by Anuradha Bakshi | Jun 16, 2007 | Uncategorized
Courage, it would seem, is nothing less than the power to overcome danger, misfortune, fear, injustice, while continuing to affirm inwardly that life with all its sorrows is good; that everything is meaningful even if in a sense beyond our understanding; and that there is always tomorrow. Dorothy Thompson
I have been locked in silence for a few days. A rare occurrence for me as I always seem to err on the other side, always the one to find the word, action, reaction to any situation whatever it may be.
As I pick up my virtual pen to ultimately break this muteness I find myself diminished in more ways than one. Gone is the bravado and cockiness, the ease with which one took on every cause to espouse, the fire to fight for seemingly lost causes and in its place the inevitable almost existential question: who am I and what gives me the right to do what I do?
The last seven years were filled with a sense of achievement – no matter how minute – a feeling of pride as children passed exams, hearts got fixed, women got empowered, and we grew from 20 to 100 and then to over 500! There were even moments when hubris took over albeit for the tiniest of moments and one’s human side stood exposed as one carefully filed press cuttings with a feeling of satisfaction. One had arrived or so one thought.
However life or God or whoever else it is that holds the trump card always intervenes before you wander to far and this is what happened at a time when I felt almost invincible as we worked towards N’s operation. A simple barely murmured sentence by this extraordinary woman as we sat counting numbers dealt me a blow I am still reeling over. She simply said: had I not had the past I had, I would not have been able to be who I am today.
These are words many of us have said or thought or even believe. But when your past begins with the worst case of abuse at an age when you should be playing with dolls and in a split moment the stage was set for a life where everything would be defiled: her childhood, her dreams, her mind, her spirit, her soul: in a word her future. To bear the pain came the drugs, the alcohol and the defiance of all the rules as, are these not made for those who have the luxury of a normal life where childhood grows into adolescence and matures to adulthood.
Those were her dark years where danger, misfortune , fear, injustice played their destructive game and as is often the case in such situations temerity ruled. Everything is sacrificed with impudence or so one feels. But somewhere a little voice tells you to hold on and a flickering light beckons you to reach out. It is that very glimmer that led N out of her dark labyrinth into a pool of luminous light that not only dispelled her darkness but became a beacon for others to follow and makes a barely literate woman say with pride: I would not have been what I am today.
For N is. In a world where people are happy being shadows or clones, she stands out as an example of hope, a vindication of all those who believe that nothing or no one is hopeless or beyond redemption. But above all N puts into to question the very foundation of those like me, who feel smug in the tiny roles they have chosen for themselves.
Today, when I look back at my existence and particularly at the last seven years I often hold as my best, I see nothing much to write home about or be proud of. It just seems one did what one had to keeping in mind the abundance of privileges one was dealt with all along. N brought into my life a different perspective altogether and a new meaning to the word tomorrow. It becomes imperative for me, to redefine that tomorrow and strive towards it with renewed hope.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Jun 13, 2007 | Uncategorized
She left seventeen years ago. Every year on this day I remember her; write a few words, light a lamp, place a garland on her picture, sit quietly in her favourite spot in the garden or make her favourite dish. Then everything is put back into some corner of one’s memory till the next occasion.
On the other hand my more flamboyant father became the one whose memory was celebrated in my work and she as usual took the back seat. I discovered a diary last year and that discovery was a defining moment of my existence. It shattered many images I had held on to. It raised many questions, the most important one being whether I had vindicated my mother’s sacrifice.
My answer was a letter to a dead mother.
I do not know why I chose this day to share this? It could be a sense of guilt towards one I owed so much to, and yet chose to forsake. It could also be because for the past few days I have come across many women fighting for their survival and dignity just as Kamala did.
Last year my friend Abhi decided to immortalise part of Kamala’s life in a short film entitled remembering mother, but I still remained locked in silence. But last week when I spent a morning with the women of Sahara House in their Miracle Maids programme something snapped inside. As I watched this motley bunch of ex addicts struggling to learn the ways of the world as they set out to set tables and memorise complex recipes, my mind went back to the small town girl who became and ambassador’s wife, beating all odds.
