In April 2005 a young Pinky got married against her parents wishes. Like many young girls she had fallen in love and love as we all know is blind! The marriage was celebrated by her fiance’s family in a temple in the presence of some friends.
Pinky had a serious fall accidentally in September 2005 after a domestic quarrel and seriously injured her backbone. She was advised complete bed rest but did not follow medical advise and conceived a few months later and gave birth to a little boy in December 2006. Her husband continued his violent beatings Her husband had a history of violence and fits of rage, something the young girl did not know. In September 2005 after a domestic notwithstanding her medical condition, pregnancy or motherhood. Over time Pinky developed a defective spinal condition and a hunchback and is in constant pain. A corrective surgery could help her regain her health but her family is too poor for the whopping 70 K required.
Despite the protection offered by her unmarried sisters in law, the man continues to harass his wife and sisters and mentally torments them. Under the influence of alcohol he beats his wife and attacks the sisters when they try and protect her. he also threatened to kill her.
This is Pinky’s story. But is also the story of many women across India, women who suffer in silence and often die without a murmur being heard. There are laws meant to protect them but often they are unaware of these or worse the law keepers become predators and society is always ready to blame them.
We would like to help Pinky regain her health and have the operation she so badly needs to bring up her child. We have also filed a complaint with the help of our lawyer and hope we can beat the system. But this is just one case and one solution. It is time something was done to truly protect hapless and helpless women.
The children you see in this picture belong to Nehru Camp where we have been running a primary centre for over 3 years. Like all children they love to play, laugh, have fun and study. All of them cleared their examinations and have been promoted to the next class and there was great celebrations!
Their joy was short lived as two days ago 1000 shops and homes from the area were razed to the ground to make way for a five foot high wall that will encircle the three slum clusters of the area to hide them from the middle class colonies across the road.
The 2 km wall will encircle the three slum colonies of the area where there are over 10 000 homes. As I read the words of the article my blood ran cold and as I write these words I find it hard to contain my rage and my deep sense of shame as I unfortunately belong to the class of the so called perpetrators of this contemptuous act and my mind cannot but go back to ghettos and yellow stars.
“All my life savings have been used to purchase this flat. For 22 years I have lived with the stink from open defecation, and constant over-crowding from blocked roads.” says a resident of a neighbouring flat. “I feel bad for them,” says another whose own domestic help lives in Bhumiheen Camp. “They should be given an alternative home immediately.”
Post the new demolition and the repulsive wall, gutters will now flow directly into homes. Many of you may not know what such slums look like. Though to some of us they may seem an eyesore and an image from hell but they are far from that. They have been homes to people who have come to this city sometimes more than 2 or 3 decades ago. They have been built and nurtured with the same care we give to our homes. The residents are as much citizens of this city as we are and have the same voting rights. They are not aliens from another planet but those who work for us in more ways than one and give us much comfort. They have the same dreams for their children that we have for ours. They hurt, laugh, face problems and celebrate achievements just like we do. The ony difference is that they have been let down by the city’s so called administration and by the total lack of compassion that seems to have become the trademark of this city!
Everyone seems to think that hey should be relocated and given alternative accomodation. Everyone has been feeling that for a long time but what has the administration done? The DDA claims “The wall is a temporary arrangement to offer protection to flat owners” Protection from what I ask. “It (the wall) should be at least eight foot high, and built either with bricks, or grills and mesh. There should also be fewer outlets” retorts another. “And what if there’s afire?” asks a slum resident. “It will be much harder to escape if we are contained from allsides.”
I am thoroughly confused and at a complete loss. What are we talking about. Are we not all citizens of a same country, protected by the same constitution and laws. Who are protecting against whom. What is this new caste system that seems to have surreptitiously slinked into our social fabric and whose denominator is money. Is this also applicable to the legal system as the said wall is beeing erected on a High Court order in response to a Public Interest Litigation.
The wall will be completed on may 21st!
What a sad day it will be. Imagine the hurt and anger of the people condemned to live within that wall and the resentment that will take seed in young minds that may turn into violence and despair.
Till now invisible barriers divided the two Indias. With this wall the divide is out in the open.
