by Anuradha Bakshi | Dec 9, 2006 | Uncategorized
A few days back we had made some courtesy calls, to find out about the well being of some of our children.
This morning, little Deepak made his return courtesy call. It was a very special moment for all of us. He came in his grand mom’s arms but soon decide to show us all he could do with his brand new heart!
He pranced around, giggled and even marked his territory. Our thoughts went back to the days where we could see his tiny chest heaving as every breath he took was a almost Herculean effort.
As I watched him I wondered what would become of him in the years to come. I really cannot imagine as in spite of all odds a host of possibilities await him.
I can however visualise what would have happened if his surgery had not been done. He would have lived a few short years, heaving and panting till his tiny broken heart would have given up.
It took very little to make the difference, just a few caring hearts.
To all those of you who have helped us repair broken hearts a big thank you.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Dec 6, 2006 | Uncategorized
In times when nets and cell phone proliferate, making courtesy calls is almost an aberration. There was a time when paying a call was the only way to get the news you sought. Oddly, in some cases it remains at times the only way at our disposal.
Three calls needed to be made: one to enquire about a lost smile, the other to our cerulean boy, and the third to a mother who needed to be admonished.
So we set off in the watery sun of a winter morning. The first stop was at Nanhe’s in search of the elusive smile. We found him a tad better, but no sign of the smile. His body was less swollen though the pain was still visible on his face. On checking the hospital papers we were horrified to se that his weight was a mere 15 kilos, a stark reminder of the fact that he had barely eaten for the last two weeks. His brave mom filled the silence by telling us that the doctor had asked her to come by this afternoon to get a date for the operation. We realised that what was comingin the way of the surgery was the poor condition he was in.
A few mental notes were made by all of us: get some liquid food supplements, provide transport for the hospital visits, get his teachers to come by and sit with him. None of us spoke as we left him. We had not found the smile.
The nest stop was to see deepak who we were told had come home. As news of our arrival traveled fast, we were met by Deepak himself in the arms of his much relieved grandma. We were happy to see him as gone was the blue hue that had worried us so much. He was as pink as can be and gratified us with a huge smile. The only reminder of his 7 months ordeal was a scar that began almost at the base of his throat.
Next we had to meet sapna and monty’s mom, as the two kids had plaid truant for far too long. We found her sitting at her tea shop. She was looking weary and dragging her feet and told us that she had not been able to get them ready in time. We did chide her and extracted a promise that she would make the effort, but in our hearts we knew her problem. Sorry for being graphic but this poor woman has lived for over two years with a prolapsed uterus. When we had tried to get her operated it was discovered that she had a heart condition and needed a valve replacement. That had been done but somehow the uterus had been forgotten.
We told her to get to the hospital and fix her surgery and that we would help in whatever way we could remembering that the last time the operation had not been done because she had no one to donate blood.
The calls were over.. we returned back in silence
Powered by Qumana
by Anuradha Bakshi | Dec 6, 2006 | Uncategorized
You may wonder why this silly pictures of plastic bags. Actually they are not just plastic bags. They are bags full of hope.
As I write this post they sit patiently under my ironing table, in the very corridor where one little bundle of joy ran blissfully pretending to be Krish just a few weeks away, charging themselves with the good energies that surround them.
In them is what is needed to begin a new life on a winter day: warm bedding, toiletries etc. In a short time they will bundled into a car and taken across the city to fetch their owner, the brave mother of a spirited child. For the past 8 months that woman has waged a lonely battle against the bottle and today she comes out of the rehab centre a little frightened but determined to begin a new life.
The bags will then travel to another part of the city and even cross a border to land in a happy place where hope abounds. waiting for her there is Durga born of a loveless union , who finally found a safe place. Mother and daughter will be reunited and will rediscover each other and make up for lost time.
In a few days a little man will join his two ladies and finally the little family will be reunited. he never gave up on them, even when all else did
As I watch these bags sitting patiently under the ungainly table, I wonder what would have happened if I had not held on to hope.