The unbearable heat of that refurbished shed where this handful of ladies toiled made me decide to get them a cooler on this special day in the hope that the breeze it blows carries with it the love and blessings of an incredible woman I called mama!
by Anuradha Bakshi | Jun 11, 2007 | Uncategorized
A few days back an acquaintance who is a jet setting honcho of a huge MNC was house hunting. He finally zeroed on a flat in an up up market district of our capital city. The rent a whopping 550 000 rs a month! Mind you it is not a bungalow, just a second floor in a building! Needless to say the rent is being paid by the company.
This afternoon N insisted on showing me her home. This is the place she is coming back to a few days after her hip joint replacement to recuperate. It is the tiniest of room in a tiny lane of a small middle class colony, with a sordid bathroom and a poky kitchen. She shares the room with a friend and once you lay out two mattresses on the floor there is no place to sleep. Yet it is her home, one she proudly shows. There is a TV, photographs on the wall, and little knickknacks which give it a welcoming appearance. She pays 2000 rs for it, a large chunk of her small salary!
N’s story is one heart wrenching and one you would only think happens in the minds of fiction or script writers. But is also a story of hope as she has proved to one and all that one can survive the worst nightmare and came out of winner.
At an age when others still play with dolls she was abused and then came a spiralling descent to hell which for her was a heady cocktail of alcohol, drugs, and abuse of unimaginable proportion. Yet she came out of it a winner as she took on the task of helping her soul sisters follow her lead.
When she talks of her past, she does it without bitterness or anger, without acrimony or rancour; she has accepted it as a part of herself and one she had made peace with. She simply picked up the broken pieces of her life and wove them into a new life where hope and faith are the call of the day.
Her smile is infectious and her joie de vivre contagious. It is as if she has to make up for lost time and fill her life only light and joy. Looking at her you would not believe the pain she is and that she need a hip replacement that will cost the earth. She is just knows she has to get back on her feet as there is still so much to be done. She has left it to all God’s angels and just carries on. And somehow I know the angels will appear in all shades and hues as when it is comes to a woman like N it just cannot be otherwise.
The morning I spent with her was one the most beautiful I have ever known as it renewed my faith in all that is good and kind. It also made me once again believe in the fact that no life is too wretched to give up on. As we shared a simple meal cooked by another woman whose childhood was usurped by predators under the watchful of eye of our personal angel Mr P, I felt at peace after a long time.
And when we finally stopped by that tiny little room, it somehow felt like the biggest castle as it was overflowing with dreams and aspirations waiting to be fulfilled.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Jun 9, 2007 | Uncategorized
The heat is on. The weather girl predicted a whopping 45 degrees with a sweat factor of 27% making it feel like 48 degrees. The sensible thing would be to stay at home, away from the sun and the scalding wind. True that is an option for some of us, provided the electricity does not play truant.
Why do you stay open, ask many friends. It would be easy to close for the summer and take off to some hill station, but we know that if we did, children would suffer as home for many of them is a tiny shack with a tin roof, and the streets too hot to be a playground in the heat of the summer.
So we brave the heat and soldier on. Fans and coolers help a little. We also ensure that children are not dehydrated and we know we are on the right track as classes are as full as ever. It is true that some of our classrooms are no better than shacks, like the one in the picture, but somehow the joy of being together makes up for the thatch roof and electricity cuts.
The life of a slum child in the peak of summer is hell. School holidays means having nowhere to go. Homes are overcrowded and torrid. Tempers run high and there is no place to escape. No parks, no open spaces, no shaded play grounds.