Look at the children in the picture once again. Do we need to be protected from them?
These poems are very special birthday gifts sent by people I love and cherish. Far more precious than gold and jewels, they will remain engraved in the depth of my soul.
Spring by chance
I was born in spring, Hope is my friend eternal, yet Every footstep I hear tomorrow – Trample on the dying today, like Refrains from another mourning.
It’s been a while since I wrote last. Wish it was the ‘block’ , isn’t – Just spent the words worrying – If history repeats, may be Future is nothing but the past.
I’ve seen each end of time at once, Fleeting towards the now, where hope And fear; intersect to bring a whiff – Of joy, residues of melancholy, whatever Holds in a moment chosen by chance.
Al Raines
I’ll stand up to the waters
I saw it riding On the waves – The future is coming I felt Sweeping people in its wake – I heard someone protest I turned to see, who It was – My conscience.
It spoke without a tremor Glancing at the gush – I cannot sacrifice This our now In the name of a Blind onward rush – A tomorrow we cannot judge To be the best, Is not worth our while I thought And holding still, with a smile I said I won’t let Go down – What is our now, For a growth nobody’s own –
I’ll stand upto the waters.
Al Raines
The Journey
One day you finally knew what you had to do, and began, though the voices around you kept shouting their bad advice– though the whole house began to tremble and you felt the old tug at your ankles. “Mend my life!” each voice cried. But you didn’t stop. You knew what you had to do, though the wind pried with its stiff fingers at the very foundations, though their melancholy was terrible. It was already late enough, and a wild night, and the road full of fallen branches and stones. But little by little, as you left their voices behind, the stars began to burn through the sheets of clouds, and there was a new voice which you slowly recognized as your own, that kept you company as you strode deeper and deeper into the world, determined to do the only thing you could do– determined to save the only life you could save.
Yesterday was result day for children across Delhi: the rich and the poor alike. Every parent or guardian went to the school to get the dreaded school report.
Now were your child or mine to stand first in class there would be whoops of joy, hugs, smiles galore and a pat on the back from the teacher not to mention the gifts and treats that would ensue. And one would expect this to be true for all children who stood first.
But that is sadly not the case. Little Rahul, a class V student of the local municipal school and a regular pwhy kid stood first in his class. His simple parents went to school to get his report and instead of being greeted by smiles and kudos for the child, they were admonished by the teacher who said he did not believe that Rahul could top his class. The almost frightened father worn by years of being berated for being poor and deprived simply mumbled that if the teacher felt so he could cut some marks off the child’s report. But the mother could not bare the injustice being meted to her child butted in and said he attended tuition at project why and that is why he had fared well. The teacher grudgingly accepted the situation.
When I heard the story my blood boiled as it often does in such cases. I almost felt like marching to the school and placing a few home truths but past experience has shown that this is not the way to go as the teachers then take it out on the poor kid. So a glass of water it was and a bit of furious pacing to calm me down.
I simply promised myself to seek Rahul and give him a big hug and a small treat.
Do what you can, with what you have, where you are. These words said many years ago by Theodore Roosevelt sprung to my mind as I got the news yesterday that once again all the pwhy children had passed their examinations and been promoted to the next class.
I felt myself swell with pride. They had done it again these incredible kids that every one had given up on: their parents, their school teachers and society itself. Many had come to us as failures. In some cases we had to fight with parents wanting them to stop their studies. In other cases they has been branded as useless and gone cases. But for us every child can succeed, you only have to discover the right way.
Do what you can, with what you have, where you are. My kids did just that! They do not have much. In some cases their homes are dark hovels, in others noisy rooms with no place to study. Our classes or what goes by that name are anything between a hot cramped room, a reclaimed garbage dump, a inclement terrace. Yet they are all infused with a spirit no one can beat. The determination of the children, the perseverance of the teachers and the passion of pwhy make a heady cocktail that can only spell success.
