He is all of 10! Has it really been 9 years since this little bundle of joy entered my life. Time has really flown past. Utpal celebrated his 10th birthday in school last week. We will do so on Friday when many of his old pals will be there. By old pals I mean those who have stood by him in all his trials and tribulations and boy he has had more than his share.

It was on Holi 9 years ago that he fell in a boiling pot and his life was transformed forever. Had he not had this ‘baptism by fire’ his life would have been very different. I often find myself wondering what his life would have been had he not fallen in that bubbling cauldron. At best he would have been going to a government school and coming to project why in the mornings. At worst, knowing what his parents were like, he may have been working in a tea shop or simply roaming the streets. But the God of Lesser Beings had other plans.

Utpal’s life changed the day he came back from hospital swathed in bandages practically moribund. It took one look and not only the little one year old’s life changed the fifty year old biddy’s too! The following years could be qualified as ‘combat’ years.  First it was the fight to get the burnt boy back on his feet, the daily agonising dressing of his wound to the sound of Mozart that seemed to soothe the little one, the quotidian chicken broth lovingly prepared at home that he gulped hungrily; the innumerable toys bought to cheer him up as he lay in a cot in my office. This was a fight we won hands down as he gained strength by the minute. Soon the bandages came off leaving ugly scars. But we knew they would heal. And then he starated walking and was soon a student of our creche. I cannot tell you how eager I was to get to work every morning and see his darling face. He had as you may have guessed, walked into my heart.

As Utpal’s life unfolded new battles began. The first one was the offensive against the bottle. His parents were both die hard alkies and though I did not much care about the surrogate father, I wanted to give back to Utpal a recovered mom. The first step was to give her a job and we did but the adversary was too strong. I remember the days she came drunk and we had to send her back; the days when I decided to pay the family a home visit and saw little Utpal running on his pudgy legs to hide the remains of the night’s revelry. I remember the days when the little fellow told me with a serious face that his mom had been ‘naughty’ again, his word for drinking. I remember the day when he told me that his new motorcycle, a gift for hsi 4th birthday had gone. It had been sold for a few bottles of hooch. And I can never forget the day I was told that men had come to their home and while one stayed back with the mom, the other took Utpal out for a ‘walk’. That day I knew that we had to change battle plans. I spent the night browsing the net for a rehab centre and also for a boarding school for the tiny brave heart. This battle was also won as I found both. The mom was checked into rehab and Utpal would go to school the coming July. I felt on cloud nine and started conjuring grandiose dreams: the mom would be in recovery and we we would give her a home and a job at our newly opened women centre – guess one of the reasons for the centre was Utpal’s mom – Utpal would spend his holidays with his mom and life would follow on an even keel. How naive I was was soon to be revealed.

Whilst Utpal, in spite of his young age, took to his new life like a fish to water, the mom was another story. To sum it up swiftly let me just say that we went through three rehabs, a stay at the psychiatric hospital as she was discovered to be bipolar, harrowing times when all hell broke loose. The end came when she decided to revert to her old life and rejoin her drinking partner. The following months were nothing short of a nightmare: when Utpal came from school his parents would turn predators using the child to extort money for their beloved bottle. Utpal was in pain and I a mess. We both prayed for his return to school and for sanity. The battle was slipping out of our hands.

This is when we decided to seek the help of the law and to my delight the experience I had dreaded was rather easy and comforting. It did require a few visits to the children’s court that were not pleasant particularly for Utpal who had to make the tough decision to choose between his mom and us. He did. He chose us. The paper work was completed and I was declared ‘person deemed fit’ to care for him. It was a battle won but only time would tell the price at which the victory came.

We again believed that all was in the bag and we could resume our lives but that was not to be. Utpal’s mom who realised that she had no more to gain simply vanished leaving a little boy bewildered, hurt and confused.  Unable to express his feelings he regressed and withdrew. His grades fell and his behaviour became impossible. He turned aggressive, non compliant, demanding. It was pure hell. He refused to engage in any conversation or share his feelings. It was time to act. We first sought the help of a psychologist but the initial sessions were nothing short of a nightmare. We had to move a step further and seek the help of a child psychiatrist. We did. It was a miracle. He was put on mild medication and more sessions with the psychologist. Slowly things fell in place and once again the little boy I had fallen in love with re-emerged from the dark clouds he had hidden behind. Today Utpal is once again whole. Some questions still need to be addressed but I know the answers will be found.

Utpal’s first ten years on this planet have been tumultuous and traumatic. I truly admire him for having withstood them with courage and fortitude. He now enters the second decade of his life as I enter my seventh. At the end of this decade he will be a man. I wonder whether I will be around to see him become one. I would so like to but that is not in my hands. Today as he sleeps in my home I can only pray to the Gods of all Pantheons to walk with him and guide him. He is a blessed child: the child of none and all. 

