by Anuradha Bakshi | Jun 28, 2007 | two indias
I have been watching the recent on-goings of the Presidential elections. I have nothing against any candidate but could not but wince when I heard our prime Minister defending the lady candidate’s past with the words “she cannot be held responsible for the wrong-doings of her family” he was of course referring to the collapse of the cooperative bank she founded.
At about the same time Radhey our faithful three wheeler operator received a threatening call from a recovery agent pertaining to an unpaid cell phone bill of his handicapped and maverick son. When he tried to explain that the son in question did not live with him or listen to him and thus was not responsible for his misdemeanours, the irate man simply told him that he had 24 hours to pay up or else they would issue a warrant of arrest against him, as if the son did not pay up the family was liable.
Once again a tale of two Indias.. I presume
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 11, 2007 | two indias
India celebrates 150th anniversary of the 1857 uprising often known as the first war of Independence. The capital is in festive mood, a holiday had been declared and the police is on tenterhook as is usual every time we celebrate an event!
For the past week TV channels and national dailies have been replete with visuals and articles about a sometimes forgotten page of our history. One such article caught my eye yesterday as in some tenuous way it links me to that important historical day. The article which appeared in the Times of India of 10th May 2007 is entitled Malegaon to Mauritius: On the trail of 1857, and retraces the destinations taken by the 1857 refugees fleeing the revenge of the Company and sometimes the old feudal repressive order. One of the destinations was Mauritius and its ever growing need of indentured labour to work the sugarcane fields.
In 1871 on board the SS Nimrod, my ancestor landed on the shores of this island as Labour no: 354495. Many stories were crafted to explain why this landlord of a village near Patna had fled his homeland. I have never been able to ascertain which of the tales is the right one but the two British officer’s swords that form part of our family’s legacy make me believe that he may have been part of the great uprising.
Labour no 354495 was not an ordinary man as his descendants became leaders of the community and some like my father chose to come back to the homeland after Independence. My past often haunted me and I made the journey back to the very village he had fled from. It was there that I realised my incredible destiny and made the decision to pay back what I felt was a debt to my country, for had things been otherwise I would have been a simple village woman and not a diplomat’s daughter.
One tends to forget one’s heritage as one gets busy with the simple act of living and building one’s own history. As you go along and create your own comfort zones, the past gets conveniently obliterated and memory selective. But one is never free of one’s past that has an uncanny way of catching up with you as I experienced via a simple newspaper article.
Once again I see myself as the descendant of an indentured labour who was compelled to leave his home as he had chosen to fight for his land and probably knew his days were counted. Most of us have forgotten the struggle of those who laid their lives down to ensure that we could grow in a free country. A politicised extravaganza is perhaps not the right way to commemorate this important day. Maybe one should delve in some soul searching and assess whether we have been worthy of the numerous sacrifices made by simple individuals. And if we do so honestly the picture is not pretty.
A simple perusal of any newspaper or news bulletin is sufficient to prove this as it is often a litany of items ranging from rape to murder, from corruption to scams. But what strikes the most is the growing gap between two Indias: that of the rich who seem to be doing better by the day, and that of the poor who are just surviving.
What is truly frightening is the ever increasing abdication of responsibility by the rulers in every field possible: you cannot provide safety to women, so stop them from working at night; you cannot provide basic amenities to school so hand them over to private agencies. And it gets worse: you want to get rid of a disturbing person, the police will do it for you at a price. To earn extra money you can pass a woman for your wife and smuggle her out. Everything is possible when law makers become law breakers.
As one who has now spent close to a decade trying to help underprivileged children get what is rightfully theirs, what has shocked me the most is the total lack of concern of the privileged people who are unwilling to reach out in support. On the contrary many are contemptuous of the work one does. This break down of the moral fibre of our society is dangerous as it carries the seed of destruction.
How long do we think we can shield ourselves behind theories of fate and karma and wish problems away. How long can we maintain a stony silence in front of the injustice we see. True that we have seen an awakening of civil society but it is sad that it is only heard when the victim is belongs to one’s own strata.
Those who fought for our independence did not seek freedom for a selected few, they sought it for every one. This is something we seem to have forgotten.
by Anuradha Bakshi | May 3, 2007 | two indias
This morning I went to Mehajabi’s home. I had thought that seven years had inured be to most things but I was in for a surprise.
I must confess that I have been haunted by Mehajabi’s mom’s face since the time I laid eyes on her and I decided to accompany Rani on as she set out for her customary visit to the home of any child that needs heart surgery. This is to ensure that the child will have proper care after the delicate surgery.
Mehajabi lives in a remote enclave behind the Jamia Milia University. We left our three wheeler on the main road that runs along the river and set out on foot through a maze of lanes guided by her gentle father. Though the lanes seemed clean, we were soon hit by swarms of flies. After a long walk we reached a tiny lane where a set of rooms stood in a row, Mehajabi’s
was the last one in the row. It was a tiny room where we were greeted by Mehajabi’s and her mother. Her brother played on the floor. A bed was the only piece of furniture. Clothes hung on a string attached to the wall and all the other belongings lay around.