But the euphoria was short lived. Pwhy is a tiny island of hope in a terrifying sea where children get the rawest of deals. Not a day goes by without some news item that proves this point. Yesterday a child gets his face scarred for eating a biscuit, a class VIII student hangs himself because his results are not up to the mark. Politicians proffer empty words while the killer of a young girl remain faceless. A child lies unconscious after being being thrashed by his school principal. And the list goes on…
Abuse against children continues in spite of the media blitz, of the empty reassurance of politicians and administrators, in spite of the endless laws aimed at protecting them. When will all this end? Have we all lost our conscience and heart? Have we as civil society abdicated our right to be?
Sing a song of sixpence. For the past month I have been reminded of this nursery rhyme and feeling like its king: The King was in his counting house, Counting out his money and wondering whether the bigblack bird would come and snip away my nose! Like many nursery rhymes this one too has a gory double meaning and was a coded advertisement to recruit pirates at a time when piracy was outlawed.
My reference thank heavens is not gory but just adapted to the mind boggling situation I find myself in: counting money to meet the huge amount required to begin saving dreams and provide the suitable heir to project why aka planet why!
I am truly blessed as each time I feel a tad dejected, all I need is a walk through project why. This morning when I was greeted at the special section by the whoops of joy and peals of laughter as it was trampoline time. My eyes grew misty as I watched Preeti jump on the trampoline in spite of her useless legs. Actually I should have known she would do just this as is she not our very own incredible karate kid!
So the low spirits lifted and I felt imbued with a renewed determination to go on counting the money till the magic and still elusive figure was reached to enable us to secure the plot of land that would ensure that children like Preeti remain spirited and can life life with dignity and surrounded by love.
Many cannot even begin to imagine what life was a girl like Preeti can turn into once she loses the support of her mother. She could be used and abused or just be thrown out of her home by an unkind sister in law and forced to beg as was the case with Manu. She could also land in an institution where life is hell or is some ashram or the other where even hell has to be redefined. And yet Preeti just has useless legs. Otherwise she is just like any other 11 year old and deserves to live a full life.
And it is not just Preeti, but Champa, Ruchi and many others who are today at the threshold of a terrible morrow unless we do something. Planet why is our answer and we know that we have to make it happen.
Among the very serious questions fielded at me yesterday was the oft stated one about who would take over pwhy. Till date the question was asked by all and sundry buy yesterday it was raised by someone I hold in high esteem ans hence required an honest and well thought answer.
For a long time I have know that this is one issue that had to be addressed and resolved. The question of sustainability has kept me awake many a night and has troubled be many a times. It is very early that we realised that the crux of the matter lay in our ability to become sustainable and free of constantly having to sing for our supper each and every day. True that for project why to live on beyond my days on this planet two essential things were required: a committed team who would see with their heart to do the work on the field and an entity to provide the elusive supper!
The former was easily done. The later was easier said than done. The fund sustainability issue went through many trials and failures till slowly a nebulous idea emerged that of planet why and unlike others each time one thought of it the image became clearer and clearer. Today planet why is but a few hurdles away and it will come to be for all the right reasons.
So when once again the question about who would take over pwhy came my way again, I realised that it would simply be planet why. Strange? But do bear with me for a while. Unlike pwhy that needs to be fed every day, planet why has within it the ability to make its own supper and also provide many suppers to other pwhy activities thus becoming the lifeline of pwhy a task till now done by one single individual and thus making pwhy look extremely fragile and vulnerable.
But that is not all. Unlike other possible sustainability options, planet why is imbued with the spirit of pwhy. It is just not a commercial activity, but one that offers a haven to many lost souls, one that provides training and work possibilities to pwhy alumni, one that enables us to expand our activities and reach out to new children and empower new communities. But above all it is one that has immense potential of growth and thus becomes a constant challenge to those who will steer it and who will then hold their destiny in their won hands.
Yesterday was a very special day at pwhy. We were blessed to have the visit of ManmeetBhai Sahib and SeemaBhabhi. I seek your indulgence for this rather personal post but I would failing the spirit of pwhy were I not to share this special moment.
