BiharWhy

by Anuradha Bakshi | May 15, 2010 | Uncategorized

BiharWhy! An incongruous and curious name. And yet this the one C has chosen for a the brand new education centre located in a little village in Bihar’s Supaul District. I must admit quite sheepishly that when C had murmured: to go to the village in Bihar and start a branch of pwhy after my long an exasperated diatribe, I had not believed him though I had lauded his intention and offered all support. Imagine my surprise when I got an email from C last week telling me that BiharWhy had been launched. The mail also had some pictures attached.

I sat for a long time looking at the pictures and slowly imbibing their stupendous meaning. The open air class, the little white mats on the mud floor, the lovely children and their teacher. It was a dream come true. I could not believe that something I had always held close to my heart had seen the light of day.

When one had taken the decision to only employ people from within the community to steer project why, notwithstanding qualifications et al, there was a covert reason: the hope that one day these very people would take ownership of the programme and take it back to their place of origin. That is why we had employed young people who had left their villages and come to the city in search of a better morrow. C was one such person. When he came to us with his half baked degree from Bihar and some vague skills (fine and art and electrical work!) we employed him to teach the primary children. Over the years C honed his knowledge, took extra classes and graduated to teaching secondary children as well as repairing broken fuses and painting the odd signboard! At that time he seemed set to continue as a teacher with pwhy for a long time. But that was not to be.

When we posted him to another centre he refused the move quite vehemently and I must admit that it was a shocker. I could have reacted as violently and dismissed him for dereliction of duty, but I have always been quite fond of this young man and even if that was not the case, the spirit of pwhy did not allow me the luxury of that decision. This was another why to be answered, a loud one that was a portent of things to come. So I gently proffered some options, one being to take back all he had learnt with us to his village. The seed had been sown. Time would tell whether it would take roots. If it did, then my absurd dream of reverse migration would have been fulfilled.

BiharWhy has seen the light of day. It is a reality today with over 50 children getting access to better education. C surveyed the area, met parents, the local authorities and everyone that mattered. Having been ‘in the city’ for almost a decade has paid as he is somewhat looked upon as the prodigal son that has returned. Everyone was willing to listen to him and wanted him to share his experiences and knowledge. So when he suggested he start a centre like the one in Delhi everyone was a taker.

But this is only the first step. The acid test is yet to be passed. BiharWhy has to survive and thrive and stand on its own. The road is along and not without obstacles. Bihar is not an easy place to operate in and had its own set of whys that will need to be tacked with caution. C will have to battle the administration, the local political power and the complex social problems with patience and determination.

I shared all my concerns with him as I know how difficult it is to survive and thrive! I told him of all the things we had done wrong in the hope that we would not make the same mistakes but it would be foolish to think that things will be easy. I juts hope and pray that he succeeds.

Note: C needs help and support. So of you think this brave venture is worth it, do lend a hand.

missing them….

by Anuradha Bakshi | May 7, 2010 | Uncategorized

The house is strangely empty. Just a few days back it had been filled with strangers of all shades and hues. There were people everywhere: plumbers, masons, painters, electricians, carpenters almost an invasion! It had been rather irritating at first as we got pushed out of our space with alacrity and almost banished to a little corner but somehow I had got used to it and I must say in hindsight quite enjoyed the novel experience. My days were ruled by the motley crew of workers and I had learnt to live with it. The first lot arrived by 8.30 and then by 10 am the house was buzzing with noise and activity. I was often called to one floor or the other to sort some problem or the other: where to place a pipe, was the colour right, where did I want a shelf put and so on. Time flew till the house got empty by 6pm, that was on days when the workers did not decide to do ‘a night’, which meant that they would be in till midnight.

I must admit there were moments when one got a little irritated, but these were few and far apart. When not needed I found myself ambulating around the house simply watching the men at work. As I had written earlier, I was amazed by the happy mood around. Not withstanding heat or dust, no one complained, quite the contrary, they found time to laugh and joke or sing. Many had their own songs on their cellphones and they often sang along joyfully even if they were out of tune. Sometimes work stood still and you wondered why till you discovered the workers praying in a corner: it was namaz time! You simply tiptoed away.

At times I found myself shuddering with fright at the sight of a frail worker with a load of bricks trying to get across the wobbly wooden planks that led from one roof to the other, or when one worker hung precariously on the jhoola (sort of swing) painters use to paint high walls. I often walked away, too scared to watch.

There were a few young workers, but as I had written earlier, I had made my peace with the curious case of child labour. I just hoped and prayed that they would one day graduate to becoming masons and then who knows, small time contractors though I wished I could have taught a modicum of the 3 Rs so that they would not make the mistake their contractor Murtaza did. You see Murtaza must have begun his career just like them, at a very young age. Today he takes small contracts. In our case he had to tile the roof and had quoted a price. When the work was completed he was forlorn. He had under quoted and made a loss of a couple of thousands of rupees. He admitted the fact sheepishly and I simply smiled and handed him the missing amount. He was elated. In other places he would have had to take the loss, one he could not afford.

