I often find myself browsing through the mass of photographs that sit on my computer. I do that when I am troubled and in search of answers to questions that seem insuperable and overwhelming. I do it when I feel my spirits sagging and am in need of that extra fillip. And wonders of wonders I have never been disappointed. It is almost as if these pictures were my very own divination manual.
The last few days, weeks or it is now months have been spent trying to overcome a huge setback and finding ways to garner a huge amount of money to enable us to fulfill many dreams. I have prayed for a string miracles: one that would bring into our lives the elusive anonymous benefactor, one that would enable us to find the funds we need effortlessly, one that would give us the right idea, the right sales pitch, the right whatever.
The last few days, weeks, month have also been filled with furious activity. Mails have been sent, calls made, reports written and costings drafted. We have received loads of words of encouragement and support, we have got many promises but also our share of cynical advise and worse than that: total silence. Somehow this has not surprised me at all as in our day and age charity has become a business and hence all comments and reactions are par for the course.
But let me stop digressing and come to the point of this post and my photo search.
As I set about pondering about all mentioned above I came across the picture you see. Anurag helping Sabha during a recent outdoor visit of the special section. Now Anurag is 14 and is autistic, Sabha is 19 and is mentally challenged. They both come from different worlds, different faiths and have nothing in common barring the fact that they are both pwhy students! Anurag has been with us for almost 4 years and Sabha joined us just a month back. And yet when Sabha needed help Anurag simply extended his hand. No one had to tell him to do so. This for me is true giving, charity or whatever else you want to call it.
As I looked at this picture, my mind went back to the umpteen times I have seen this spirit of reaching out and helping in the special section of pwhy. It is remarkable and touching as none of the 20 kids and young adults have anything in common were we to apply existing social norms. And yet each and every time one is need of help another is there to give it. I wish we, the supposedly normal beings acted the same way and to borrow the words of Norman Rice dared to reach out our hand into the darkness, to pull another hand into the light.
“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.”
I must confess to the fact that the idea of our new project, one that still has not found its real name – having been called fostercare-cum-sponsorship programme, happy home, children’schance programme – has been cause of many a sleepless night.
Though it had always been a dream to have special children and regular kids live, grow, laugh, play and learn together, a dream called planet why, the course of events that led to us having to launch our trial home earlier than anticipated is scary. In just a few days Babli, Aditya, Nikhil, Vicky, Champa and Manu, our first innmates, will embark on a new journey, that of living together. The flat across the tiny street is getting spruced up. A school has been identified. Last moments preparations are on and there is a palpable excitement in the air.
On the flip side anxiety levels are high too and many questions crowd the mind. It is not every day that one decides to put such a motley crew together. The new teachers are busy getting to know their new wards. Mahendra and Praveen are exceptional young men who are determined to make the dream a reality and are giving it their very best, but will they succeed?
I must confess that I have been extremely perturbed and desperately looking for a sign to quell my worries. The sign came unexpectedly yesterday as I watched the special section dance. Manu, who has always been a taciturn young man suddenly came alive and danced his heart out, trying to convey his joy in the most touching way possible. I came to know later that he has been this way for some time and has bonded with the new teachers, his new found friends and soul mates and is aware of the fact that they will soon be living together. After more than 30 years, Manu will have a home.
He was the dancer creating a dream and I slept soundly for the fist time in many months!
apologies for the quality of the video, I have not yet mastered the art of editing clips
I talk too much and mostly about project why. This is the buzz doing the rounds. I guess it is a valid one.
Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa!
Yet, I guess my grey hair and my over half a century on this earth give me the right to explain the reasons for what may seem, a rude or even infuriating behaviour. I guess talking too much finds its roots way back: an only child with middle aged parents and a nomadic life where time was short and connections had to be made rapidly. It goes back to growing up with adults rather than kids your age. It goes back to a thirst for knowledge, a passion for books and a questioning mind. But none of the above can justify or condone poor behavior!
I beg your indulgence and urge you to read on. Project Why is undoubtedly the best thing that happened in my life. That it came about in my twilight years was something beyond my control. I often refer to pwhy as my magnum opus and my swan song!
As one grows old, time seems to gain momentum and move at accelerated speed. Before you realise it a day, a month , a year has gone by making you feel vulnerable and a tad helpless. You want to pack as much as you can and forget that others, younger than you cannot view things your way. I guess it is a befitting example of Bergson’s concept of time.
Pwhy is still in its infancy. It needs to find its own wings. Time is of the essence and for me time is short. I guess that is why I find myself thinking, dreaming, contemplating and yes talking pwhy all the time. In my haste to see it soar, I seem to forget that for others it is just one of many.
As you get on in life you become painfully aware of the fact that any moment lost will never come again so you cling to it with desperation. That is what I am guilty of I admit. But I try to assuage my guilt by remembering that what I do is not to fulfill some selfish goal or ambition but to ensure that children continue to laugh and deprived souls get their place in the sun.
I did say project why was my swan song and being but human, one wants to take that last bow with a feeling of success. The problem is that at this moment the choreography still needs its last touches, its final rehearsals and its opening night. The obsessive blabber is probably just that: my way of finding the missing links, ones that are not obvious but may spring out surreptitiously at some furtive moment, when one’s mind get spurred into action by a word.
Yes time is short and much remains to be done. And yes I do talk too much and about project why!
I thought she would make it… but a few hours after I wrote this, she moved on and left this world. The doctors said she died of pneumonia and malnutrition. Come to think about it Pooja died starved of love. Her mother had abandoned her and her father had no time for her. She died because she intuitively knew that she was a burden to all.