Project Why would never seen the light of day if Ram had not been part of my life. And Bhai Sahib is someone Ram loved dearly and respected profoundly. His visit was akin to having Ram drop by. It was a rare privilege and a moving moment to have Bhai Sahib see the work we are doing and above all share his wisdom and give his advise and guidance. And for me it was a tender moment when I could for those few moments be once again a little girl hanging on to every word that was said and answering every question fielded by someone I held in awe. For the past 10 years or so I have been the one to have to answer questions, solve problems, defuse problems and it does get lonely up there. Yesterday I could revel in a few stolen moments of having someone tell me where I was wrong or what I was doing right.
Time flew by. And for many present nothing earth shattering happened or was said. But I could read between the lines, hear the words left unspoken, feel the immense love that filled my heart and above all feel that I was not alone, that all would be all right, every little hurt would go away and the sun would shine again.
Bhai Sahib’s visit was God sent or should I say Ram sent! For the past few months I had been battling impossible odds and yet I knew that that was the only road I could walk were I to be honest and true to all that I had been taught. And yet it had not been easy to go on. I needed a sign, a tiny pat on my back, a blessing whispered in my ear ans yesterday that is just what happened.
In my last post I had vented some of my thoughts in response to a question I had been asked about feeling helpless at the plight of poor children begging at red lights and other places and of course one had to refer to the ‘two Indias‘ and the widening gap between them.
Yesterday once again a story was aired on TV aptly named the Real Face of India. The story began thus: In the state of AndhraPradesh, there is a swanky international airport, a controversial one, and on the other side, there are school students taking their board examinations in knee deep water. One would be justified in thinking it was a joke of some kind but sadly no! The pictures actually showed children giving their Board examinations with their feet in water! And if that was not enough in another school kids were made to write their examinations in a pitch dark room by candlelight! In a country where the marks you obtain decide your future I wonder what would happen to these children.
I also wonder if this is the India we hoped for. One where some are reaching the sky while others are being pushed into deeper holes. Talking of holes one cannot but think of the little Vandanawho fell into a 45 feet pit and was rescued only 28 hours later. The question that one needs to ask is why was a bore well left gaping and who was responsible.
But it does not end there. Young Rinkybrutally thrashed by her teacher for having chosen another tutor dies in hospital this morning after long months of agony. Wonder who will pay for this death.
Yesterday Roshni who works at our women centre, has seven children and barely survives, told us that the reason she had put her daughters into a private school – read teaching shop – because they did not have birth certificates – the poor woman did not know that an affidavitwould have solve the situation – had also to send them for tuition to the class teacher. I wonder if they would have met the same fate had she refused to do so.
Is this the India we want for our children: one where corporal punishment is the order of the day one where an insensitive administration forgets to cover the holes they have dug, one where children have to write their destiny defining examination in the dark or in water!
Yesterday TV channels were all praise for the Army team that rescued little Vandana. We salute them too but is it not ironical that soldiers have to be called to cover up messes made by the so called administration? Who will hold the administration responsible.
Yesterday again TV channels vented their anger on Rinky’s death and demanded answers from the faceless, heartless and soulless administration. Many luminaries joined the show and every one agreed that education stinks, that children are innocent targets, that teaching is now a simple commercial activity – but does one beat one’s customer -. One anchor was honest enough to say that the nation will express its outrage and anger for a day or so till the next news comes to hog the limelight. Ominous words they were as while Rinky’s pyre still smoldered the same channel had to – TRP obliges – shift Rinky’s story from its lead to replace it by the very juicy interview of a cricket biggie caught in a net of corruption.
The children of India – oops I should say the children of one India – have been let down by each and every one. Whereas the constitution guarantees them free education, schools run by the government are in an abysmal state and children are brutally beaten each and every day in all schools.
Vulnerable children are beaten mercilessly as a nation watches and does nothing.
During a recent interview an eager young journo kept asking whether I did not get disturbed or feel helpless at the sight of all the children I saw at red lights or other places begging. He was quite bewildered when I told him that I did not, I simply felt outraged.
And that too for more reasons than one!
First and foremost this was the wost form of child labour but one that did not seem to be addressed at all by the powers that be. It was undoubtedly the easiest one to be identified as it happened not behind close doors or dingy sweat shops but out in the open for everyone to see! And yet no one seemed to care. Moreover it was one that we were all guilty of abetting as most of us did give that coin, perhaps to get rid of the pestering child or whining mother or perhaps simply to ease one’s conscience. And as long as the business was lucrative it would carry on.
