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.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Dec 5, 2008 | Uncategorized
Sometimes I am at a complete loss in trying to understand the ways of the God of Lesser Beings . Little Radha has been absent from class for a while as she had once again broken her leg. We were expecting her back as was usually the case. She simply loves pwhy and let us not forget she still dreams of walking one day. But this time the God of Lesser Beings had other plans for her.
Her plaster did come off and she was ready to come back but then a false move by her sister and her brittle bone broke again. Her father was planning to take her to the hospital the next day but that was not happen. That night her father fell ill and died on the way to the hospital: a victim of hooch and life itself.
Radha’s father had lost his job some time back. His health did not allow him to get another one so he sold tea and some eats from a stall in front of his tiny home. The family of 6 barely survived. Radha’s mom is illiterate. They have no source of income, no land in the village, simply nothing. An uncle performed the last rites of the father as Radha’s only brother is still a babe in arms. Now they need to perform the burdensome rituals in the village that will cost an arm and a leg: noblesse oblige!
What will their future be? I cannot even begin to imagine what awaits them and am at a complete loss to see how we can help them. I simply know that we have to. Is the God of Lesser beings listening?
by Anuradha Bakshi | Dec 3, 2008 | Uncategorized
This morning I got a lovely mail for Harriet. She is the young girl who had spent a few days with us at project why and promised to help us when she got back to her school in London. Some time later she wrote again saying that she was planning a Xmas sale at her school the proceeds of which would come to us.
Harriet is a very special person, one that truly walks the talk. The sale was held and she informed me that a whopping 50 Pounds had been collected. It may seem a tiny sum to many, but to us at pwhy it is more precious than the largest donation we get, as it is one that is laced with love, compassion and tenderness. We fell humbled.
Harriet also had one more surprise for us: her very first article in a local newspaper simply entitled A Ray of Hope in the New Delhi Slums. It is a very touching article on project why as seen by a young girl from a privileged country.
Harriet’s mail brought joy and healing at at time when we are truly in need of it. India is still trying to make sense of the terrible week gone by. Thousands are on the street trying to find an answer to questions that seem hopeless. There is talk of war and aggression. Anger is tempered with helplessness and people seem terribly lost. In the midst of all this madness, this simple gesture from a young girl is the message we all needed to hear. It does not take much to reach out another, to help change a life or to bring a smile on a face that had forgotten to smile.
Thank you Harriet.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Dec 3, 2008 | Uncategorized
Bernard Ray gently left this world today after a long illness. He died peacefully. Who is Bernard Ray and why am I writing this post today?
The answer to these questions are simple. He is what we hope every human being aspires to be. In simpler terms he is Xavier’s dad and Xavier is undoubtedly the cornerstone of pwhy.
When Xavier decided to set up Enfances Indiennes as an organisation to support pwhy, Bernard was its very first member. He somehow knew that in spite of difficult moments it would not only happen but grow and thrive. 700 children today vindicate his belief!
I am reminded of St Exupery words when he wrote: To be a man is … to be responsible. It is to feel shame at the sight of what seems to be unmerited misery. It is to take pride in a victory won by one’s comrades. It is to feel, when setting one’s stone, that one is contributing to the building of the world. He was just that kind of man.
A few years back he came to project why and spent many hours with us. We were all touched by his warmth and kindness. What we did not know at that time was that his short transit via planet why was his unobtrusive way to bless all of us and to leave a little of his magic in our hearts.
Yesterday he left this world for a new one, a better one, one that is filled with light and love. We will miss him but somehow I know he will be there for the family his son made his own: in the soft ray of sun that warms a cold morning, in the cloud that gives respite from the scorching sun, in the first drop a rain that quenches the parched earth and the whiff of wind that gently blows on our face to remind us that we are protected.
Today we do not mourn him but celebrate a life well lived and again say with St Exupery: he who has gone, so we but cherish his memory, abides with us, more potent, nay, more present than the living man.
