I do not quite know why but I was interviewed by CTV (Canadian Televison) on my views about the forthcoming Commonwealth games. Perhaps it is because time and again I have voiced my concern over destruction of slums and the removal of street food vendors all done in the name of the CG! It was an odd feeling to be sitting on this side of the fence, when 27 years ago I sat on the other as head protocol for the IX Asian Games village. But that was way before project why, at a time when I like many others, was almost blissfully unaware of the other side of the fence. Then the Games were a matter of pride and had to be run successfully. Today was another story.
Till this interview I had not really given thought to what the Games really meant to me. As any other citizen of Delhi I felt irked by the constant traffic diversions at construction sites; as someone who was somewhat environment conscious I felt enraged at the Games village being constructed on the flood plain of Yamuna. All in all I never felt good about the Games. But it is only when I had to gather my thoughts for the interview that I realised what the Games really meant to me today. I think what disturbed me the most was the lost of livelihood that the sprucing up of the city entailed and that because many of the parents of the pwhy kids were food cart owners. The recent cleaning up drive has meant that they have lost their only means of earning. It is true that the court order banning the sale of cooked food was meant to curb the enormous bribes that were being paid, but once again it is the victim that was punished and not the perpetrator. The aftermath is yet to be felt as many are still hoping that like always this will be a temporary measure. Alas that does not seem to be the case.
The end of food carts also spells the end of an age old tradition and somehow that is something difficult to swallow. Are the famed Games going to change the very ethos of our existence. Sad but true!
What else are we going to brush under the carpet. I guess what comes to mind are the beggars in the city. I am sure they will be rounded up for the duration of the games and then let free again. I would have been elated if the Games had been the reason for addressing problems and finding long term solutions. Maybe one should have started a campaign urging people not to give money to beggars as that is the only way beggary would end: the day it becomes not profitable. My mind goes back to the little beggar girl.
I wish the Games would mean the end of pot holes on Delhi’s roads. I wish the Games would mean a more efficient garbage disposal system.. I wish… the list is endless. But we got a taste of what the Games are going to mean to the Delhizen. Yesterday the CG Committee was on a visitation to assess the degree of preparedness of the city. The authorities came up with yet another cover up scheme: all the roads leading to the main event venues were simply blocked. The committee whizzed from one venue to another while ordinary citizens spent gruelling hours on choker block roads for their daily commute.
Brace yourself, CG times are not going to be easy or should I say be prepared for common woes!
I read with amusement laced with consternation and outrage the new gimmick adopted by politicians to we their voters. The publicity drama is being called: slumber party with Dalits whereby people of a political party spent a night with a Dalit (low cate) family. What got my goat was ensures that beds were from Lajjawati’s house and thereason given by a media coordinator was: “We have to get this done, the house should also look like a Dalit’s house”.
Stop! Where are we. It all looks like a page form Alice in Wonderland and the Mad Hatter’s party. Why can a Dalit family not have a bed? And why should all this made to be looked like a TV reality show? Something is terribly wrong.
We have Dalits in the project family. Children as well as staff. Some are teachers and one is by far our best programme coordinator and slated for higher posts. But everyone has got his or her place because of his or her skills and merit. No one is there because of his or her social origin. For the past years we have been to their homes and shared many meals and fun moments. And let me tell you they have beds, sofas, TVs and more.
I do not know how effective the slumber party politics will be or how they will translate in votes. In my mind it just makes the gap wider and deeper. It is not by spending a night in a Dalit’s home that the social fabric of India will change.
I was pleasantly surprised to find a blog about our blog! The author wrote: Today I want to write about a blog which energize me each time I visit it. The blog, Projectwhy drowns my cynicism and taunts me too. I often lament about things but don’t do much about it, other than blog. But at projectwhy, one sees the other side of life and the way it is dealt with, in such a sincere manner. The author touches so many lives and continues to shine ever so brightly for them. I also love the way she deals with many of our current issues..
I must confess that I sat for a long time savouring the words and feeling elated. I must also confess that I began this journey way back in 2005 when I did not know what a blog or blogging meant. I use to write long emails and painfully send them one after the other to my mailing list. What I wanted was for people to share what was happening in our lives, to be sensitized to the reality around them and to learn to look with their hearts. I still sometimes peek at the very first post I wrote and smile at the naive words and candid tone. But it did set the mood for what was to come. Today I feel I have reached my destination and achieved what I set out to do. It took almost 1000 blogs to do so each sharing a joyful moment or raging about an injustice. The common denominator was probably that I only wrote about what I had experienced. The blogs are not only an account of the trials and tribulations of project why, but also a personal journey where I too have learnt to shed my cynicism and look with my heart no matter what I saw.
I has been an exhilarating journey of discovery that has had its nadir, but no matter how bad things looked there were always moments of pure unadulterated joy that has lifted the lowest of moods, the latest being little Sohil. When I watch him dance, I forget, albeit for a moment, that we are fighting for survival, that things are bleak and that tomorrow is very far away!
There is a new class at project why and like everything else it happened quite by chance. The special educator who comes thrice a week to work with our children came to me last week and asked me whether project why could provide some space for a bunch of deaf and dumb students who needed after school support to keep up with their studies. As you may have guessed we said yes immediately. That is the way we are. The logistics would be worked out and all would fall in place.