My grandson has moved thousands of miles away but he is with me in my bedroom twice a day: early morning and again in the evening. Who cares if everything is a little topsy turvy as it is morning here and evening there and we get mixed up on the good mornings and good evenings so sticks to Namaste or Manaste using Agastya’s language! Sitting on my bed I can see him getting ready, eating breakfast or dinner, prancing about his home. Last week he was on his potty and on hearing my voice shouted: bring Nani here! His mom obliged and took the laptop to the loo. Come to think about it barring the fact that I cannot hug and cuddle him, I have my darling boy with me. This is the magic of the wireless Internet.

Rewind to time when we were in Prague and the children were 10 and 4. My parents lived in the very house where I carry my daily virtual love affair with Agastya but things were different. In those days the only way grandparents connected with grandchildren were letters and the special day phone call which were more of a screaming session where nothing much was said. On festivals, birthdays and anniversaries after carefully calculating time differences one ‘booked’ a call. Then one could do nothing but wait and it could take any amount of time. When the phone rang the operator went through the motions of stating your number, asking if you had booked a call and then eventually connecting you. By the time every one had said their hellos, and it could take some time, the conversation would be interrupted by the operator with an annoying: 3 minutes over, do you want to extend.  Needless to say you promptly said yes, but somehow the flow was broken and one ended up having a dissatisfying conversation that often ended with a: I will write to you. In between phone days your time was spent writing letters and waiting for the postman.

Rewind to times when I was a child and lived with my parents away from India. Then the connection with grandparents was letters brought by the diplomatic pouch once a week. Letters my mother read to me. The only think I remember vividly was that my Nani wrote in red ink. When I was big enough to write, I too wrote my weekly letter to my Nani under my mother’s supervision. My Nani passed away when I was six years old. My memories of her are from the one visit to her home when I was 4. Earlier than that I was too young to have any memories. But somehow in those short two months she smothered me with enough love to last a lifetime.

Many may have issues with the net, but for this Nani it is God sent!

Industries in which very heavy types of raw material are used are known as heavy industry. This is not a joke! This is the definition of heavy industry as it appears in the class VIII book of the Punjab School Education Board. God help the children of India as this is not the only aberration one finds in text books across the land. A recent article in a weekly tells how schools are becoming laboratories of disaster in which children are being fed not just inaccurate information but also politically coloured rendition of reality.

The examples given in the said article are numerous, each more preposterous than the other: from to historical bloopers, grammatical slip ups and glaring omissions making a history professor call the text books disabling ones and state that they (the students) would be better off not reading such books. These text books are published by state education boards and used by the poorest students.

In the same magazine is another article by an eminent educationist entitled: the primary crime. It is not, as one may construe from the title, a write up on murder or theft. The article recounts the sorry state of primary teachers in our country. The author states quite justifiably that primary teaching is the last resort in the quest for employment. And all primary teachers have only one objective in mind: to move up. A nation’s economic and social well being depends on the quality of its pre-primary and primary education. Alas that is not the case in India. Primary teachers are often the least paid and the least respected. In certain states primary classes were taught by para teachers with fancy names – shiksha mitra, guruji, vidya volunteers – who were often paid a fraction of what the regular salary. This drama has been going on for a decade resulting in a whole generation of children with poor literacy and numeric skills.  And now to meet the new student teacher  ratio of 1.30 that is supposedly to be implemented by 2013 states have resorted to distance mode teaching. One can only imagine the results of such an enterprise. It is time we restored the dignity of the primary school teacher.

I wonder how each one of us who belong to a ‘certain’ strata of society would react if our daughter decided to marry a primary school teacher! We all know the answer. On the other hand we have had over the last decade volunteers from many parts of the planet studying in top institutions who want to be primary school teachers. One such volunteer is a Rhodes Scholar! But I cannot in my wildest dream conjure any of the young off springs of family and ‘friends’ deciding to become primary school teachers! It is sad as good primary teachers are the need of the hour. Imagine the difference it would make to the life of a slum child if her teacher was one of us. Dream on Anou!

The Right to Education took an incredibly long time to legislate. But how can the children of India aspire to quality education if there are no quality teachers. If nothing is done to set up enabling infrastructure, correct and accurate text books and train caring and motivated teachers willing to take on the challenge of educating the poorest of the poor, then the Right to Education will simply be another meaningless peace of legislation.

Note: the articles referred to in this blog appeared in India Today (March 19th). I was unable to find them on the Internet.

Baby Falak is no more. She died late last night of a cardiac arrest. Her story is heart wrenching. She fought for two long months in the hope that we could and would hear the silent cries of the countless abused children of India. She fought relentlessly to give a voice to those who are never heard. But her valiant battle went unheard. Just a few days back another little girl, just 5 tiny years old, was brutally abused and then murdered.

I am relieved that the God of Lesser beings took mercy on this little Angel and took her away. This place was not for her. This place is not for vulnerable little girls. This place is not worthy of little girls. It is a land where Goddesses are worshiped but little girls unwanted from the day they are born. It is a land that has become inured to the plight of girls who continue to be used and abused, their silent and helping cries falling on deaf ears. It is a land where victims are made treated as culprits in subtle and insidious ways.