My mind went back to an incident that occurred many years ago when I was accosted by a beggar woman. I did not have any change on me so I looked at her and simply told her that I was sorry I did not have anything to give her. She held on to my hand and told me that I had given her a great gift. I was needless to say bewildered. Seeing my confusion she smiled and told me: You looked into my eyes child, and acknowledged me as a fellow human . People normally throw some money at you but never dare look at you. This was probably one of the greatest lesson I got in my entire life.
Herein lies the problem that plagues our society. The divide between rich and poor is getting wider by the day and the rich have lost the ability to look into the eyes of the poor that are actually everywhere. Do we see the families working relentlessly in the biting cold or scorching heat on all the fancy new constructions that are mushrooming in our city; do we see the children at red lights peddling their ware and realise that they are children just like ours; do we look at the road side slums that have been in existence for decades as we drive pass and wonder at all the babies born amongst the fumes of cars revving at the red light and at the plight of people living under the constant fear of demolition?
In our nine long years of trying to make a difference, of striving at building better and brighter morrows for what we call underprivileged children we have faced and surmounted many obstacles. And it has been the most rewarding time in our life in spite of all. But if there is a sense of helplessness or frustration it foes not stem from inability to help each and every child. It does not require to be a rocket scientist to know that one person cannot solve all the problems that plague our society. What is infuriating is the fact that what disturbs us leaves others cold. What is enraging is that people around us have lost their ability to see, let alone act. What is bewildering is that hep is not forthcoming and that instead one is treated with a string of cynical lectures.
No I do not feel helpless, I feel actually feel terribly sad that most of us have lost the courage to look deep into the eyes of a poor child. Perhaps because we are terrified of getting lost in them.
Yesterday a ex-volunteer dropped by. He had spent a month a year back doing his internship with us. Since he has obtained his degree from a foreign university and secured a prized job in a high profile NGO. He is part of the fund raising team of that organisation.
The NGO is question is steered by a celebrity and hence has a fair amount of celebrities associated to it. It somehow seems politically correct in today’s day and age to be associated to a charity. Charities now are businesses or a bizMess, something I discovered many moons ago. It is not a matter of doing something for someone, but to be seen doing something for someone.
My one rupee a day programme failed because of a lack of understanding or was it simply because I did not find a celebrity to champion it? Anyway it was just a battle lost, the war is still on.
Coming back to the different funding options shared by our friend, I must confess that each one seemed inadequate and totally out of sync with the spirit of pwhy that I value and defend. Some were too onerous, others unprincipled. I was loathe to spend donor’s money on PR blitz or similar issues. And did they really ensure long term sustainability or were just once again short term options needing to be reinvented each year at abysmal cost.
That was not the pwhy way. We would continue our virtual and new tech begging till we found the right option: one that would dovetail into our work and enable it to grow and prosper. One that would include all those who are the heart and soul of pwhy.
I am now convinced more than ever that planet why has to happen. It is the only way to ensure that it is the pwhy team and beneficiaries themselves who steer their fund raising once the planet why is a reality. It thus becomes their fight their responsibility and their challenge and their achievement.
Was it just yesterday that the plight of a disabled man locked for 14 years by his family shocked us all. One did not get time to recover from that news that another horrifying incident was brought to light by a TV channel. Little Manikanandan abused and mutilated body violated the space of each and every home, his bewildered eyes replete with questions begging for answers.
Manikanandan is 11. He is mentally challenged and his family too poor to care for him admitted the child in a government run institution. In the last one year the child was subjected to severe torture, his only fault being that he was hyperactive.
This incident makes you wonder whether the parents who chose to lock their child for 14 years in heir home were not actually exercising a better option.