We soon discovered that eleven persons lived in that tiny room. Mejabi’s grandparents, parents, two aunts and her 4 siblings. As we sat on the bed Rani nudged my elbow pointing at the door. It took me a few seconds to realise what she was showing me. The door opened on the wall that was a dirty orange colour that was the result of years of spitting pan (betel leaf). It was what this young woman had to stare at day after day as she went about doing her daily chores!
It was her room with a view.
Thankfully we were distracted by a chirping sound and looked down to see 8 to 10 chicks, some brightly coloured in pinks and greens. Mehajabi’s mom told us that she had got them for the children to play with as she could not afford toys. What hit me was that there was no anger, no resentment no bitterness; it was their life and they lived it in the best way they could. The young couple had shifted to the parents home when the little girl’s illness was detected as from that moment on all that mattered was her well being. The whole family had come together to ward off the crisis.
I was overwhelmed with a multitude of thoughts that sought answers I did not have. I felt anger, sadness and total helplessness and yet I also felt humbled by the courage and dignity I saw. After a few minutes we got up to leave but were asked to stay on. I had forgotten that this was India, a land where guests are always welcome and honoured. After a few minutes Mehajabi’s father came back with a bottle of Pepsi and two plastic cups. As I held on to my cup, I realised that what I had been offered was steeped in emotions I cannot describe, and was far more than a simple fizzy drink. I drank my cup to the last drop as that was the only befitting thing to do.
By that time little Mehajabi had adopted me and was busy playing with my face. She had walked into my heart just as her mother had. We left in silence humbled and moved by that experience. As we reached the three wheeler were Hare Ram our driver waited, I saw some whispering between the father and son-in-law. The young man was sent to the corner juice man and a glass of juice was brought for Hare Ram, who was also a guest.
After all this was India, the real one that many have forgotten.
click here to see mehajabi’s room with a view
by Anuradha Bakshi | Apr 29, 2007 | two indias
I met Mallika on the net a year or so ago. It was a time when we were desperate for funds and I use to knock at every id or site in the hope of getting some help. A common net friend connected us and as luck would have it she came to Delhi and we met.
The next day she came by to visit project why with her parents and her two daughters. It was a blessed moment and since they have supported us in more ways than one.
That was time her first book had been published and even though I was past the age of young motherhood I tried to find a copy of 100 promises, thinking it would be a way of getting to know Mallika better. I must confess that I was utterly surprised by the wisdom and sagacity that permeated this tender book and found myself reading it with intense pleasure, regretting that in our days such books did not exist. Dr Spock or Laurence Pernoud was what we read as we went on learning to be and making innumerable and iretreivable mistakes.
More than a book on motherhood, it was a reflection on life itself and a celebration of the often neglected link between a mother and a child. I saw my mistakes and shortcomings andadmired wondered the depth of understanding of this young mother. Many of the promises were shared with my teachers as maybe I was lucky to have been given a second chance with the project why children. And of all the promises the one that touched me the most was: I will hold you, but never hold on to you.
Imagine my surprise an delight when I received a mail from Mallika where she introduces her new book 100 questions from my child and writes: For this book, I am donating a portion of my proceeds to ProjectWhy, an organization in New Delhi that provides educational programs for underprivileged children.
What makes this gesture special is that project why is about trying to find answers to the innumerable questions that come up when looks at the plight of the children of India. I am sure that once again it will guide me in finding the right answer.
Thank you Mallika.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Apr 27, 2007 | two indias
Her name means beautiful and Mahajavi is undoubtedly beautiful. She is just under one. She was born with a hole in her heart that needs fixing.
The youngest of 5 kids – though her mom looks like a kid herself – she has a right to live a full life but cannot unless her heart is fixed.
You guessed right, Mahajavi is our new inmate at heartfix hotel and we hope to be to fix her heart.
This is how she landed at project why.
Mahajavi is related to the two men who came by my home to do some work last week, probably part of a large plan of the God of Lesser Beings. An answer to a young mother’s prayer or a reminder that in our land every little girl has a right to live? Who knows.
In Delhi little girls are precious even if many do not know it as yet. I read some chilling figures in a recent publication: 25 000 girls go missing every year in this very city. hence it is a matter of celebration that a poor family with 5 children is fighting for little Mahajavi. Before we met them, they had made innumerable visits to the All India Institute of Medical Sciences and done what they could. It is divine justice that they found us. Now the ball is in our court and the game has to be won.
To some it may seem pointless to save such a life as they may wonder what her future would be. I chose to leave such souls to their wonderings. A simple glance at her eyes and at her young mother’s eyes is sufficient to know that Mahajavi’s life is as precious as any other little girl’s. As so her future only time will tell..