Slowly the house that had at one time looked like having been quaked, started to fall in place. And then came the day when the plumbers and then the carpenters and then the masons declared they had finished and walked away. Only the painters were left and they too would soon move outside. An eerie silence filled the once buzzing space and though everything looked pristine and new, it was almost as if the place had lost its soul, albeit temporarily. I realised that from this day on there would be no music and song, no laughter and chiding, no prayers in the corner. I knew that I would have to learn once again to live in my space, one I had shared with a band of merry men who could teach one the art of surviving with a smile.

Strange but true: I miss my workers!

I am not there, I did not die

by Anuradha Bakshi | May 5, 2010 | Uncategorized

Heera passed away a few days ago in her village in Bihar. I got the news two days ago. I still do not know what happened and may never know. I guess her young heart could not make up for all the years where it pounded in vain in her frail body in spite of all the holes. The operation had been a success in medical terms in spite of what the men in white called minor complications. She had been sent back to her home with the required medication and was to come back in three months for a check up.

I was numbed by the news, so numbed that it took me two long days to pick up my pen. Somehow this young girl that I met for a few moments touched me beyond words. When I first met her she stood quietly listening to all that was being said about her. She smiled briefly when I told her that she had to resume her studies after her operation. In hindsight I wonder whether she already knew what awaited her. I remember the day she spoke to me on the phone after her surgery and told me she was well and would soon be home. Did I miss something on that day too. I do not know. Even on the day she left, her smile was waned and her eyes evanescent but I quickly assigned that to the heat that was quite unbearable. When we said goodbye, I never knew that that was the last time I would lay my eyes on this brave and dignified child.

Today she has gone. I cannot begin to think how shattered her parents must be. Unlike many parents in India who often consider girls as impediments, Heera’s parents, though illiterate and poor, had left no stone unturned for the well being of their daughter. Not only had they educated her in the best available school, but had sold everything they owned to bring her to the big city and the best hospital. Today they had nothing left. Not even the one they fought for so passionately. I remember how her father use to come to us with hospital papers he did not comprehend and how we use to explain what was written to him and guide him on the steps to take. I remember how her mother, tired beyond her years by the weight of life itself, use to look at us with hope and the belief that maybe we were the answer to her prayers. I also remember how we truly believed that all would be well as it had in the past with all the other children with broken hearts. And then did not the doctors say that she would be healed after the surgery. Yes we all believed she would live. But God had other plans, plans we have to accept and live with. We all did the best we could.

Heera was a special being, one who touched our hearts, albeit for a few fleeting moments. I cannot believe she has gone. I share this poem as to me she will always be the laughter in children’s eyes.

bottles in, grains out!

by Anuradha Bakshi | Apr 30, 2010 | Uncategorized

I recently read an article entitled ‘eating disorder‘! This one was not about a lifestyle condition of page 3 aspirants. Far from that. This one was about the 1.2 million severely malnourished children of Madhya Pradesh, this was about under one year olds who are fed one roti smeared with chillies per day. The chillies ensure that the stomach is numbed and hunger vanishes. Water will fill the tiny tummies till the next day, the next roti with chillies. According to a UNESCO study, over 71% of tribal children are severely malnourished.

It was on the very same day that TV channels aired a story about how state granaries were used to house liquor while food grains worth millions rotted in the open. The next harvest was on its way and one wondered where the new grain would be stored. The weak defense put up by the granary officials did not hold any water. The reality was that umpteen crates of upmarket liquor brands were stuffed into the safe granaries, while sacks of grains were seen rotting in the open.

One wondered why the grains could not by some miracle reach the little hungry mouths instead of moldering away. But that is wishful thinking. The situation is Dantean. Children are hungry, farmers are hungry. Only middle men and traders smile. Something is terribly wrong. Our planning seems to have gone awry.

A solution has to be found. Food cannot be fed to rats when millions starve in the country. Everyone has a right to be free from hunger claim activists. Having even one hungry child negates all achievements and feats. Having millions should make us hang our head in shame. But once again we seem to have become inured. We waste food with impunity. Just look at the morning after any wedding. Food wastage almost seems to have become a status symbol. Bless my mom for having put an end once for all to my food wasting habit. I must have been 6 or 7, and had begun leaving food on my plate. No amount of cajoling or counseling helped. Mom had to bring out the ultimate weapon. She did. My half filled plate of food was simply put in the refrigerator and brought out at each subsequent meal. The deal was that I would not get any fresh food unless I first finished the congealed plate. It was a battle of wits and it lasted 2 days. The hunger pangs were unbearable and I capitulated. The congealed food was eaten and that was the last time till date that I ever left food on my plate. Parenting is not always easy!