Pooja tiptoed out of this world just like little Sandhya had, leaving many questions begging for answers. One again I guess, death was the kindest gift that the God of lesser children could have granted this unloved child. I wonder what would have been her life in a land where Goddesses are worshiped but little girls are not wanted.
We came to know later that the woman who had ‘adopted’ Pooja, was not quite the kind woman we thought she was. She sought such kids and then used them in different ways to earn her living. Pooja was lucky that our centre was close to were she lived as she could for a few hours just be a child. I shudder to think what would have awaited her in years to come.
Yet over the years I have leaned to look at life through a wider angle. Had the woman not come into Pooja’s life her fate would have been worse. She may have helped her father who panhandles for a living and then fritters his earnings on hooch, drugs or women, or she would have landed in some state run institution where life is dark and abysmal. Pooja could never have aspired to what life normally has in store for girls born on the other side of a fence: a loveless marriage and early motherhood laced with the acceptability that comes from wedlock. At best she may have been sold into a life of abuse. At least for some time she was cared for, just like the proverbial goat being readied for slaughter.
Pooja has left many questions that need answers and yet have none. Her death has brought to the fore the total helplessness that one feels in the wake of such tragedy and makes one wonder what one could have done or could do. Barring the few hours we can give a child in despair, we have little to offer. And yet at times like this one knows that something has to be done.
It is at time like these that the need to set up planet why seems urgent. If it did exist than may Poojas could have found a shelter and protection. If it did exist than maybe we would be able to open our eyes and hearts wider and reach out to those no one wants.
When a few days back I sent out myriad of emails in all directions seeking help to salvage a dream that was threatening to melt away into oblivion I was overwhelmed with the words of support and encouragement I received. Among them was a poem of which I quote a few lines:
When the night is out In full force And darkness Penetrates me to the source When the mind is about to yield To the fears of the flesh When the storm rises up From the gut And uneasy beats the heart
I try to stand up I try to spin a new yarn Try to survive the moment And vow to the bitter end – I will make the river bend I will make the mountain stoop I will cover the sky with imagination And uncover the face of You.From Soul Search Engine Al Raines
The words gave me great solace and the courage to survive the moment and not give up. Days passed. Deals were renegotiated. Time was bought. We had barely 6o days to save our dream. Another desperate mail was sent once again.
How I wish I had 20/30 or the whole 80 lacs said one of the answers and I was moved to tears. I could not imagine what was to ensue. A day or two later another mail from my dear friend Abhigyan simply said Let’s make a mailer on the book offer and send it out all our contacts. explaining your cause and also the offer.
Before I go further let me explain: Abhigyan wears many hats, and one of them is that of a publisher who recently launched his very own publishing house aptly named Undercover Utopia. Before I could catch my breath again another mail confirmed that the show was on the road,. Undecover Utopia had decided to save our dream by offering all the 4 books of their collection at half price and donating half of that to save pwhy’s dream.
Words are inadequate to express what I feel. I believe that the only way to salute this beautiful gesture is to ensure it meets with complete success, not so much for the dream fulfilled, but because it is an expression of all that is good in our world, something we see so little of!
I could not end this post without mentioning the books on offer. I have read and enjoyed them all. However one of them – Soul Search Engine – has stirred my soul. Read it, it is unique and everyone’s story and perhaps throws some insight into why there are some who dare walk the road less travelled.
Soul Search Engine ends with these words: “Creation is a manifestation of the one’s many ideas… every idea one step away from being alone… The meaning is for us to discover. Creation is only a stimulus. All we have to do is respond. And respond well. Everything is a great question waiting for a great answer.” Al Raines (Soul Search Engine).
Was it just a month ago that we at pwhy were all set to launch a new project. A very ambitious one I must confess and one that was not quite our own I must also admit. It all began with an idea suggested by an erstwhile well wisher, one that was so daunting that we quickly suggested a trial version as we were a little apprehensive.
What ensued was rather peculiar. As we began giving life to this idea, our resolve strengthened whereas the commitment of its initiator began to wane rapidly. I presume this happened because we were looking at different ends of the same issue.
The once intimidating thought of giving deprived children a go at the best education possible looked eminently doable. The enthusiasm of both parents and children gave the encouragement we needed to surmount whatever obstacles came our way. Necessary course corrections were made and our minds wide open to new ones if need be. That was the view from one side
From the other side things looked different. What had seemed as a win-win situation, a panacea for all ills, a great way to change society when conceived in thought started losing its shine as it was shared with others in a attempt to secure the much needed financial support for such a programme. As numbers were stated, doubts started emerging: how could one envisage spending so much for a poor kid!
The tune seemed too familiar and the conclusion foregone, the idea once held as path breaking was now found preposterous, one that needed to be quickly dropped. The fears recently voiced raised their head again bringing to the fore the invisible yet impregnable line that divides our society.
One could have comfortably slunk back into earlier days and carried on as if nothing had occurred but that would have been perfidious as one cannot put back the clock. How can one take away the hope one so patiently instilled in parents; how does one wish away the sparkle that one sees in the eyes of the children when one talks about the new project, one just has to begin.. again!
I often find myself browsing through the mass of photographs that sit on my computer. I do that when I am troubled and in search of answers to questions that seem insuperable and overwhelming. I do it when I feel my spirits sagging and am in need of that extra fillip. And wonders of wonders I have never been disappointed. It is almost as if these pictures were my very own divination manual.