The reason for which I agreed to the request is that I more than anyone else believe in inclusive education and I more than anyone else know how things are on the ground in the government schools these kids go to. The extra support can and will make all the difference.
So a a few adjustments were made and space crated for these students who now come thrice a week to catch up with their school studies and what is wonderful is that little Bittoo, our hearing impaired child joins the class.
It is a wonderful silent class and I invite you to peep in:
He leaned against his cart forlorn and dejected. No one seemed to want to drink his water today. He was a wizened old man who could barely stand, let alone push his cart. He had been coming to this very spot, year after year, actually at each DurgaPujo. He always placed his cart in front of the biggest PujaPandal, next to the temple and every year he made quick business. Something had changed. This year he was alone. The usual food carts were absent and with no one eating food, no one needed to quench their thirst.
He was not aware of the new court ruling that now banned selling cooked food on the streets. He was illiterate and no one in his home spoke to him, let alone share with him the on goings of life. He felt like a burden and looked forward to leaving his son’s home early and spent the whole day out, even if he had sold all the water he had in his cart. He kept a rupee or two for himself and dutifully handed the balance to his daughter in law. At least that way there was no recriminations. But today, when everyone would be expecting a killing, he would return empty handed. he did not even want to think about what would happen.
The old man is part of what is known as the informal economy, the hawkers and street vendors; people who come to the city looking for jobs and then not finding any create their own. It is estimated that there are over 4 lakhs such vendors in Delhi. They make barely enough to live and have to pay huge bribes to be allowed to function. According to an NGO they pay over 600 crores annually! This was one of the reasons for the new law but what it amounts to is punishing the victim and not the perpetrator.
In the last ten days or so we have seen furious activity along side the main road in Govindpuri. All street hawkers are targeted by the police. Some try to slink into the nearby alleys. Others have just closed shop. Wonder how many new families now go hungry at night. Street food has been an age told tradition in Delhi and the hygiene factor is not really one that I buy. A hot samosa may send my LDL cholesterol flying but has never given me a Delhi belly. The idea of a cold samosa makes me lose my appetite.
Many of the parents of our children run food stalls. That is how they have survived for years now and looked after their families. They feed the poor and the middle class with affordable and healthy food. Such people cannot afford the swanky fast food joints which seem to be getting a thumbs up all the way and which are proliferating by the minute. The new order will make the list of unemployed swell. And with no new jobs on the anvil where will these people go. Are we just going to watch the death of an age old tradition and say nothing?
Just like the old man, many across the city are slowly seeing the end of their journey So help them God!
My grandson will be with us in a few days. The excitement is palpable. Everyone seems tobe walking on air. The old house is being spruced up. The wood has been polished, the windows are squeaky clean and the ancient and worn out floor is almost gleaming. Everyone is busy and yet time hangs heavy, refusing to pass reminding me of Bergson’s theories. The same time will fly once the little fellow lands and then hang heavy again when he leaves. But the purpose of this post is not to write a treatise on time!
Little Agastya is just 8 months old. His whole life awaits him and as any dotty granny I wish it is filled with all that is good and beautiful. Do we not always wish that for our children! And yet what we forget is that we are responsible for what lies ahead. We adults hold the coloured crayons that will fill the blank canvass. The little child will become what he sees, hears, feels and experiences. It is for us to show them the very best.
In a recent TV debate on violence and aggressive behaviour, someone said that what we failed to teach the young of today were values such as compassion and empathy. In a world ruled by possession and control, principles like fellow feeling and tolerance seemed passé and outdated. Children grew up to believe that the measure of success is in the things you had to flaunt and vaunt. Hence you smothered your child with objects of all shades and hue, the bigger the better, the dearer the better!
A good heart is better than all the heads in the world wrote Edward Bulwer-Lytton. I wonder how one teaches a child to have a good heart in our day and age. How does one teach compassion? How does one teach concern, tolerance, humanity. By example of course but examples are few and moreover the child should never feel alienated. I remember a friend who had no TV when her child was growing up. One day the child came back from school upset and crying. The reason was simple: she could not be part of the break time chat that revolved around the latest episode of the latest TV serial aired. So how do you strike the right balance in your quest to teach values to children. The TV programme suggested that compassion be taught as a subject in school. My mind went back to days where we had moral classes in school. But those days are gone too.
My little grandson is still too tiny but as he grows I would like to make him discover the true meaning of things: make him feel the caress of the wind, listen to the humming of the birds and the rustle of leaves. I would like to read to him passages of the Little Prince and make him discover the secret of the fox. As he grows I would like to teach him to celebrate difference, make his own choices and walk the road less traveled.
I do not quite know why but I was interviewed by CTV (Canadian Televison) on my views about the forthcoming Commonwealth games. Perhaps it is because time and again I have voiced my concern over destruction of slums and the removal of street food vendors all done in the name of the CG! It was an odd feeling to be sitting on this side of the fence, when 27 years ago I sat on the other as head protocol for the IX Asian Games village. But that was way before project why, at a time when I like many others, was almost blissfully unaware of the other side of the fence. Then the Games were a matter of pride and had to be run successfully. Today was another story.