The scorching heat brings to light an array of questions, some of them without answers alas! Fr st and foremost is the issue of urban habitat for the poor. How can we call ourselves a free nation when we have not been able to give basic amenities to a large chunk of our population. Urban slums are bereft of any planning, and teeming with disasters waiting to happen. Naked electricity wires run like monstrous webs, each a potential fire hazard that would engulf everything in a split second. Garbage stench and flies abound, and homes – or what goes by the name – are hell holes. Yet most of the people who live there are people we know: our electrician or plumber, our vegetable vendor, our daily maid, the lad who cycles in the heat to bring us the grocery item we have forgotten.. simple souls who make our air conditioned lives a tad better and who are also people protected by the same laws and supposed to enjoy the same rights as us.
Every morning, as we enter our centre we are met with sleepy and tired little eyes. For the past few days many of the creche and special kids have just slept through their day, vindicating our resolve to remain open come what may.
There is of course the larger issue: that of global warming and environment. But in the wake of what we see, one wonders whether anyone is really interested in solving any issue that does not bring with it money, power, votes….
by Anuradha Bakshi | Jun 8, 2007 | Uncategorized
We have a new class. It is one we had to create by force majeure. Though we ourselves believe that children should not be made to study at too tender and age, sometimes noblesse oblige and you have to bow to the rule of the day.
So much to our sorrow we had to take the decision to structure our early education programme and bring in some serious work. Class I in India requires children to know have a fair amount of oral and written skills: alphabets in 2 languages – English and Hindi -, counting to 100, spelling of numbers 1 to 10 and even three letter words. Quite a handful for little kids who are barely five.
We also felt that as many of our children would be going to government run schools, it would be an asset for them to have a solid base that would be taught to them with love and patience. It was time also to graduate from the easy going atmosphere and sitting on the ground, to the first desk and chair.
We were lucky to get a little room just opposite our centre and classes began in earnest this morning under the supervision of Vinita and Pushpa a new teacher who lives next door. The first day, like all first days was a little daunting and confusing but our little preppies did us proud as they always do!
by Anuradha Bakshi | Jun 7, 2007 | Uncategorized
The arrival of Pritpal is a real milestone for the special section of project why. Pritpal is an occupational therapist and will work with the children every morning. This will be a quantum leap for many kids and is bound to help them have a better future.
My thoughts travel back to the day when Sylvia, a special educator, landed one winter morning in early 2001 at our doorstep. With her were 5 mentally and physically challenged kids who had lost the school they went to. It did not take us a minute to realise that we had to do something for the. That is how our special section began, on the road side, with a handful of kids and a tons of hope.
When I see that section today, I am filled with pride as it is by far our best class. We have gone a long way since that cold morning when we had nothing but our determination and faith and of course the unconditional love of these kids.
Today our special section is vibrant; it is the place I chose to go to when I feel a little blue, a little lost, a tad defeated. But all clouds are lifted as I hear the good mornings ma’am and see the smiles of each and every one urging to come and sit by them, or eager to show a new task achieved. If it is lunchtime then each one shares a bit of their lunch, even Anurag who never parts with any of his tiffin. But I am privileged, am I not?
Sometimes it is singing time, or dancing time, or jumping on the trampoline time, and all join in, even those who cannot hear or can barely walk. I have never seen such synergies, such joy and such positive energy. What is truly incredible is that this motley crew of 20 each with their own handicap never judges the other, but accepts her or him unconditionally.
They are family in the true sense of the world. It does no matter if they belong to different castes, or creed or socio-economic backgrounds. They all know what it is to be different and have borne that pain. It binds them in an incredible web of love and lust for life. This is there turf and they protect it. Those who cannot understand are not welcome. That is the only rule they have.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Jun 6, 2007 | utpal
All God’s angels come to use disguised said James Russell Lowell. We have had our share dropping by project why in all shapes and sizes to help and guide us, and like all angels flown away before we even realised who they were. However, there has been one little angel that decided to stay and deliver his miracles as and when needed.