The plight of mentally and physically challenged persons is abysmal to say the least. The government run institutions are hell holes, and families are often in the best case scenario at a total loss for a host of reasons: ignorance, poverty, lack of knowledge and paucity of valid options. This is a market where demands outweighs supply and moreover returns are nil.
fine day a lady landed at our doorstep holding on to 5 special kids. Thir As I have often said, notwithstanding social mores, special children are images of God and caring for them should be viewed not as an chore but as a rewarding experience. It has now been over 6 years since we launched our special section. Another case of force majeure as one school had been closed without notice and they had nowhere to go. For us it was not a question of debate or pondering we simply knew wee had to give these kids an option. Today there are more then 20 kids and young adults in our special section.
Each has his own challenge and yes some can be violent, others hyperactive, some are extremely slow others moody, some cannot hear, others cannot walk, yet others can barely comprehend what is said to them. And yet hey all form terrific team each one helping the other almost instinctively. They spend the whole day together and have a whale of a time. They sometimes fight and argue but is that not what every kid does.
They love going out together but their favourite activity is undoubtedly dancing which they are willing to do at the drop of a hat. We are never needed to ‘tie’ them up or restrict them in anyway. And we have never felt that anyone one is a impediment or a challenge. Each one of us oves going to their class, actually for me t is a sure way of getting over any feeling of gloom, the best anti-depressant possible.
So you understand why little Manikanandan’s plight made my blood boil. How can children be treated this way? How can any government have the audacity to run a home for special children and treat them in this manner? How come there are no ways of keeping a check on such things? Why did it take a year for this poor child to be rescued?
Valid questions indeed in any normal society but probably futile in a society like ours where collective conscience seems to have gone astray. How can one accept suck things to happen and continue happening as this is not the first incident of its kind and will not be he last. wonder how may Manikanandan’s there are across our land who are suffering the same plight. Yes there will be an enquiry and some one will be made the passing scapegoat. Politicians will get some mileage, there will some debate, even the parents may get blamed and then all will be forgotten till the next incident happens.
Sadly no one will address the situation and find long term solutions. Things will juts carry on. No one will accept the fact that special children are entitled to a life filled with fun and laughter.
Here are some pictures that show you that the project why special children have a ball all the time!
Nine years may seem sufficient to inure you against all human and humane aberrations. But in a land like ours it is not so, as each time you seem to think you have seen it all or allow yourself to believe that things may have changed in the wake of all the talk you hear around you, something happens to rudely jolt you back to reality.
This is just what happened yesterday as I sat watching TV. A line on the ticker of a new channel said: man locks up mentally ill son in loo for 14 years! It was no gag or joke, it was stark truth and happened in a small town in Orissa. And what is even more disturbing is that the family finds it a better option than sending their child to a hospital. I guess in spite of all better sense, one can understand that as the plight of institutions for the mentally challenged is known to all. When one sees the state of such homes in Indias‘ capital city, one shudders to think about what happens in smaller cities. What is even more disturbing are the words of local social activists: “The parents are very poor and helpless. There is no point in blaming them when there is absolutely no facility from the government for such people.“
This state of total helplessness and surrender is to say the very least demeaning. Not for the victim but for each one of us who pretend to be educated, humane, endowed with a conscience and values, overtly religious. If any one of us can see a human being locked in a cage for 14 years and walk by, then we seriously need to look at ourselves.
When we fist saw Manu we could just have walked by, shut our eyes and heart and mumbled words akin to those above. But we chose not to and in spite of all odds and difficulties we did not give up. Today Manu dances with friends and tomorrow he will have a bed of his own!
And one day, in the not too far future Many will have his home and a place where he will be able to live and work with dignity as long as he lived. That is what planet why is all about and when viewed this way what seems an astronomical amount seems paltry.
Yesterday was Uptal’s 6th birthday. He is at the women centre and his mom planned a special party. It was on this very day, five years ago that Utpal had his tryst with fire, one that undoubtedly changed his life in more ways than one. His tiny life has not been an easy one. It has been packed with many hurdle, but he has always come out a winner.
For the past two years, Utpal has been in boarding school and lived a normal life, the kind little boys do. No drunken brawls, no night visits to the cop station, no strange men, no hunger pangs. And like little boys he now has his tantrums and his moods, his likes and dislikes: you see he does not have to be the man of the house any more, he can just be a kid. And that is exactly what is it now and one cannot grudge him his new found zeal as he has lot of lost time to make up for.
