly and accepted our share of responsibility. Then perhaps we could be justified in beginning to hope….
Our women centre is quite something. Barely a year old it throbs with activity at all times. And it is not only the staff who steer it to perfection. Often is the children who take the lead and nothing can stop them.
So in the span of a short year the kids of the Kamala centre have celebrated every festival possible on their own initiative. More than the boys, it is our bunch of little femmesextraordinairesall aged between 10 and 16 who are the heart and soul of the women centre social calendar. After Independence day and Eid it was time to celebrate Diwali. Without any prompt or push they set to the task. Plays were written and rehearsed, danced composed and practices, costumes designed and decorations planned. They did it all.
It was a lovely celebration when all the children came together irrespective of their caste or creed and sand and rejoiced in unison proving to one and all that we were truly one.
I looked on with pride at my very special little women!
Yes we can resounded the world over as Barack Obama was elected as the first black President of the USA ending a journey that had taken over a century! What is truly astounding as the results show is that everyone came together: black and white, yellow or brown, gay or straight, disabled or not — all voted for him to create history in America.
At pwhy we too followed the elections in our own special way and little Koko was undoubtedly the most fervent and vocal Obama supporter as she reveled in repeating his name over and over again. Somehow she liked the sound of it! I must admit I was an off and on follower of the campaign tough when it came down to the wire I too wanted history to be made. But nothing could have prepared me for what lay in wait.
We had a visitor on the fateful morning . Mary who had come all the way from the USA to fulfill a long cherished dream entered our office at the very moment Obama’s victory was announced. Mary is a spirited 68 year old African American woman and to be able to have shared this moment with her was priceless. She broke into a jig and danced around, hugging everyone. She then sat down to savour the moment as tears streamed down her cheeks. Some of those present could not fathom what was happening, as to them America is a promised land where nothing is wrong. The plight and history of black Americans is unknown to them. And somehow having Mary with us at that moment was truly special.
We sat a long time sharing thoughts and then the spell broke and life took over. Later when I switched on the TV, I fell on Obama’s victory speech and sat mesmerised and listened and as his words filled the room I realised that the world had changed in more ways than one. From shackled slaves to president of the USA what a journey it had been. What was truly moving was the expression on the faces of those listening, black and white, many weeping unabashedly.
Electoral rhetoric will say the cynics. I do not know but what I felt at that moment was that if there was will anything could be possible. My mind wandered to our own reality, to India preparing for an election, to the political slandering that we are witness to each and every day. I searched for the one individual in our political firmament who could stand and talk to all of us and have us listen and sadly found none. Everything in our political arena seems to be soiled and tainted by hidden and selfish agendas.
We too have our dark alleys and they are the same colour as we are. Will there be a day when we come together and elect a Dalit leader in one voice and wash away not centuries but thousand of years of slavery and say with pride: yes we can!
Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born said AnaisNin. These meaningful words came to like last month at project why when Harriet met Rinky.
Harriet is a young teenager from the UK. She came with her wonderful parents to spend a few days at pwhy. This was part of their discovery of India which they wanted to do in a different and meaningful manner. Harriet spent all the five days in our special section where she made a friend: Rinky.
Now what can possibly bond a young western teenager to a hearing impaired 18 year old from an Indian slum you may ask? Possibly the world AnaisNin mentions, the one waiting to be born. In the short time they spend together and without a language or civilisation to link them, these two spirited ladies bridged all gaps and became simply friends. Rinky taught Harriet to sign, and Harriet opened up a whole new world for her new friend. When it is time to say goodbye Harriet asked whether it would be OK if she emailed Rinky.
Yesterday Rinky received her firs ever email from her new friend. It came on Shamika’s id. Rinky was called to the office where the computer is. On understanding why she had been called, Rinky was first stunned and then as she looked at the screen and at the message and her years filled with tears that she could barely hold. For her it was the first time that someone had reached to her.
Harriet talked about her return to England, the cold weather, her school soon beginning and also send some pictures of the days she spent with Rinky. The next day Rinky came to us with her reply carefully written on a scrap of paper. A new bond had been created, one that transcended all barriers be it language, culture, physical and social boundaries and more. A new journey had begun, one where two young remarkable souls were ready to discover and conquer a whole new world.
The Right Education bill has cleared one more hurdle. A short news item on October 31st stated that the Cabinet had given its not to the Education Bill. It was about time!
For those who are not aware it was in 2002 that the 82nd Amendment made education a fundamental right of all children between 6 and 14. It was indeed a wow moment. The draft bill was then elaborated and debated. In July 2006 the government rejected the bill for lack of resources and the voiceless children of India were once again betrayed.
In February 2008 the Government finally accepted to take on the Bill. It was approved by the cabinet only in October.
If one peruses the twists of the tale it boils down to it is all about money honey! Everyone from the planning commission to the state governments find the financial burden to heavy to bear. never mind the millions easily spent to create new facilities to accommodate candidates from reserved categories to higher places of learning, ensuring that all the children of India go to school is not a priority. Who cares about them. The sad reality is that they are not a vote bank or a good cause to espouse. They remain voiceless and neglected. Needless to say we are referring to children of the other India, the one of the have nots. Their peers on the other side of the fence acquired their right to education long ago.
And who would you ask are the main the detractors of the Bill: surprisingly or not the private school lobby who opposes the fact that hey have to reserve 25% or more of their seats to poor students. The idea was to bridge the gap between rich and poor and ensure that all children get equal opportunities. Something many countries.
For one who has always dreamt of a common neighbourhood school, this indeed was a first step, albeit a faulty one, in the right direction. One no waits to see what happens to the Bill as its journey is still not ever. It may just get referred once again to a Committee.
