by Anuradha Bakshi | Aug 13, 2011 | Uncategorized
Tomorrow, Ram would have been 100 years old. Ram was many things, a respected jurist, a seasoned diplomat, a well versed scholar, a bon vivant, a fine gourmet, a wine aficionado, a caring and humane soul, a loving husband, a tender grandfather, but to me he was simply Tatu, my papa.
I came into his life when he was well passed his debonair youth and hence the time we spend together was somewhat truncated. Yet he made up for the loss of time by showering me with abundant and sometime stifling love and by packing what time we had with abundant and thrilling experiences. Was I not the little girl who was taken to dine at Maxim’s in a tête a tête when I was barely five! Yes Ram taught me many things: from absolute surrender to a greater force, to an unwavering faith in the destiny of India; from the delights of life king size to the undiluted joy of sharing a humble meal, from erudite books of diverse culture to the soothing lilt of a bhojpuri lullaby.
Life with him had been a thrilling coaster ride of intense sensations and experiences laced with lessons in humility and humanity. When he left almost two decades ago it was left to me to put all I had learnt from him to good use and try and craft something he would have been proud of. The challenge was not easy but had to be met. I must admit it took some time and a lot of false starts. The obvious things to do was to write a book and I did try but when the pages were written and reread, they paled into insignificance when compared to the force they were meant to represent. They were simply cast away in the bottom of a drawer waiting to be resurrected some day. This was not the way to go.
Yet deep in my heart I knew that Tatu’s legacy was far greater than what was bequeathed in tangible ways. All he had taught me in overt and covert ways were not meant to remain embedded in my mind and memory. That would be almost insulting. Every word he had uttered had to have a greater meaning. I spent many hours sifting through all he had said over the years and trying to find the quasi Delphic answers. And they did come. How could I have forgotten his dying words murmured to a friend in my presence when India was burning over the temple/mosque issue: Have faith in India he repeated incessantly. I understood that what needed to be done had to have a larger meaning. But how could I ever achieve it? It would take some time for the puzzle to be unravelled. And it did when I remembered the answer he had given me when I had asked as a child: where do I find God. He simply said: in the eyes of the poorest, most deprived child. Project why was born at least in my heart.
Tomorrow it is the project why children who will celebrate Ram’s centenary. For the past month they have been practising with all their hearts. There will be song and dance and even a play based on Kamala’s life that has been written by the staff and children as the yellowed pages were indeed resuscitated and turned into a book where Ram and Kamala’s lives are rightly embedded in a child’s story where they truly belong.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Aug 1, 2011 | Uncategorized
Yesterday we took Radha to Doc P. For the past weeks she had been coming to school sporadically. The reason given each time was that she was unwell. Sometimes we were told it was a fever, at other times a cough, a stomach upset or just that she was in pain. The mother was quick to add that she had got her medication. We knew it was from the local chemist or at best the local quack. When she did make it to school, she seemed tired and a far cry from her normal self. Enough was enough and we finally took her to Dr P, our very own wonder medicine man.
Even the best miracle conjurer cannot find a cure for Radha’s wasting bones. Her autoimmune disease is slowing gnawing her and we watch helplessly. The sores on her leg caused by the bone being sharp and thin and causing the skin to split cannot heal. Dr P recommended some antiseptic lotion. Her cough was not and infection but due to the insalubrious air she breathes in her home which is a hole tucked away between factories spewing poison. The good doctor gave her lots of supplements and vitamins and a mild pain killer to ease the pain that is now here to stay. Radha was all smiles, somehow the dose of TLC did wonders.
I however lost mine (smile I mean). I knew what awaited this darling child. Every time she felt too sick to come to pwhy she would remain in her dark hole breathing fumes. At best she would sit in the scorching sun or biting cold on a cart next to the food cart her mum runs. She would bear her pain stoically as she always does. And we would watch helpless and lost. Never was the need of planet why felt more acutely than at this moment. It is for her and others like her who suffer in dignified silence that planet why was conceived. A place where little Radha could breathe huge gulps of fresh air, sit in the sun surrounded by trees and flowers, laugh and giggle to her hearts delight and reclaim her lost childhood.
As I write these words am filled withe extreme sadness. Never had the planet why dream seemed so remote and distant. It seems as if all our efforts have come to naught. The miracle we hoped and prayed for never happened and little Radha will spend many more nights in her dark hole.
Why do I feel have failed.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Jul 29, 2011 | Uncategorized
Over the past years we have had many volunteers from the world over. Each has been special in his/her own way and left precious memories. Some however have done more! They simply walk into our hearts. One such soul is Jon.
He landed in our lives in late March and it was as if we had known him all our lives. His endearing ways won us over in no time. True he did have a raw first week courtesy some unavoidable circumstances, but those blew away once he moved to my house and for the days to come, nothing was the same as everything was touched by the magic of Jon West or should I say Best!