So we too decided to give him a fun birthday party with presents, cake, his favourite food, and the people who had been with part of his life for the past 5 years: his best friend Kiran, Radhey his old pal, Rani didi and Shamika didi, Dharmendra bhaiya and his mum, one that he loves in his own special way and of course maam’ji! There were some new friends too and we had all a great time.
I am sure that each one of us did take a trip down memory lane, each remembering that one special moment that remains engraved in our mind. I found myself recollecting a plethora of touching times, each one imbued with its own sense of wonder but the one that will always remain engraved in mind is my first real meeting with this incredible kid, the moment he walked into my heart.
The past few years have been replete with Popples moments, each one endearing and touching and even if he may sometimes seem spoilt and even exasperating, just look deep into his eyes you may just see an Angel passing.
Is it wrong to help those who are in need of others assistance? was the heart wrenching question a little girl asked softly in a mail that dropped in my inbox.
Natasha and her little family had read the article about pwhy that had appeared in a Singapore paper almost two years ago. They wrote wonderful words of support and set out to collect books for us the children and sent them to us. Then, as it often happens, there was no contact.
Then came a mail from the little girl now 11. I reproduced it as it was written:
I’m Natasha, do u remember me? It’s been more than a year that I’ve not contacted you. I’m already 11 years old and my brother is 9 years old. During the past 1 year, my family has gone through a lot of difficulties. My mummy helped to take care of someone who is not related to us who is suffering from bone cancer. Because of that my daddy decided to divorce my mummy, reason is she has been too focused in volunteer work and as a result my brother and I follow her footsteps. Is it wrong to help those who are in need of others assistance?
My mummy went to Bangladesh last year to do some voluntary work, we will be going with her this June school holidays. Although the past 1 year we didn’t contact u but u and all the children are always in our heart n mind. We have collected many storybooks for your children and would like to mail over to u. Please give me your address so that my mummy can mail to u by courier service.
We have finally come out of our own gloomy days and would like to continue to contribute our assistance to u or other charity organisations.All the best to u and hope u will forgive us for not be able to offer our assistance for the past 1year.
I read the mail many times. I felt very tiny and overwhelmed. This little child epitomized the essence of giving. Her approach was without fuss, without the jaded words that normally accompany acts of giving, sans the litanies that justify the grounds of abstaining to give. Notwithstanding the terrible ordeals she and her family went through, this little child of God never lost sight of what she instinctively felt was right.
Is it wrong to help those who are in need....remained the simple question that begged for an answer. And I, with all my years of supposed giving was left speechless. This little girl had quietly put my whole life in question, her simple interrogation was reason for deep soul searching on the very meaning of giving.
Natasha’s words are the quintessence of what giving or helping others should be. What we all do pales in front of this. It is easy to give when the time is right, when we are comfortable, when things look up. But not for this child and her little family. They simple give!
I salute the mother of this lovely child as she is the one who has instilled such generosity and love in her heart.
And to you little Natasha I want to say that it is not wrong to help those who are in need. Only very special people understand that, and you are one of them.
I normally am weary of TV crews always on the prowl for a story. They hound you till you give in. And in spite of your trying to give the story a different twist, they all ultimately turn out to be pasty copies of each other. The rag to riches kind, or rather riches to rags!
I find myself accepting more for the kick it gives the kids and staff as I learnt long back that media appearances are not the panacea one thought they could be. And yet last week when a new TV channel approached us with a request I once again accepted. The programme bore an imperious name: ek aur eklavya, making me wonder what tithe still remained to be paid in my life.
As always the shooting is a long protracted and disrupting affair where one is made to feel helpless and a tad obtuse. It stretches over days and requires immense patience and is usually quite annoying. The crew came on the appointed day and blissfully at the specified time. After some preliminary discussion we all went to the special section for the first scene of the shoot. As I settled amongst the kids busy in their morning routine, I suddenly realised that it had been a long time since I had spent quality time with them. I normally made it a point to drop by every but it was always for a fleeting moment.
I could not even remember when was the last time I had spent a day or a part of a day with the children. Al my waking hours now seemed to be spent chasing funds, striking the keyboard, glaring at a screen or answering calls and attending meetings. I suddenly found myself sending a silent world of gratitude to the TV team.
