by Anuradha Bakshi | Oct 10, 2008 | Uncategorized
Utpal was home for his Dusserah break. Home to Utpal is the women centre. Normally his mom is there for him but this time she was not. She has again been admitted to a rehab centre and will be there for a few months. Utpal came home to his favourite TV programmes, his toys , his old battered scooter and his favourite goodies that one had filled the fridge with.
Utpal came home to his extended family: the staff of the women centre who were all them for him and tried to make up for the missing mom. Though nothing was unsaid and everyone played the game to perfection – Utpal regaling one and all with his new antics and the staff walking the extra needed mile – one could feel that somehow something was amiss. Mom was not there. Many would wonder how a barely present mom, one lost in the hubris of her bipolar disorder, one that often shouts and sometimes hit could be so dearly missed, particularly when one had tried to ensure that all cracks and holes possible but then a mother is a mother.
Utpal, the true survivor did put up a brave front and did not let anyone feel that there was something missing. The only one who knew was me. He did not say anything, but during the time we were together he let his guard down. The big boy that he now wants to be perceived as became a small child veering between moments of extreme affection and tantrums. He snuggled against me and hugged me tight and then insisted I take him out ad spoil him silly. It was not toys or cakes he sought, but some way to fill the huge void left by a missing mom.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Oct 8, 2008 | Uncategorized
I got a mail this morning from Gooj, an organisation I have a lot of respect for and who are doing an incredible work for flood victims in Bihar. The mail was meant to update everyone on their activities on the field and remind one of the horror of the situation. They are doing remarkable work and need to be lauded and supported.
But this is not why I write this blog. Actually a para at end of the long mail caught my eye and made me shudder in disgust: But I would certainly like to send out a word to a few CSR people who call up our office and ask questions like- “how far is Kosi river from Saharsa” and if they don’t get the exact no of kilometers they threaten to report my colleagues to me. Or the wife of a CMD of a public sector company who gave us some ration and clothes at a function with a lot of fanfare; three cameras, a speech delivered thrice to get the right flavor; resulting in wastage of precious time of a GOONJ team member. Or arguments on why a truck can’t be unloaded at 2.00 am in the night? Please do understand that our team is working round the clock under tremendous pressure and with very limited resources. They are also human beings and without any logical reasoning it’s not right to make uncalled demands on them. (The truckwould anyway be allowed to move out in the morning only). A person from a reputed organization told us that they would give us their contribution at a special function organized for the purpose, for which someone from GOONJ would need to be present. When we said that we didn’t have an office in that city the person wanted someone to travel out or else threatened to give the money to some other NGO. My humble submission to such demands; kindly go ahead and my humble appeal is not to use this as the only opportunity to show how concerned we are. Good work always shows and one doesn’t need banners all around for that. The need of the hour is to spend our time and resources in the most effective manner.”
Phew. I can understand how hurt and angry Anshu, the spirit and heart behind Goonj, must have felt when he finally decided to write those words. I also understand how he felt as it is a feeling I share having also been at the receiving end many times. How can I forget the lady from a prestigious club who brought a few sweaters on a hot September morning and her personal photographer in tow. She insisted that the special kids wear the sweaters in spite of the sweltering heat, so that she could have a photograph for the newsletter of her club! Or can I forget the man who in response to our appeal for help for Raju’s open heart surgery wanted to know why we were spending so much money for just a poor child. Can I ever forget the big star who wanted Arun another open heart surgery candidate to be carted to a web world center to be part of a media blitz. Charity has lost its meaning and become a bizMess. What was meant to be a subliminal act has lost its spirit and makes a little girl to simply ask a heart wrenching question: is it wrong to help those in need?
The list is endless and points to one simple fact: people have forgotten the art of giving. What transpires from the few examples listed above is that it no more the recipient who matters, the star of the show has to be the donor. What do I get if I give? And if you do not give me what I want I will go elsewhere. I wish we could all say please do so. Sadly we are a still dependent on the few coins cast our way as the price to pay is too big. Too many voiceless and helpless souls depend on our ability keep our faces straight and even mouth the needed words of gratitude.
Today when the world is falling like Humpty Dumpty from his wall, no kingsmen will be able to put him back unless there is a change of perception and attitude. One needs to give up arrogance and embrace compassion and learn to share even the little one still has. Hubris has always been self destructive. I am an absolute dodo in such matters but my instinct tells me that the patch up solutions that seem to be the order of the moment are simply delaying the inevitable as they aim at protecting and salvaging a system gone awry.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Oct 5, 2008 | Uncategorized
The time has come wrote my dear friend A in reply to one of my sombre mails; if ever, this is not the time to despair he added. Strange words at a time when the world economy is collapsing. But A goes on undaunted:We have reached the end of An Age. The next one is here. The world is about to move into a system where Human value will be he currency. What if you could buy education for compassion or two meals a day for making someone happy! Have fun this festival – the world has woken up after a slumber of 40 odd years – light up the world with your Unique Value – and Welcome to The Age of Imagination.
