by Anuradha Bakshi | Dec 16, 2008 | Uncategorized
5000 crores! A mind boggling figure! I do not even know how many zeroes it has and yet this is what private schools in India make by simply selling nursery school admission forms and this is no loose statistic but the result of a survey made by the ASSOCHAM Social Development Foundation (ASDF).
It is again that time of the year when public and upmarket schools open their hallowed doors to new entrants: the little nursery babies. For the past year or more I have watched with growing horror the plight of parents and their tiny wards as they set off to fulfill all the modalities required to get admission in a good school. The drama seems to be endless and with its share of unexpected twists and turns. Just as you feel that things may just have fallen in place, a new bombshell hits you. After innumerable court orders, commission decisions and more of the same, the (ill)famed point system seemed to have been the chosen mode, but as some autonomy was left to each school, we were lights years away from the promised fair, transparent, etc process.
The shocker was indeed the recent survey and the mind boggling revelation: in Delhi alone good public schools are likely to earn revenues by selling prospectus to an extent of Rs.5,000 crore. Some school charge 1000 rs for their prospectus and the average a parent spends on buying prospectuses is 5000 rs. There is no guaranteed admission and one has not even begun talking about the fees, admission charges and donations asked.
Education is the new lucrative business on the block.
Yesterday a metro channel aired a call in programme on nursery admissions. Two guests were invited: one a upmarket school principal and the other an ASSOCHAM rep. Many harrowed parents called in, each asking candid questions or sharing some of their angst. The guests did not quite answer the proffered queries but debated their own viewpoints. While one defended the case of the public schools the other pleaded for some regulatory system. Needless to say the debate was heated and got nowhere.
All this is terribly troubling particularly in a scenario where humbler parents are wanting a better education for their children and where state run schools seem to be growing from bad to worse by the day. I cannot forget the plight of little Kiran’s admission.
It is a strange situation. The children of India have acquired their supposed right to education after almost half of century of independence, and yet the bill is still on its slow way to implementation. The feeble voices raised in favour of a quality neighbourhood common school are loudly being shut down by interested lobbies: those of the public schools as yo will all agree it is all about money, honey!
In the midst of all this, little children are being forgotten. It almost seems like everyone is conspiring to keep the majority of children away from the so called good schools. And that is another matter of debate: who decides which school is good?
One had no choice but to agree that in spite of recession and tumbling markets children still need to be educated and hence education becomes a lucrative option. Every business house seems to have its own school and new public schools are being opened everywhere. On the other hand government schools which have prime locations and ample land seem to be deteriorating by the day making us believe that the lobbies are working well. Education is truly the new business on the block.
Who will bell the cat? No one I guess and yet the idea of a good common school has to be mooted and accepted. Perhaps not for the ones who can afford the mind boggling costs but for the many who feel they have acquired the right to give their children a better education. Getting your child into a good school should be easy and affordable, not the mortifying experience it seems to have become.
A good common school where teachers are selected through and IAS like competition and given sterling work conditions, children who can walk to a school that does not look like a 7* extravaganza, but an even playing ground that reflects the unity in diversity that India is. An impossible dream? Maybe, but dreams do come true sometimes.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Dec 16, 2008 | Uncategorized
We have our library! And like everything else at pwhy it is a happy and even funky one. For me this is a very special moment. Many do not know, but when it all began, almost a decade ago, I had dreamt of pwhy being a space where children could come and be children for at least a little part of their day. A place where they could read, play, laugh and just be kids. That was before I had come face to face with the realities that surrounded us: the poor state of schools, the need to arrest drop out rates and so on. So the dream was shelved and our journey as a education support programme began.
But dreams never leave you once you have conjured them and somehow forces are silently at work to conspire to make them happen. Almost a year ago a mail from someone I did not know then dropped by. Another soul thousands of miles away had a similar dream: to bring thousands of books to children in India. Six months ago the books did land. We began a small library in the women centre, an instant success with the children! But most of the books lay quietly in cartons waiting for the right moment for want of space.
Then a small gift made the impossible possible. We decided to knock down our old jhuggi and build our library and children centre. And uncanny but true it would be in the very space where it all began, the place where our very first spoken English class was held. To crown it all this was when three graffiti artistes from France offered to decorate some part of pwhy: it was to be the library.
As I write these words the books are still in cartons and the paint still fresh but a few weeks from now the library will open and children of the area will have a place where they can come and reclaim their childhood.
The library is the realisation of a long cherished dream. It could not have happened without our friends from the omprakash foundation – Willy, Gordon, Lily – and our graffiti artist friends – Miguel, Martin and Ken. Bless them all
by Anuradha Bakshi | Dec 13, 2008 | Uncategorized
“He had asked me for new clothes on Eid that I couldn’t provide him. He got angry and left,” admitted the lone surviving terrorist’s father in a recent interview aired on all channels. We all heard this interview and most of us would have felt satisfaction of finally getting proof of the nationality of the young man.