Little Popples a.k.a Utpal is that angel. I cannot forget the day when I first saw him, swathed in bandages his death sentence written on a green hospital card, and yet the eyes that met mine were filled with life and hope. That was four years ago. Since he has been busy delivering his miracles big and small, even if we do not have the power to recognise them, or do so only in hindsight.
Wherever his chubby feet fall a miracle is in the making. Two weeks back he entered the world of a women’s rehab centre to spend his summer holidays with his mom. Some time later the kind lady in charge of the centre was taken ill and the only way out for her was a very costly operation, way beyond the league of this brave single mom. We came to know about it and sent out an appeal hoping that someone would come forward. Less than twenty four hours and a phone call later the miracle had been performed and the money promised. Our Angel had done is work and was back to being the endearing child he is!
Wonder what his next miracle will be.
PS: the cost of the surgery is much more than what was first estimated by the hospital. Sowe ned more angels!
by Anuradha Bakshi | Jun 4, 2007 | Uncategorized
We all love positive stroking; come to think about it, it is something we need. We have had our share but often it is more lip service than a salvo from the heart.
Usha is a special educator from Jan Madhyam an organisation we network with and has been coming to Project Why for many months now. She works with the children, teaching then a host of new activities and somehow has become one of us.
Last week during lunch time the usually quiet and unobtrusive Usha decided to fire a salvo from her heart. She simply said: your organisation is one of the few that works with its heart.
I do not why, but these simply words were the most rewarding appreciation we have ever got!
by Anuradha Bakshi | Jun 1, 2007 | Uncategorized
Tuesday morning some French friends set out from our home to board a train to Rajasthan. They were on a three week holiday and were hoping to be able to visit as many places as possible. As they were leaving, I told them rather casually to get in touch in case there was any problem. It was almost a redundant statement as so many friends had boarded trains to Rajastan and come back safely their eyes and mind filled with lifelong memories.
Imagine my astonishment when a few hours a later I got a panicked call informing me that their train had been stuck for hours and asking me what was happening and above all what were they to do. having been at work all day, I had not seen the news and did not know what had hit them. I just told them to hold on and that i would get back to them shortly.
I quickly turned the TV and was assailed by images of buses burning amidst a sea of people and tried to figure out what had happened. Slowly reality sunk in as I realised that once again the hydra headed monster of reservation has struck in a new way.
The friends have altered their holiday plans and set out for the hills but for the last few days I have been watching in stunned silence the horrific drama that is unfolding in front of our eyes. This is the reservation nightmare revisited but in another avatar altogether. Here it is not a question of the upper caste resisting an increase in reservation. What we are witnessing is far more insidious and dangerous as it defeats the very essence of what reservation is meant to stand for.
What was meant to be an affirmative action to help those who had been let down by society for generations, what was meant to be a help for the underprivileged sections has now turned out to be a battle to save one’s spoils. The Gujjar community is seeking scheduled tribe status, something that can be defended as this is a backward community of herdsmen. What is scaring is that over and above the political issue, resistance to this is not from upper castes but from another ST section, namely the Meena who are apparently the only recognised Tribals in Rajasthan. One does not have to be a rocket scientist to see that all this is a far cry from affirmative action for the underprivileged. A new entrant entails having to share the spoils which include government jobs, political assignments, etc..
One would have thought that brethren were to be supported and helped but that is not the case as reservation is no more viewed as a time bound support to the have nots to ensure their mainstreaming, but as an easy way of getting favours and once again the monster of reservation has proved to be stronger than the administrative machinery as it is replete with causes to espouse for many hungry politicos.
How this will end I do not know. The confrontation has turned into a caste struggle that is turning ugly and a vindication of the fear that of the polarisation and fragmentation of our already fragile social fabric and a proof of the failure of the reservation policy as it has been imagined by its authors.
by Anuradha Bakshi | May 31, 2007 | two indias
This is the 500th post of the project why blog. By curiosity I went back to blog number one and read it. What a long way one has come since that day when with faltering fingers I wrote the first blog and entered uncharted courses not knowing where they would lead me.