Don’t smile or smirk. These words are imbued with meaning and wisdom. They are almost prophetic. It is time we saw the reality of things instead of beating a dead horse and finding solace in ways that have proved time and again to be worthless. Human values have been too long sacrificed at the alter of material ones fuelled by greed, want and cupidity. Our world is not a pretty one even though we would want to believe otherwise. It may be big and fat but it is not beautiful. I do not know if one can truly at this moment begin to imagine a world where values would be extolled above all else; our age has simply done away with them.
As I wrote earlier perhaps it is not the right time to write about compassion and other lofty ideals as we sit perusing the stock market and counting our losses. Or perhaps it is. What betteer time than this to garner the courage to look deeper within ourselves in order to find solace and strength. The tiny seeds of compassion and forgiveness and love lie patiently waiting to be watered. Maybe it is time to practice mindfulness as taught by Thich Nhat Hanh and learn to live in the present and be grateful for all that we have. It is also time to seek values that would hold true and be lasting and learn to draw solace and joy from he simple things we have forgotten.
Two meals a day for making someone happy is not as Utopian as it may seem. How long as it been since you have truly made someone happy, and by someone I do not mean a near and dear one but an outsider, one you did not know, one you did not expect anything from. How long has it bee since you have stopped and looked around you, listened to the sound of birds chirping or felt the caress of the passing wind. How long has it been since you have held the hand of a unknown child and walked a few steps with him. How long as it been since you have felt compassion for others and also for your self. There was a time not so long ago where I too felt the need to run helter skelter after material things that I felt I needed. But strangely one I had them I felt the aching need to look for newer ones till the fateful day I met Manu and my life changed.
Today no matter how grim the newspapers headlines are or how hard things I set out to work with a spring in my walk. I do not know what awaits me but I know that there always be something that will bring a smile to my face and warm the cockles of my heart. Oh they are intangible things, the kind you normally pass by. It can simply that the newcomer in the creche who had been wailing every single day has finally stopped crying, or simply a sound made by one that had till then never spoke. It could be a messy and even ugly painting made by one that could barely hold a brush or a bright pink report card accompanied by a grubby sweat that a young one insists on stuffing into your mouth. These are not things money can buy; these have been achieved by slow and patient work and unwavering belief!
And these are things within the reach of all of us if we take time to stop and look with our hearts.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Sep 29, 2008 | Uncategorized
Kala is four year old. She lives in a small rented accommodation. Her father is a daily wage worker and her mom does household work for. Three months back another baby was born to this little family. It was a baby girl. The father was livid; he had hoped, prayed and wished for a boy. His daily drinking went for bad to worse and he began holding the mother responsible for the baby being a girl. Every night he beats his wife mercilessly. Kala watches in silence hurling abuses at her.
When the little baby was but a few weeks old,the father decided that it was time to send the mom back to work as money was needed to pay the ever increasing hooch bills. A simple solution was found: little Kala would tend to the baby while her mom worked. So every morning a little four year old was left to care for her baby sister.
Luckily for kala, the landlord was a kind a wise man.He saw the plight of the little child and decided to act. He brought the little girls to the pwhy creche to get her admitted and simply told the father that if he would not send the child then he would have to vacate the room. In a city like Delhi it is difficult to find accommodation so the father grudgingly agreed. His feeble attempt to thwart the issue by saying he did not have money to send the child was pooh poohed by the landlord who simply said he would pay all that was needed for little Kala’s school. So for the past week or so little Kala comes to the pwhy creche and reclaims her lost childhood. It is pure joy to see her play with toys, laugh and dance and be with children age. She is happy as a lark and perhaps dreams of these moments when she returns home and faces the reality she lives in.
Many thoughts comes to mind as one watches little Kala play. The first is undoubtedly the simple fact that it only takes one kind human being to save the life of a child and makes us wonder why more people do not reach out in this way. If we as concerned citizens did keep our eyes open and accepted to walk a tiny extra inch, perhaps many more girls would be able to reclaim their hijacked childhood. But there is another disturbing thought that emerges each time I come across a woman being blamed for the sex of her child. Why has there never been a wide reaching campaign explaining that the sex of a child is determined by the father. The mother cannot be held responsible for a child not being a boy. She simply accepts a seed and gives it space to grow.
Such a campaign could free many a woman from life long abuse and hurt in a country like ours where even the educated are not spared. So much money is spent on family planning and save the girl child blitzes. Simply explaining that a woman is not able to determine the sex of a child would go along way in clearing misconceptions and perhaps help the girl child in more ways than one.