However the words had a different impact on me. My mind went back to an incident I had forgotten, one that occurred in early pwhy days. At that time we had a bunch of secondary students known for their rowdy ways. They were often beaten at school and also at home. They were the ones everyone had decided to brand as bad and yet they were in their teens. As school for boys only ran in the afternoons, they spent their mornings loitering on the street and often ogling at girls. One even was known to have a girl friend, a cardinal sin!
One day I decided to have a chat with hem and called them to my office. They came with sheepish smiles on their face wondering why I had called them. We spent a long time chatting and as they shared their dreams I realised that they were just little boys looking for someone to rach out to them and care for them. They told me that they wanted to own a cell phone (in those days these were rare) and branded jeans. They also wanted to impress girls (like any 15 yesr old) and had been told that girls liked boys with good bodies ad as someone had told them that drinking beer would help them get just that so they drank beer whenever they could.
I was touched by their candid confessions and regular teenage dreams that were just like those of a other kid their age, only they did not have the means to fulfill them. The went on to tell me how their classmate (son of a local politico) had all the things they wanted and how they envied him. One of them even confessed that they had been approached by a political party who wanted them to join the party. They would be given a card and then if they were in trouble of any kind the part would bail them out. And so it went on, dreams and ways to fulfill them and the line between right and wrong so tenuous that it became almost invisible. And the reason that would perhaps make them cross it was simply a set of new clothes!
As I sat remembering those boys, my mind wet back to another forgotten incident: a wall broken in Cupid’s name and my tryst with the leader of the pack that proved how adults use tender and disheartened minds to fulfill their vile agendas.
And yet all these boys need is someone to reach out to them and guide them. Otherwise who knows what they may land up doing for a set of new clothes.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Dec 9, 2008 | Uncategorized
The little children in the picture are busy aping their teachers. Move and shake your hands has been a regular part of the morning wake up routine followed by the pwhy creche for many years now. It is a fun activity that the children enjoy a lot and probably forget as they move along the road of life. I just hope that they never remember it in their lives. Wonder why?
About two weeks ago I received a mail from our friends in France informing me that they has sent a cargo for the children: warm clothes, shoes, toys, and books. Was it not Xmas time. The cargo had been uplifted by an airline free of cost as the things were meant for charitable purposes. Most of the clothes, shoes etc were used though in prim condition. The cargo arrived and then began what I can only term as a ordeal I would never want to live again not simply because of the harrowing experience itself but because I still want to keep alive certain illusions I have about the land that is mine.
I had thought that the cargo would be released in a day or two and that we would have to pay a reasonable amount as charges, duty etc. The cargo was released after 12 days, a whopping 41 K (most as demurrage charges that I beleive we may get back) and extreme wear and tear on nerves. I must confess that I was not the one who was on the battleground. A kind friend who had been working within the aviation sector and who knew people at the airport offered to do it for us.
What followed the simple call informing us of the arrival was a film noir worthy of the best director. The protagonists were our spirited lady and a jaded cargo agent suggested to her by friends at the airport and a posse of villains in all sizes and hues. The villains in question belonged to the custom department, bureaucrats of diverse importance who may we not forget get their salaries from our hard earned money. A complex low life drama enfolded. To get the cargo released one had to conquer each villain and get the coveted booty: a signature! A true obstacle race as in spite of the stipulated timing of 11 to 4, most of them were on leave, not on their seat, out to lunch or too busy to talk or so we thought. My friend wondered why each one of them passed in front of her looking bothered and waving their hands just like the kids in the picture.
For some time my friend thought that the person in question was too busy or harassed. Ultimately it is the cargo agent who broke the code: the waving of hands signified the amount of facilitation money (not to use bribe) that was needed get to the next stage of the race. Two hands waved meant 10 000Rs! Nothing would be done other wise. That was the unwritten and unbreakable code. It goes without saying that we did not pay any bribe but it took us 12 days to get the cargo out, 12 days of having to listen to despicable and humiliating comments about NGOs and they all being thieves and crooks, 12 days of running from pillar to post and knocking at impregnable doors. In the end we got our way but by then the demurrage charges had mounted. We ultimately got our cargo released and are now appealing to get the demurrage waived.
What is sad is that this happened at the same time as India was supposedly coming together in the hope of changing things, when anger against politicians was being voiced by one and all, when it seemed that perhaps, just perhaps we would see better days. But this small and insignificant incident that was enfolding in the remote corner of the airport of our capital city proved beyond doubt that change was as elusive as ever, that the rot had set in so deep that it would take not one, but countless miracles to stem out. What saddened me most as my friend recounted the events was that there seemed no way out of the quagmire. Honesty, compassion, righteousness were not only passe and defunct, but held in contempt and derided. That the lessons we so assiduously tried to teach our children would not help them in life, if things were to remain as they were.