It was a lovely moment as I sat with all the kids and went through their morning routine. It was a Proustian experience of reliving a forgotten past through a host of sensory experiences. For that moment in time all else was forgotten as one laughed, screamed, stretched, bent and above all revelled in total contentment.
The spell was soon broken and it was time to move to the next scene.
I often find myself browsing through the mass of photographs that sit on my computer. I do that when I am troubled and in search of answers to questions that seem insuperable and overwhelming. I do it when I feel my spirits sagging and am in need of that extra fillip. And wonders of wonders I have never been disappointed. It is almost as if these pictures were my very own divination manual.
The last few days, weeks or it is now months have been spent trying to overcome a huge setback and finding ways to garner a huge amount of money to enable us to fulfill many dreams. I have prayed for a string miracles: one that would bring into our lives the elusive anonymous benefactor, one that would enable us to find the funds we need effortlessly, one that would give us the right idea, the right sales pitch, the right whatever.
The last few days, weeks, month have also been filled with furious activity. Mails have been sent, calls made, reports written and costings drafted. We have received loads of words of encouragement and support, we have got many promises but also our share of cynical advise and worse than that: total silence. Somehow this has not surprised me at all as in our day and age charity has become a business and hence all comments and reactions are par for the course.
But let me stop digressing and come to the point of this post and my photo search.
As I set about pondering about all mentioned above I came across the picture you see. Anurag helping Sabha during a recent outdoor visit of the special section. Now Anurag is 14 and is autistic, Sabha is 19 and is mentally challenged. They both come from different worlds, different faiths and have nothing in common barring the fact that they are both pwhy students! Anurag has been with us for almost 4 years and Sabha joined us just a month back. And yet when Sabha needed help Anurag simply extended his hand. No one had to tell him to do so. This for me is true giving, charity or whatever else you want to call it.
As I looked at this picture, my mind went back to the umpteen times I have seen this spirit of reaching out and helping in the special section of pwhy. It is remarkable and touching as none of the 20 kids and young adults have anything in common were we to apply existing social norms. And yet each and every time one is need of help another is there to give it. I wish we, the supposedly normal beings acted the same way and to borrow the words of Norman Rice dared to reach out our hand into the darkness, to pull another hand into the light.
“We dance for laughter, we dance for tears, we dance for madness, we dance for fears, we dance for hopes, we dance for screams, we are the dancers, we create the dreams.”
I must confess to the fact that the idea of our new project, one that still has not found its real name – having been called fostercare-cum-sponsorship programme, happy home, children’schance programme – has been cause of many a sleepless night.
Though it had always been a dream to have special children and regular kids live, grow, laugh, play and learn together, a dream called planet why, the course of events that led to us having to launch our trial home earlier than anticipated is scary. In just a few days Babli, Aditya, Nikhil, Vicky, Champa and Manu, our first innmates, will embark on a new journey, that of living together. The flat across the tiny street is getting spruced up. A school has been identified. Last moments preparations are on and there is a palpable excitement in the air.
On the flip side anxiety levels are high too and many questions crowd the mind. It is not every day that one decides to put such a motley crew together. The new teachers are busy getting to know their new wards. Mahendra and Praveen are exceptional young men who are determined to make the dream a reality and are giving it their very best, but will they succeed?
I must confess that I have been extremely perturbed and desperately looking for a sign to quell my worries. The sign came unexpectedly yesterday as I watched the special section dance. Manu, who has always been a taciturn young man suddenly came alive and danced his heart out, trying to convey his joy in the most touching way possible. I came to know later that he has been this way for some time and has bonded with the new teachers, his new found friends and soul mates and is aware of the fact that they will soon be living together. After more than 30 years, Manu will have a home.
He was the dancer creating a dream and I slept soundly for the fist time in many months!
apologies for the quality of the video, I have not yet mastered the art of editing clips
In April 2005 a young Pinky got married against her parents wishes. Like many young girls she had fallen in love and love as we all know is blind! The marriage was celebrated by her fiance’s family in a temple in the presence of some friends.