It is true that there is a new found freedom sometimes bordering on arrogance that we see around us. It is visible in the gleaming motorcycles that have replaced the erstwhile bicycles, in the TV and DVD players that adorn every shanty, in the umpteen empty pouches that are strewn all over the slums, pouches of upmarket products duly advertised on TV channels and appropriately packaged for the poor @ of 1 or 2 Rs! It is also seen in the quantity of food thrown helter-skelter. Back home in the village it would have been fed to the animals. Urban values have prevailed on one and all. Wasting food is one of them.

How will it all end. I do not know. What I know is that children are not meant to eat rotis laced with chillies. I also know it is time we woke up and did something.

a dangerous decree

by Anuradha Bakshi | Apr 26, 2010 | Uncategorized

“I would like to emphasize that while opening new schools, we should insist that adequate open grounds be provided for playing fields”decreed the Sports Minister in a recent letter to the Education Minister. Some years back I would have jumped with joy and said: way to go! But that was a few years back, before project why, before the many reality checks that came my way, when I held that private schools, specially the ones for the poor were just teaching shops and nothing short of an aberration, when I believed that only a common neighborhood school was the panacea we needed. I remember how I blogged passionately about these issues: be it the admission nightmare, the blood money sought, the lucrative education business, the arrogance of public schools, the pitiable state of state run schools and so on.

And then slowly things changed, surreptitiously I must admit. Even I did not realise how and when it happened. My diatribe against private schools became less vehement and my crusade for the more and more elusive common school became less strident. And lo and behold there came the day not so long ago, where I found myself writing a blog almost in favour of what I had once contemptuously called teaching shops. How did that happen?

The answer is complex and cannot be summed up in a single phrase. What did change things for me was James Toole’s book: The Beautiful Tree A Personal Journey Into How the World’s Poorest People Are Educating Themselves. The book is an apology for small private schools and, I must admit, sets you thinking. In Tooley’s book the tiny private schools tucked away in sordid slums are the means for the poor to claim ownership of the education of their children, as it is their money that made such schools possible. The result is for all to see. The products of these schools fared a great deal better than their counterparts in state run schools. They are not an aberration but stem out of a very real need. It is in no way an ideal situation I agree, but it is a workable option.

Children cannot wait for laws to be enacted, for convoluted and dubious projects to see the light of day. They need immediate solutions or it may be too late. And therefore little schools mushroom at every nook and corner. Often in small cramped spaces. Many of these manage to get the recognition tag which gives them an edge. You see even the poor and illiterate knows the value of a recognised school! Cynics may say that these tags are got through shady means, and I may have been one of them in times gone by, but today I accept the fact quietly. Every such school is a place where children study and learn. Who am I to criticise or pontificate? Specially today when the new laws decree that no child will be failed till class VIII. I shudder to think what will happen to children who are in state run schools where there is scant teaching. They are better off in the cramped premises of a small private school where some teaching does happen. And yes, they do not have open grounds for playing fields.

So if the Minister’s decree is accepted, no new private schools for the poor will come into being. In a city where every square inch comes at a whopping price, finding space for playing fields is impossible for such schools. I hope better sense will prevail.

No instruction book came with it…

by Anuradha Bakshi | Apr 19, 2010 | Uncategorized

Now there is one outstandingly important fact regarding Spaceship Earth, and that is that no instruction book came with it wrote Buckminster Fuller. Spaceship Earth, I like the term! I like Mother Nature too! Today as I write these words millions around the world are stranded as volcanic ash clouds have claimed full right to the sky, not willing to share it with our tiny Spaceships. There is no alternative but too wait for the clouds to pass.

Nature often calls us to order, but we rarely listen. We always find a way to wriggle out of the situation. This time it did look different though there are now pressures from commercial interests to once again not listen. You see too much money is at stake. As we all know for the past many days flights have been grounded the world over leaving people stranded and lost. All carefully conceived plans went awry, our supposedly reliable flying machines became unsafe, the sky we had thought was ours to conquer was reclaimed by its rightful master. Nature had rapped us on our knuckles and we just had to listen. Man’s hubris was suddenly shaken, albeit for a short time.

As I write these words many are looking for that non-existent instruction book in the hope to find a solution that would restore man’s supremacy on everything: land, water, sky, space. But till then we just have to wait.

There is a lesson to be learnt: patience. Something we have forgotten. The clouds will pass and things will come back to what we call normal till the next warning. Sadly it is a foregone conclusion that we will again not mend our ways and continue our frenzy to master all with the sole objective of earning more wealth. We will continue to build on flood plains, to expand our concrete jungle, to cut trees, to rape Nature. We will insist on writing our own and faulty instruction book, one that suits our petty and pathetic interests and doggedly follow it.

Where will it all end? No one knows. Prophets of doom and cynics have their own interpretation. I am still looking mine.