Today’s front page headline describes how the young mother raped by seven spends her days at the police station without being questioned. “I have to go there daily, sit around. People stare at me, but that’s all right. They give me tea. In the evening, I have to sign a register and then I can go. Why don’t they ask me anything?” she quietly states. Why is she treated with such insensitivity? Why are all women who have been hurt treated in such uncaring and cruel ways. How long will it take for things to change. I have no answers and cannot believe in miracles.

Farewell baby Falak. You deserve a better place. Please forgive us for all the pain and hurt our callous world sent your way,

Rest in peace.

A young mother got gang raped by seven men on her way back from work late at night. She was traveling back in a cab with her younger brother when her cab was stopped and she was pulled out, forced into another car, taken to a flat, raped repeatedly and then ‘dropped’ at a metro station. This is not a movie script it is a sad reality that we have almost become inured to, as we have to a host of aberrations that plague our society.

I cannot begin to imagine the pain and hurt of that poor woman. The ‘investigation’ is in process and it seems that some have even be arrested. I only hope they are not let out and pay for their crime but this seems like wishful thinking. Anyway, that is not the point of this blog. What made me see red was a comment made by a senior cop. The woman had stated that she worked in a pub. However the cop in question was quick to retort that she was not employed by the pub but worked as a “help” for single men enter the “couples only” pub. My question is: did that make her ‘rape material’ in the eyes of the law. God only knows what circumstances made this young mother step out from her home and work late hours. Whatever it is did not give her the right to be raped!

It is now common practice to blame the victim for any crime against women. It is always what she wears, where she goes, the hours she keeps that are brandished as causes for her being molested, abused, assaulted, groped, raped and even murdered. Her clothes are too revealing, her hair is too short, she is drinking, she has too much make up, she is out too late and so on. What is revolting is that it is always the supposed guardians of law that come up with these aberrations. No wonder they are not really interested in bringing the culprits to book.

I did not take long for my thoughts to be super vindicated  as today’s headlines screamed : Don’t work after 8pm, Gurgaon tells women! So here it is, the solution our administrators and law keepers have come up with. Malls, shop keepers, pub owners have been told not to employ women after 8pm and have absolved themselves of all responsibility just like Pontius Pilate. In cases of rape, molestation et al women are the problem. This is unacceptable and offensive. How long are men going to treat us as objects, slaves, commodities to be treated with utter contempt and disrespect. We need to be told what to do, what to wear, where to go, the list is endless.

The constitution gives us equal rights and we are in our entitled to exercise them all. The state has to provide us the enabling and safe environment to enjoy all the freedoms enshrined in our constitution in the same manner men do. As I have always said I am not a rabid women libber but at this moment I am outraged and rightly so!

It has been a long time since I have written about project why! I guess it is a case of the proverbial ‘no news is good news’. However I think it is time I shared the comings and goings of pwhy with everyone who has made this incredible journey a reality. So where does one begin is the question. I will just follow my heart  to give you a glimpse of the comings and goings of pwhy.

It is exam time and almost all our primary and secondary children in all our centres are busy writing the dreaded end of year examinations. The last month was dedicated to revisions and extra study. All centres had mock tests and put in extra hours to brush up what was still a tad hazy. We now have our fingers crossed and hope all our children will do well. Exams are normally scheduled post lunch and children even come on exam morning to get tips from their teachers and a last minute dose of encouragement and morale boosting. I must admit that we too are as nervous as them. As I said it is exam time for one and all!

The tiny ones too are busy studying. Fifteen of them will now move to a regular school so they are brushing up their letters and numbers and learning their colours and shapes to prepare for their entry in class I. But it is not all work and no play. Lots of time is still spent on singing and dancing and learning new gamed. Watching these kids is always pure joy.

The special section is buzzing with activity. Weaving had been introduced in the class and the older students are busy mastering this art. If all goes well we may even consider marketing their product in the future. We have also begun baking classes an all time favourite. The children have learnt how to make scrumptious cookies and cakes.  Maybe some we will be able to run a small bakery manned by these very special children We have also begun computer classes for the special children. It is an activity they all love! Last month the special class went for an outing to Lodhi Gardens. For many it was the very first time they stepped out of their limited world. They lolled in the sun, played in the grass and for a few moments forgot their dreary existence.

Our computer centres are running well. We have introduced 3D animation courses that are very popular. Some students have finished their courses and got their certificates and new students have been enrolled. Thanks to some generous friends we have purchases 2 new computers and will thus be able to take more students.

Our vocational classes for women are in full swing. The stitching and tailoring class is doing well. Some ladies completed their course and one of them found employment in an export house. Beauty classes are also doing well and helping extremely deprived women to find work and become financially independent. One of our old students has even opened her very own beauty parlour. Way to go!

Last but not the least our boarding school kids are also busy with their final examinations. They will be coming home for their annual break in two weeks and then will go back to their new class. Their last report cards were excellent as always and we hope their final result is the same.

Today over 700 children and 80 women benefit from our presence. All this could not have been possible without the help and support of our friends and well wishers. A big thank you to all!