Powered by Qumana
by Anuradha Bakshi | Dec 5, 2006 | Uncategorized
Nanhe has lost his smile, pain was too big an adversary. It is heart rendering to see him moan in pain. He is not eating and can barely sit up. He barley connects as he is on heavy medication. His body is swelling because of his tired and stone ridden kidneys.
His mother is running from pillar to post but the doctors keep on postponing the date for his surgery. We try and do our best but somehow it seems that his spirit is giving up the battle.
One does not have to be a medico to see that his body is wearing down and that his multiple ailments are getting the better of him. But how can one tell a mother that. Even a tired, poor, single mom does wants her child to live, even if he is broken one. She wants to do everything possible to save his life.
The doctors on the other hand see this little angel has a gone case, not worth fighting for. And the game continues: the mother relentlessly makes the now almost daily trip to the hospital carrying her hurting child , and the doctors prescribe a few palliatives, write a few test and send them away.
I have been watching this for some time not quite knowing how to break the circle. On the one hand all those who love him and I am one of those, want him to live as long a possible. On the other hand one can also understand the doctors of the government hospitals.. and above all one’s heart cannot but go out to a mother who cannot give up..
A little life is at stake, but whose life is it anyway
Powered by Qumana
by Anuradha Bakshi | Dec 2, 2006 | Uncategorized
Morning has broken, like the first morning
Blackbird has spoken, like the first bird
Praise for the singing, praise for the morning
Praise for the springing fresh from the world
Had I written this post yesterday, it would have been filled with anger, dejection and ire. It would have turned out to be a litany of vociferation against everyone and everything and would have missed the miracle that unfolded before our eyes. The rants and raves against a system we actually are responsible for creating, would have obliterated the real story.
Yesterday 45 little girls finally had god answer their desperate prayers. Just take a moment to imagine what a child feels when its body and should is violated, when those one trusts become monsters. Think about the long days and longer nights spent in filth, cold and hunger. Envision looking at a sky that seems unreachable and try to conjure the words sent in prayer to a god that seems as remote as that piece of sky.
And think about the night that comes after the illusion of freedom as you pack your tiny belongings, in some case just a tiny handkerchief and realise that once again freedom has eluded you.
Then when all hopes seems lost forever, when the terror of what will befall you when all the people have gone and you are left to face your tormentor, a lady arrives and tells you that all is well and it is time to leave the hell hole.
That is the miracle that needs to be celebrated, a miracle that has no place for recriminations and blame, a miracle made possible by the will an indomitable spirit of a young reporter named Anchal.
here are a few images of the house of horrors. they were sneaked out during the two initial visits made by pwhy!
Powered by Qumana
by Anuradha Bakshi | Dec 1, 2006 | Uncategorized
Night was the title that Elie Wiesel chose for his account of the horrors of a concentration camp. No adjectives, no nuances, nothing, just one word night to qualify the horrors.
The little children of swami ashram spent one such night, if not worse, as there was not the night of incarceration but the one that should have spelt freedom. As I watched the pictures of these little girls clutching their tiny belongings, hope and fear written of their faces, not comprehending why in spite of the men in uniform, the kind lady, their reporter Didi of 10 days, and many others they were still there.. and as time went by they realised the unbelievable: they had to spend one more night with their tormentor.
The cold night inched away as bureaucrats of all hues raise even more absurd issues. The elusive DM was found and stated that he would act after getting the results of an enquiry commission that would start the next morn! never mind if the NCW had already decreed that the girls needed to be saved. The tormentor – a swami – sat in his office with a smug expression calling his contacts. It was the begining of a sordid game. The victims one again victimised.
When I had first heard of this ashram I knew the adversary was formidable, but I could not have imagined in my worst nightmare that the girls would not be rescued. The worst case scenario for me was that the swami would go free.
But even now the girls are in their hell hole. The story is on national TV. Viewers normally do come forward and I hope they will once again. Children need to be protected and need sensitive laws to handle them. The kids did not do anything that would warrant the abuse they have suffered.
I knew this was a to be a long battle… I will just end this with a quote by Elie Wiesel: “…to remain silent and indifferent is the greatest sin of all...”
Powered by Qumana