Where did we go from here? How did we change things? Candlelight vigils and passionate speeches could not be the answer as they could only be heard and understood by people with a soul. How did you deal with those who had sold theirs? Would we then simply have to tell our children not to forget how to move and shake their hands.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Dec 7, 2008 | Uncategorized
I have been rapped on my knuckles many a times during from the day I decided to give up the comfort and ease of being an armchair activist of sorts and cross the line. One after the other I saw all my lofty ideas not only put to test but demolished by the realities that stared me in the face. And each time one had to reinvent oneself as the challenge had to be met. Somehow this seems to have been the pwhy story.
But never was the lesson harder than this time. As the country still battled the aftermath of 26/11, though without being cynical it seems to have taken the back burner on the prime time news being replaced by political drama of all hues, a little family in Delhi was struck by its own terror: the death of a father.
As I said in my last posts we were shocked by the incident and set about making the right moves: dole out the money urgently needed to allow the family to perform all the complex rituals and imagine – i say imagine – a road map for the young widow. We knew that the family had survived by selling tobacco and other ware in front of their home. So we felt that we would help the young mom continue doing just that. It seemed doable or so we thought.
Yesterday we went to visit the little family as Radha had been asking for her teachers. What we saw shocked us beyond words: Radha and her family live in a what can at best be called a box made of brick and mud with a tin roof. The place is sunk in and the roof too low to allow you to stand. The landlord lives in the next space and charges not only 400 rs a month but also his three meals. In that hole lived six people 2 adults and 4 children including little Radha and her brittle bones. The hovel is situated on the road in the midst of an unhealthy industrial area replete with fumes, waste an drunk men. Radha’s mom’s chilling words made us realise the stark reality: till yesterday she said I had bangles on my arms and sindoor on my forehead, today I have lost that and my back is naked! There was no way this young woman could survive let alone work and bring her children up in this place. She would be torn to pieces and devoured by lurking predators.
Our easy road map came crashing as we stared at what I would simply call social terrorism: the insidious beat that lurks and lies in wait for the right moment to attack. As long as her husband was alive and even moribund, she was safe, today she was in extreme danger. She had to be protected and sheltered. Her tin roof on a roadside was too flimsy to shield her, her little family and Radha’s brittle bones.
Such is the plight of innumerable families in India’s capital city, a stone’s throw from our comfortable lives. What is it that allows anyone to sink into such despair? How long will it take for 10 year old Meera to turn into price prey? Where are the powers to be, the social programmes, the aam admi‘s government? And how can we continue to allow this to happen? India has supposedly woken up to the threat of terrorism, but what about this kind of invisible and subtle terrorism that gnaws at the lives of millions each and every day? And please do not spring karma and other such theories at me, what about our conscience?
We will get Radha’s family out of the dark but what about all the others? Is it not time that we the so called educated, privileged and articulate people woke up. There will be no 26/11 to bring social terrorism to the fore, we simply have to learn to open our eyes!
by Anuradha Bakshi | Dec 5, 2008 | Uncategorized
Radha’s mother came to the project this morning. She looked the epitome of despair. Even the most hardened soul could not have remained dry eyed. She clutched her last born, an eight month old baby that looked barely three. In spite of the chilly morning neither she nor her tiny son had a warm cloth to protect them. She had no time to sit in mourning though it was just yesterday that her husband’s mortal remains had been consigned to the fire. She had come to ask help to enable her to go to her village and perform the elaborate and ruinous rituals that would ensure that she would not be spurned by her clan.
Yes Radha’s young mom did not have the luxury to sit in a corner and weep her incredible and irreparable loss. Her pain was etched on her gentle face and the tears kept rolling as she recounted her tale. A husband consumed by TB and alcohol, four children to bring up one being little Radha and her brittle bones and nothing but a small cart that doled out cups of teas and some food to help her not only survive but live.
In spite of her abject misery I could sense a quiet determination, a yet hazy but eminently doable life plan, one that perhaps could see her and her children through. This simple and illiterate woman had somehow come of age. Motherhood was at stake and she was determined not to give up. True she had come seeking help but somehow there was a dignity in her demeanour, a courage that needed to be saluted particularly as she was a woman nothing had prepared for the life she would now have to live.
We cannot even begin to imagine the magnitude of Radha’s mom’s despair as it is beyond imagination. She never had much but till yesterday she had the misplaced and yet indispensable security that a husband, no matter how worthless, provides a woman in India. Today she had been deprived of even that. She would have to battle every foe alone.
We will do whatever we can to see that she picks up the pieces of her shattered life and weaves a new one, one that can sustain her little family and bring back smiles to the faces of her young children. And yet we know that young Mira, her elder daughter barely 10 will soon become the little mother as Radha’s mom takes on the role of the head of the family.