In his introductory mail Jon had stated he would like to stay for at least 1 month although I am flexible on dates and length of stay. The month turned into almost six. Jon did not take long to chose his place at pwhy. He decided to work with the special children and it was mutual love at first sight. Jon Bhaiya was adopted by one and all in no time. It was as if an old friend had returned home.
For the past 5 months Jon has been intrinsic part of the pwhy special class: be it the morning exercises, the classroom activities, the dancing sessions or simply the giggling ones. On the rare days he has been away, often nursing a bout of Delhi belly, the children never failed to ask why their Bhaiya had not turned up. I dread to even think about what will happen when he leaves next week.
There is also another side of Jon Bhaiya, one I have had the privilege to discover over time and that is his humane and sensitive nature. We have shared many special moments be it on our daily auto rickshaw ride to pwhy in the mornings or over a cup of tea in the evenings. I often found myself sharing my worries and angst or simply life thoughts. He not only gave a patient hearing to the ramblings of an old biddy but often helped me resolve my apprehensions and find my way.
Project why has been and is a very lonely journey. Loneliness is oft the price you have to pay to be on the top. You need put up a brave face, have a ready smile at almost all times, and find the required answer each time a question comes your way. And though you manage a mean show day after day, you too need to sometimes hop off the spinning wheel and recharge your used and overused batteries. That is when people like Jon are God sent!
We will all miss Jon West, I more than others!
by Anuradha Bakshi | Jul 25, 2011 | Uncategorized
I am sure many of you remember the epic film of the late fifties aptly named Mother India and the stunning poster that depicted the leading lady ploughing her land. The film was a symbol of the newly independent India and of the brave and righteous Indian woman. We have all seen the film and been touched by its story but it belonged to a distant past or so we thought. Yet 55 years later in a village in Vidharbha a farmer is tilling his land using his sons instead of bullocks. The news was aired a couple of days ago and I for one found it difficult to watch the images and had to turn my eyes away. I was filled with horror, extreme sadness and profound shame. This could not be happening and yet it was. And this was not all. Even after the story was highlighted by a local newspaper there was no relief as their appeal for a pair of bullocks was turned as they were considered to be above the poverty line and hence not eligible for the said scheme. All they got was free power to operate the well they had dug with their own hands. The family was considered above the poverty line because they owned 8 acres of land. Never mind if they had scant more! And theirs is not the only case.
What does one say! I am speechless just as I was when I read the Planning Commission’s aberrational definition of the poor as one who spent less than 15Rs a day. And that is not the only scary statistic. What about the one that states that a child does of malnutrition every 8.7 minutes or the one recently published in a leading magazine that states makes known that 46% of the malnourished children of the world live in India. This article pertains to the Food Security Bill that is sadly being watered down by the Government. Why am I not surprised. Such bills are made not to help anyone but to line more pockets. Children die while grain rots and bureaucrat and politician quibble over the definition of the word poor. That is the sad reality in 21st century India.
And what is sadder is that we all watch helpless and even unmoved. We still waste food, even throw food and when solicited for help by some humanitarian organisation are quick to retort that all organisations are dubious and suspicious. And the saddest part is that it is not only the uber rich who are profligate . The new poor, those who have arrived and now live in urban slums, emulate us unabashedly. For me it has been a losing battle over a decade to try and explain that food should not be wasted. In villages one can still give it to animals, in cities it is simply thrown in the garbage or even on the street. The most blatant example being the aftermath of religious feeding frenzies and wasteful weddings. And still we the so called educated and informed remain dry eyed. We do read about children dying, food rotting, people being used as bullocks; we see food being wasted, children begging at every street corner, beggars rummaging the garbage heap from a scrap of food but are too jaded to make connections and let alone take action. So why should our politicians. Are they not a reflection of who we are?
I just finished reading Indian Summer by Alex Von Tunzelmann, a book that retraces the last days of the British Raj and the advent of our Independence. What caught my attention was the humane nature of erstwhile leaders who could not bear to see any suffering and who felt compelled to reach out and act. Where have all such leaders gone? Today everyone seems inured to misery, suffering and more.
And that everyone includes me. Is it sufficient to feel horror, sadness, shame and write a blog from the comfort of my home?
by Anuradha Bakshi | Jul 21, 2011 | Uncategorized
I stumbled upon this picture while sorting the thousands of photos on my computer. I do not know how I had missed this snapshot! It was taken a few weeks ago when school results were announced. The three little topped their respective classes and had brought their report cards to show it to their teachers. The picture was shot just outside our Govindpuri primary centre.
The little girls were very proud of the attention they were getting. I think that till then no one had lauded their effort. That is too often the plight of children born on the wrong side of the fence. The stars that adorned their report cards are never praised by their parents who often are too busy to take a moment to give their children the much needed pat on their back.