Yes it has been a long journey and a thrilling one at that. From the almost childlike account of day one with its spelling mistakes (had not discovered the spellcheck I guess) to the sometimes acerbic posts one has truly travelled; from moments of pure unadulterated joy to those of extreme sadness, this blog has been a true reflection of a personal journey.
So just like on day, the best subject for this milestone blog would be to just talk about today..
After the thrill of success (results of the Board exams) the morning was spent planning a befitting celebration. many ideas were mooted and finally it was decided to take the successful kids to a movie! A friend dropped by and was introduced to our two brand new teachers: Azad and PK both of whom had just cleared their XIIth. While Azad went off after a brief hell, PK stayed to discuss the idea of a play on environment. The friend asked him about his interests and soon his life story came tumbling leaving us all stunned.
PK is the eldest of 4 siblings, all boys. One of his brother is practically blind after a cerebral accident and another severely epileptic. His father, a tailor, lost his job and works from home. Since he was in class VI, PK has worked to finance his studies. He told us about how he was employed in a factory where geysers were made and how he had got electrocuted while testing a geyser. He then took on odd jobs and slowly stared learning tailoring from his dad and helping him with orders at night. He went on to share his dream of further studies that he was determined to finance himself. As he spoke in his quiet and yet assertive voice, my heart went out to him as to me he epitomised the dreams of so many children of India, the difference being that he had had the courage to fulfill them while others just let the slip away. I made a mental note of seeing how we could help sponsor his further education.
The rest of the day passed without much ado. In the evening I went to the Gauri Shankar temple in Chandni Chowk. As we were about to leave, we saw a huge commotion with some TV crew and host of cycle rickshaws. We were told that the crew was interviewing cycle rickshaw owners as these were soon to be banned with the coming of battery operate buses! I looked as the bedraggled men, some old, some young with their defeated expressions and wondered why once again the poor were being sacrificed. How many hoes would go hungry and how many dreams would be shattered. First it was street food, now cycle rickshaws. There has to be a better way of modernising and cleaning the city. Cycle rickshaws are environment friendly and one can find a way of having them ply in an organised manner, just has one has to have a way of providing clean street food. And what about the garbage, the plastic, the potholes, and the multitude of things that scar our city and never seem to be dealt with. Why is it always the poor voiceless person that is made the victim. Questions that need answers but who will bell the cat.
Yes it was just another day at project why. Wonder where we all will be at 1000th blog!
by Anuradha Bakshi | May 30, 2007 | Uncategorized
Last week a TV crew came to project why. They spent two days capturing the shots they wanted and driving us literally up the wall. When it was over, the producer handed me a form tat he said needed to be filled. It began like all data sheets with queries about name, dob etc.. but then were a host of questions asking for one’s favourite things.
At age 55+ it seems a little inane to have to answer favourite actor, food, actress, movie colour, dress and God knows what else, so I simply followed the lead of my excited young colleagues. True there was a time when I did have a list of favourite things, but stilettos gave way to floaters as style was sacrifices at the alter of comfort! However one question caught my eye: what is your favourite book?
This one was for me, my true turf, as books had been my friends, solace, companions and mentors right from my early days. At first glance, it seemed an easy question as was I not the ones who lived and breathed books. I still remember how deeply moved I had been by Francois Truffaut’s stunning film Fahrenheit 451 where the possibility of a world without books entered by adolescent mind.
So the question what is your favourite book was one I had to answer myself. easier said than done as I sat pencil in hand trying to recall the innumerable number of books that I had read over the years and finding the one that could truly deserve the attribute of favourite!
My mind rapidly scanned the books I had always professed liking, but each somehow fell short of something. They seemed more to have been in tune with a particular moment of my existence but paled beyond that reality. What I sought was the book that had withstood the vagaries of a lifetime; the one that gave the same intense pleasure each time one opened it; the one that always had the ability to answer the query of the moment no matter what it could be; the one that could soothe frayed nerves and make you believe that life was worth living even in your darkest hour; the one that had never left your bookshelf!