It is time we shed our so called puritan ways and misplaced sense of outrage and addressed such issues in a direct and honest way and allow all little Kalas their rightful place.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Sep 28, 2008 | Uncategorized
When asked about a fantasy to be a superhero, one of the children said: “to be able to walk“. This was one of the conclusions of the recently held workshop where children had been asked to express their opinions, dreams and aspirations. The respondent in this case was little Radha who suffers from brittle bone disease and whose condition has been deteriorating day after day.
An eerie silence pervaded the room as we all knew that little Radha would never walk. For what seemed an interminable moment we sat quietly, as we gathered our thoughts and tried to come to terms with what we had heard. We were in a place where neither miracles nor dreams were permissible. There was no reprieve, not even a glimmer of hope. Every day Radha’s fragile bones looked more and more distorted.
Yet Radha has an infective joie de vivre. She also has an insatiable desire to learn and wants to do everything her pals in class do. Just like any child she wants to live life to its fullest and yes if she could be a superhero she simply wants to walk.
For the children in this picture dreams and aspirations taken on a new meaning altogether. They are not of the realm of the impossible, they simply aspire to reclaim that little part of their life that fate has usurped. Some simply want to walk, others to hear or just understand the world around them. They do not ask for much and yet we are helpless and powerless.
However we can give them is love, understanding, moments of happiness and above all acceptance. But how many of us do that. We simply cringe at the sight of one like Radha who sits awkwardly on her brittle and jutting bones and instead of gently gathering her in our arms simply walk away.
During the same workshop Preeti who walks on her hands after a bout of severe polio was asked to photograph a few of the things she disliked most. On top of her list was garbage. Sitting in our comfortable homes we may wonder why she thought so. The answer is simple. For Preeti and Radha who walk on their hands or drag themselves around, garbage is a every day reality that is uncomfortably close to them. They cannot hop over it and do not have the luxury of bypassing it. In slums you often live amidst it.
If you were to come and spend some time with the kids you see in this picture you would be overwhelmed by the love and joy they are ready to give in their own special way. They open their arms and hearts to anyone who accepts to enter their world. They never ask for anything and keep their desires and hopes locked away safely. It is only in rare moments that they share them just like Radha and Preeti did hoping that someone will hear.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Sep 23, 2008 | Uncategorized
A little two year old girl was found abandoned in bushes some days back in an upmarket suburb of Delhi. Severely dehydrated and malnourished the child was barely alive. It was later discovered that she suffered from cerebral palsy and that seemed to be the reason why she had been abandoned by her family.
The local police chief’s words “Once she is better and if we can find her parents, she will go home. If not, we’ll put her up for adoption and follow all the processes. If nobody wants to adopt her, she’ll be sent to an orphanage,” were ominous. Her family was not traced, no one came forward to adopt her and thus she was sent to an orphanage. The head of India’s adoption agency did not mince when his words when he stated on national TV that no Indian parent would ever adopt a handicapped child! And sadly this is the reality.
The children dancing in the picture above are all what we call handicapped. Some have cerebral palsy, others have brittle bone disease, polio, autism or simple MR. They too could have been abandoned in bushes or simply thrown on the streets to fend for themselves as Manu was. In our country there is scant place for anyone who does not fit the mould. Special children as we like to call them are a embarrassment, an eyesore, a burden, a millstone no one wants. Society rejects them and even the administration does not seem to care. Parents would probably like to wish them away but lack the courage to do so. They are barely tended to, let alone cared for or loved.
And yet in spite of all adversities they not only survive but display a rare zest for life. All you need to do is drop by our special section. You will be greeted by squeals of joy. It may not be your conventional greeting, the one you are used to. It could be a grunt or squeak from one that cannot talk, am energetic hand wave from one that cannot walk, a hug or squeeze from one that has never been loved. You will be invited to join the on going activity or share a simple meal if you happen to come by lunch time. These children have never been taught manners or social skills, they are only proficient in God’s Alphabet or what we call intuition and simply do what their hearts tell them do. They do not judge or gauge you in anyway. They do not care about the language you speak, the way you look or the size of your bank balance. They accept you as you are and simply open their hearts to you.
The have learnt not only to survive but to live life to its fullest if given a chance. Sadly we are not even capable of giving them that tiny chance. I wonder who is the one who is truly handicapped: we or them.
Everyday our special kids dance, it is probably the highlight of their day and each time I see them dance I am reminded of an anonymous quote I stumbled upon one day:
“We dance for laughter, we dance for tears, we dance for madness, we dance for fears, we dance for hopes, we dance for screams, we are the dancers, we create the dreams.”