We did and the girls were thrilled. On August 15th they will all receive a little shield with the words best student inscribed on it.
Looking at the pictures set my mind thinking. What does the future hold for these bright little girls. Going by past experience not much. They all come from extremely deprived homes and are often one of many siblings. Being of the wrong gender the probability of their being pulled out of school looms large: an early marriage, an ailing grandparent that needs to be tended to in the village or simply the whim of a drunken father who decides suddenly that his daughter has had enough education. The future of these little girls, is very fragile, very fragile.
I remember a quote sent to me long ago that said: I do not know beneath what sky; Nor on what seas shall be thy fate; I only know it shall be high, I only know it shall be great. In the case of my three little one would have to quietly replace the last two knows with wish!
by Anuradha Bakshi | Jul 16, 2011 | Uncategorized
Poor Economics is a book I would have never read but for a review in a magazine that piqued my curiosity. The review quoted the following words: What is striking is that even people who are that poor are just like the rest of us in almost every way. We have the same desires and weaknesses; the poor are no less rational than everyone else — quite the contrary. Precisely because they have so little, we often find them putting careful thought into their choices. They must be sophisticated economists just to survive. Yet our lives are as different as liquor and liquorice.
These words were enough for me to want to get a copy and dive into it. It was a strange experience. A sort of deja vu, deja vecu. The book touches upon many of the fields we at pwhy are familiar with: education, health, saving, governance etc. I could almost put a face and a name to every story I read. It was eerie and somewhat comforting. What often seemed to be absurd suddenly became comprehensible. The umpteen frustrations were put into perspective and made some sense. It seemed that what I had often thought as singular instances were present across the spectrum of what you could call the poor worldwide. They all seemed to be talking the same language.
The book is replete of case studies that echo the ones we have experienced over the years. It also raises questions we have asked ourselves over and over again. Be it the state of State run schools, the poor quality of health services available to the poor, the inability of the poor to save, the presence of swanky TV in homes that have scant resources for essentials and so on. I found myself reading the book as you would a whodunit hoping to find not the name of the murderer but answers to all the perplexing whys!
Alas there are no ready made answers but a set of key lessons tucked away in the last chapter that could improve things if applied. The first lesson is that the poor lack critical pieces of information and believe what is not true and when their beliefs turn out to be incorrect they make wrong decisions. This so true and one of the biggest stumbling blocks we have come across in our journey. And often a simple piece of information can make all the difference. However to be effective the information needs to come from a credible source and in a simple way. This lack of information pans a wide spectrum. It could be about education, health and so on. I remember how local goons invaded our workshop on AIDS prevention as for them talking of about AIDS was dirty, a misconception that is sadly very prevalent.
Second the poor bear responsibility for too many aspects of their lives. This statement was an eye opener for me, something I had never thought of. And yet it is so true. The richer we are the less decisions we have to make. Many of our problems are taken care of: job security retirement benefits, access to good quality water, food, health etc. For the poor life is much more demanding as they have none of these. The authors suggest that their lives could be bettered if they were made to do the right thing easily: simple saving accounts, fortified salt, access to chlorine next to drinking water sources. Small remedies that could have lasting effect.
Third some markets are missing for the poor like insurance, easy loans, savings account etc. These according to the authors should be made available to them in innovative ways. This of course is beyond our realm of work but we all know how well micro finance has worked in some places. At the very beginning of our work we did try to launch a small loan programme but unfortunately it did not work as planned and had to be shelved.
Fourth poor countries are not doomed to failure. In many cases the problem is that programmes destined for them land in wrong hands or go the wrong way. This according to the book is due to the three Is: ignorance, ideology, inertia. Often absurd rules once in place keep on going because of inertial. The authors give the interesting example of village education committees which are meant to include parents of the best and worst student. Who decides that as there are no tests until the 8th grade. The good news is that much can be done in improving existing programmes. I have always held that if we could get the present social programmes to run at 50%, India would be a different country.
It is hard to say whether the conclusions of this treatise are optimistic or pessimistic. What the book shows is that the plight of the poor worldwide is worrying and needs to be addressed. There are solutions but they require a lot of effort and goodwill on the part of the very people who have hijacked them to feed their own greed. But what is also apparent is that the efforts of people like us, however small are still needed.
Finally expectations about what people are unable to do end up into turning in self fulfilling prophecies. Children give up on school when teachers signal to them that they are not smart enough to master the curriculum. Changing expectations is not easy, but it is not impossible.
Tomorrow, Ram would have been 100 years old. Ram was many things, a respected jurist, a seasoned diplomat, a well versed scholar, a bon vivant, a fine gourmet, a wine aficionado, a caring and humane soul, a loving husband, a tender grandfather, but to me he was simply Tatu, my papa.