The Right to education Bill has already completed five years of struggle. A long one for any Bill particularly when some get voted in no time, particularly those that can be political fodder or those that vote for raises in salaries of parliamentarians. Five years means that many children who could have benefited from it have now moved beyond the stipulated 6 to 14 years ans are now probably working in some dark corner of our land, their morrows hijacked.
True that there are many contentious issues in the Bill that need to be addressed: why 6 to 14 ? what happens to children below 6? 14 does not give you any school leaving validation? why should parents be held responsible? who will the Bill be implemented etc. But experience shows that Bills can be amended even after they are passed so perhaps one should pass it.
The children of India deserve the right to Education
But then one may softly ask: whose right is it anyway?
The writing is on the wall. Wonder whether we will be wise enough to see it and act accordingly. The times of discontent have dawned. The world we carefully built is coming crashing; its foundations too fragile to withstand the load thrust on it.
I am not talking of the market crash. I refer to the senseless violence that seems to have taken over all walks of life: be it the road rage incidents that often turn fatal or the increase in petty crime; be it the senseless lynching of a young man in a train or the gunning down of a youth on a bus. I refer to the rape of a nun by a mob, the bombs planted by educated youth in crowded markets, the young woman murdered in her car while on her way home from work.
Subsequent to every such incident the now jaded drama unfolds: the screaming headlines, the even louder debates on hurriedly organised TV debates where often the same faces denounce the horror of the day with scant credibility, the blame game orchestrated destined to save vote banks, the gory pictures aired ad nauseum. I must admit the drama is now played to perfection and leaves us all indifferent if not enraged. And as such incidents are almost daily occurrences, the ones of the previous day are quickly forgotten. As a collective conscience, if there is one, we too are suitably horrified for the day.
Each and every time some perpetrator is identified, some promises made, some assurances given. But all these are soon forgotten as everyone has got the wanted pound of flesh: TRPs are safe, political rivals have secured their few minutes on national TV and played to the gallery, the right noise has been made, it is time to seek the next one. Some of us who are still not inured, seek some follow up the next day and find none. What we see instead is the latest cricket spat.
The rule of the day is to address the effect and never look for the cause. But how many of us have really bothered to wonder why such violence occurs? What is it that makes young people resort to such dastardly acts? Where do the predators seek their prey? What deep discontent has pervaded our social fabric and made all this horror possible. Where are the voices of reason, if there are any? What have we done to ourselves as therein lies the question.
The times of discontent have truly dawned and not only for what we call the have nots, but for each one of us. In today’s world no one is satisfied or content. Even those who seem to have it all are forever seeking greener pastures. The society we have built for ourselves feeds on its ability to keep each and everyone in a state of constant hankering for more, it does not matter what the more is and why we seek it. If my neighbour buys a bigger car, I need one too. The car is no more a means of transport but a status symbol. This may seem trivial at first but if you stop to think it is not quite so. It is a reflection of who we have become. People are not judged by their qualities or abilities but by the outer veneer they display.
We are all on a roller coaster ride that had gone out of control. We need to stop it and get off. As long as the insatiable and irrational need for more is alive, acts violence will not only continue but proliferate. It is only when values are reinstated and given their rightful place that things may begin to change.
The sustainability of project why has been foremost in my mind since the very day it all began. many options were tried, tested and rejected. Some had a longer life shelf than others. Some though doable were found to be not practical, others had scant returns. From our cloth bags almost 4 years back, to planet why, it has been a long journey.
But as we inched forward, I realised that sustainability did not mean securing funds alone. It also entailed passing on the mantle to a new order, one that would and should emerge from within to give the word empowerment its true meaning. We had to reinvent ourselves.
A lot of resistance came our way as no one was really willing to take responsibility. Every one preferred following orders. But the real litmus test of the model we set out to create lay in its ability to move be steered by the very team that held it together, albeit under the benevolent eye of a ageing lady.
For some time now a hesitant question had been doing the rounds, barely voiced but often though: what after Ma’am. Actually I wish people would scream it loud as it is a very real one. And I would like to see it reworded as who after Ma’am? And the answer I would like to hear is: us!
And though it was not quite said of formulated or even understood, the first step towards that day was unconsciously taken last week. During a meeting called to discuss are now almost legendary precarious financial situation, an idea was mooted by one of the team members. To save rent money why not approach the local councillor as apparently the first floor of the local community centre was apparently available. I initially recoiled at the very thought. It brought back thoughts I did not want to recall. The building he was mentioning held too many dark memories. And yet when I look back on those days, it also was the springboard to our freedom. So was this divine justice at play.
I also remembered that when the said building was being erected I had strongly held that being a community centre built with public funds, it had to be steered and managed by the community. When we had applied for it, it had not been in the name of our NGO but in the name of a community residents association. So was it not time to redeem that pledge. Things were coming full circle. Life always does.
Hence a plan was drawn. A posse of our staff – those who live in that area – would approach the councillor and make a bid for the building. And it is they who would subsequently decide to ask us to run selected activities in it. To some it may look a rather convoluted approach. Actually it is the first step to the empowerment I always longed for. The day when project why will be truly community steered had dawned.
Matters are still under consideration and there are many slips between the proverbial cup and lip, but I am confident we will ultimately overcome. The us I sought has come to life, now we need to nurture it and help it grow.
Little Prakash is not being punished. Far from that. He is just spending his daily 20 minutes in the sun, part of his treatment the rickets he acquired because he lived a huge part of his tiny life in the dark.