My mind travelled back and forth as many titles came to mind, but only one could answer all the aforesaid questions as well as those not yet formulated as yes there was such a book in my life: The Little Prince by Antoine de St Exupery, a book that had entered my life when I was twelve and that still sits comfortably on my bookshelf.
To many and by the looks of it, The little Prince is a children’s book, and I must confess that when I first read it, it did not quite compete with the adventure books that were hot favourites of mine. But I found myself attracted to it in an almost intuitive way and as years passed I often picked up and read bits of it at times when I was confused, sad or lonely.
The Little Prince is a mesmerising book as it seems to address to each one of us and any given time in our lives. It is a quaint philosophical fable written way back in the 1940’s but one that retains its freshness as we meet its diverse protagonists: the businessman counting useless stars, or tippler who drinks because he is ashamed of his drinking.
And as you get lost in this world you realise the futility of many things your held as important and the importance of those you overlooked. You are gently taught of the danger of losing your ability to question what you cannot comprehend or what you find absurd. And gently you are led to the one secret that holds true in life and extols you to learn to look with you heart.
In hindsight I now see how deeply this tiny book has helped me and guided me in life and deserves to be my favourite book!
by Anuradha Bakshi | May 29, 2007 | Uncategorized
When she came to us a few months back we did not know whether she would make it. her tiny and frail body, her almost cerulean hue, her huge sparkling eyes made a quaint and disturbing picture.
Her near brush with death made scared us no end, but soon miracles occurred as she had her much needed surgery. And suddenly her zest for life took over as she rushed to make up for lost months: a new tooth, a bigger smile, a few ounces here and there and new antics each time she came by.
This morning she arrived again clutching a box of sweet. It was her first birthday, one she almost missed!
happy b’day girl!
by Anuradha Bakshi | May 29, 2007 | Uncategorized
You’ re simply the best we sang with as much energy as Tina Turner as the 12 girls of our class XII batch cleared their Boards with panache. Yes this year the project why class XII was an all girls batch. A matter of pride for us but also a true reflection of an existing social reality. parents spend more on boys and hence most are given private tuition. The girls are just sent to project why!
Today we can see the next line of the song – better than all the rest – as the X Boards results are out and once again our 11 boys and 11 girls have passed too!
I have now words to express what I feel though this day as dawned 7 times for us. Yet each time I feel as overwhelmed and somehow a tad sad as there are many children who have the ability but lack the tiny little bit of help they need.
I just wish we could do more…
by Anuradha Bakshi | May 28, 2007 | Uncategorized
The story of little M should send chills down every self respecting human being’s spine. The question remains: Does it? Or have we become so inured to crime against children, particularly small children, that we turn our hearts away.
Can any society that calls itself civilised allow such incidents to happen, let alone happen with license, particularly when the child in question is poor. And if they do happen can one allow the perpetrators to roam scot-free as we lose ourselves in legal imbroglios.
M or the Nithari children or even the Ghaziabad girls were one may say exceptions, but child abuse if often much more insidious. There has been lot of talk of child abuse in recent days. A recent study shows some chilling facts as to the extent of this crime that seems to be mostly perpetrated within the supposedly safe boundaries of the home.
Child abuse is by far the most heinous crime and one of the reasons why it is practised with impunity is because in most cases no one is ready to believe the child who has the courage to break the tacit code of silence. Instead of sharing the pain and alleviating it, adults are quick to rap the child on the knuckles and push her or him back to realm of the very silence she or he dared break, and thus to the hell of more abuse.
The reason for the post is two fold. One stems out of a recent incident at project why when a child shared a personal experience. The experience was difficult to word and as always with children it came out in a garbled whisper. Thankfully the teacher she shared it was sensitive and understanding and decided to come to me for advise. We soon learnt of the abuse this child had been subjected to and were glad she had broken the deafening silence she had lived in all those years. The first step towards healing had been taken.
But, and that is the second reason for this post, this is rarely the case as children rarely find a sympathetic ear when they decide to come out with the truth. A ten year old had been subjected to inappropriate fondling by someone she held in trust. The child had the courage to inform her mother hoping that at least she would believe her and act. But in spite of education and well worldliness the mother adopted the cowardly middle path and though the child was never abused again she had to live with her perpetrator for many long years.
That is the problem with child abuse as it is mostly committed by someone within the family, and often someone with authority. Breaking the silence means destroying the social balance and shattering the comfortable life one leads. It means taking sides and standing up for the child against all. It means risking to lose everything one has and somehow society has rarely stood for the victim. The hesitant and hurting child is often silenced or at best provided some half-baked protection and made to continue living under the same roof as the abuser.
Something is terribly wrong: a little child who has been abused and hurt has to pick rags for a living when what she needs is healing and love, another child is made to live long years within the same walls as her abuser because the social balance cannot be disturbed.
And even when perpetrators are caught then justice is elusive. Who knows where the Ghaziabad girls are or whether the Nithari children will really get justice, or whether little M’s abuser will pay for his heinous crime. And these are just the few cases that got reported but every day there are children who are being abused and who need to be heard.
It is for us as a society to take up the cudgels and fight this crime. What is terrible is that it is often the victim and her family who are ostracized by the very society they live in. C is 14 year old and she is a student of project why. Just like M she was raped by a neighbour at the age of 4 and suffered severe injuries that needed corrective surgery. Her abuser did some time in jail and is now free but young C still bears the stigma of that rape and is shunned by all.
Yes something is terribly wrong and we cannot look away because in the words of Herbert Ward child abuse casts a shadow the length of a life time
by Anuradha Bakshi | May 25, 2007 | Uncategorized
Once again our kids have done us proud. All 12 project why students have cleared their class XII Boards and some with distinction. What makes this bunch different to all others is that many come from poor homes and have studied against many odds. Some were even considered failures when they first came to us and in some cases we had to convince parents to allow the kids to continue their studies.
But today all is forgotten, and a palpable feeling of joy filled the classroom as the results were declared. The credit goes to Naresh our senior secondary teacher whose dedication and unwavering faith in his students motivated them to give their very best.
It is time to celebrate
by Anuradha Bakshi | May 24, 2007 | Uncategorized
When Deepak walked into the office this morning we all held our breath and stared in wonder. Was this the same child who just about a year back could barely breathe and seemed in constant pain. Was this the baby who had suffered a code blue, something we see on TV serials but never in our lives.
It has been a long run for Deepak, but one that was worth it, and one that makes us once again believe that miracles happen every day. It is just that sometimes we fail to see them.
by Anuradha Bakshi | May 23, 2007 | Uncategorized
When my children were young, summer holidays always spelt disaster as one would be plagues with a leit motiv of I’m getting bored or What do I do now. One would try and plan things but they never quite met the standards of demanding kids. Those were the days before Internet or even video games. One just had the good old VCR and films borrowed at the local library as life saviours.
Today things have changed. Parents have more money and new summer options are being marketed. I recently saw an ad for summer holidays for children within India and in faraway lands were the tag could be as high as 1 lac of rupees, notwithstanding the plethora of summer camps in the city. Even in the area we work in, many of the private teaching shops offer courses in painting, dancing and more of the same making them an option for harried parents.
For those who cannot afford it, it is the street that plays the role of a summer camp, where children play in spite of the heat and spend time as best they can. This is one of the reasons project why never closes but then we can only reach that many kids.
One kid decided to create her own summer camp. What began spontaneously has now become a serious affair. Every morning Kiran is ready at 8.30 and comes to us to project why. Gone are the days when she tagged along and followed us with the proverbial bored expression. She now goes straight into the special section and is there to welcome the kids as they come. Then after morning exercises that she still leads it is time for serious work as per the timetable. Kiran all of six years and some months settles with her little group – group A – and asks for the day’s copy books. She is soon busy giving out work and checking it as it is completed. She knows the ability of each child and doles out the work accordingly: If Champa one of our slowest learners gets simple letters written large, Pooja has now graduated to three letters word, and Anurag is still learning to write his name though she shared proudly with we today that he can write Anu and now she plans to attack Rag.
I watched her today as she sat on a chair – a concession to her size – and interacted with her class that ranges from age 8 to age 30 and thought to myself how perfectly tuned everyone seemed to be. Here was a group that had nothing in common – neither age, nor caste, nor creed – ; each one had a disability that branded them an oddity in the wider world yet under the strict yet loving care of a little six year old they sat and learnt in total harmony.
There were so many lessons to be learnt if one cared to look wth one’s heart.
Chapeau bas to this young child who had created her very own unique summer camp.
by Anuradha Bakshi | May 22, 2007 | Uncategorized
I normally am rarely at home during the course of the day and thus am not aware of he comings and goings that dot a normal working day seen from the inside of a home. Yesterday I remained indoors on doctor’s advise and spent most the time in my tiny office which is next to the main entrance of the house and thus closest to the gate.
My hope of getting some serious work done was soon shattered by the door bell that rang at disturbing intervals. Bar the ironing man and the gardener all other interruptions came from a new persona: the courier man.
Soon a little pile of envelopes of all shades and hue littered my usually pristine desk. There were a few bills, a few invitations but the majority of the pile was made of diverse promos and publicity material. Though we are only three in the house, my husband is a member of two prestigious clubs and thus on several mailing lists. From sarees to silverware, from furniture to food, from electronic goods to art exhibitions everyone seemed to consider us a valued customer. And each envelope was glossier than the other and in sizes that would never fit the slit of a mailbox. And if that was not enough, most of the envelopes were packed in high quality transparent plastic lest they get soiled!
Like in most homes, the carefully wrapped messages would soon find their way in the waste, and in city like ours where waste segregation is still an unheard concept, the carefully worded suggestions to valued people who simply add to the burden of a collapsing planet.
Everyone is talking of global warming and the need to act. And one of the simple ways of doing so is my protecting trees and saving paper. Is not time for us as concerned citizens to raise our voices against this flood of publicity that now targets our very homes? I know that many will talk about the numerous jobs that this industry gives and supports. But is it not time to alter perceptions and reinvent things in a more environment friendly way?
In the times of the Internet and the electronic media, there have to be ways of halting the proliferation of publicity material that is suffocating the planet. And if one insists on printed material then one should use only recycled paper. I have often written about my concern on the proliferation of pouches that have hit urban slums and litter the roads and clog drains. Companies who market these are rich enough to invest into developing environment friendly packaging were it made mandatory. But in the game of money making who will bell the cat. And the cat is often within our home and goes by the name of comfort and convenience. It is so much easier to get a plastic bag from the shopkeeper than to carry a cloth one; it is easier to sump all garbage in a plastic bag than to segregate it.
Added to comfort and convenience is another culprit that goes by the name of convention. When we began our work almost 10 years ago and looked around we found that all organisations had beautiful brochures and pamphlets. In our earlier days we did the same but thankfully because of paucity of funds and the ever changing nature of our work we had to put a stop and look for alternatives. Those were the early days of the net and we jumped the bandwagon and created our website that we managed in-house. The rest is history and today even the printer has stopped making his customary sale calls. And today when people ask us for litterature about the project we refer them to the site and the blog and if needed print out one set of the required information.
Be it plastic, paper or water laws alone can never suffice. One has to change mindsets and alter our ways of thinking and be prepared to be called marginal or wacko. When my daughter got married we did not print wedding cards. Barring one person everyone did turn up.
It is time each one of us starts giving up old ways and find new ones. It is not an easy task but it is the only one that will help our children have a future.
