by Anuradha Bakshi | Nov 28, 2006 | Uncategorized
Good dreams slip through the hole, and bad dreams get caught in the web.. says an old Chippewa tradition… whereas the Lakota tribe believes that good thoughts get retains in the web while bad ones slip through the hole… which ever way I wish I had a dream catcher today..
One that would ensure that Nanhe continues to smile, .. one that would protect all the tiny tomorrows that we hold in our hands today..
My first blog about Nanhe was entitled when today is over, as I feared for his life from the very instant I saw him smile as his smile was one to die for.
True that Nanhe was a child without tomorrows but we still invested in his smile wanting to give him all we could and make his stay with us as happy as possible. And frankly many a time, he showed us the way as our problems paled in front of his. And soon we were all addicted to his huge smile that lit even the darkest moment. There were many a stay in hospital, many nights of excruciating pain, seizures and incontinence but he never stopped smiling. And last week I was thrilled to see that Nanhe had taken on the role of a mentor to little Himanshu.
That night I even dared dream about many tomorrows for Nanhe. But that was not to be. The next day I learnt that he was back in hospital and this time things were not quite right. His BP shot up, his seizures multiplied and the pain was agonising.
Nanhe is back home, still in pain and it seems that the men in white have given up. Today there was no smile..
At moments like these I feel helpless and hopeless. True that we knew that one day his frail body would give up and so would the smile. I do not know what to say to his brave mother who refuses to give up and looks at us with desperate eyes for some reassurance.
Yes I wish I had a dream catcher…
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by Anuradha Bakshi | Nov 28, 2006 | Uncategorized
A few days back little Deepak went back home after his heart surgery and tomorrow little Anil goes for his. Statistically speaking they are no 8 and 9 in pwhy’s heart repair shop!
It was just over three years ago that we answered a desperate plea from a great father . Raju was operated upon and the matter could have ended there. But not with Sitaram who decided to help others. That is how from 1 heart surgery we have reached 9.
But this is not the reason for this post. What prompted me to write it is something quite different. As I sat writing an update on Deepak a few days back, I realised how easy it is to become inured to things, no matter how extraordinary they are. During operation no 1 I remember writing regular updates,almost giving a blow by blow account of the surgery and how numerous were the answers either seeking more information or just sending support.
Three years and 8 surgeries down the line, the situation is different: the updates were answered with an almost deafening silence. I sat and pondered for a long time about the possible reasons. Had the situation changed in anyway. Difficult to say as I am sure that the pain and anguish of Raju’s mother was in no way greater than that of Deepak’s or Anil’s. What could be different was the fact that to many this was something we had done earlier and almost become masters at . Once again we were in that space that frightens me: the comfort zone.
No matter how dramatic the event, it does not take log for it to become jaded. We are always on the look out for something new to admire, support, criticise and reach out to. Yet there are things that need our continuous support as no matter what way you look at them, they are still extraordinary.
by Anuradha Bakshi | Nov 25, 2006 | Uncategorized
Where did I buy my last jometry quipped little Kiran.
For a few moments I was perplexed then it dawned on me: she was referring to a pencil box a.k.a. geometry box. I am sure many remember the rather ungainly tin box that we carried to school many years back and that included all geometry implements and pencils and rubbers.
Somewhere the word box got dropped and the tin box acquired many an avatar, but to school children from the other side of the divide the name jometry remained.
Jometry today for most slum kids is the word to define all shades and hues of the precious pencil box they carry to school.
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by Anuradha Bakshi | Nov 24, 2006 | Uncategorized
Every morning before I set out for the day, I watch the news on TV. A old habit become more relevant since pwhy began as one has to be anchored in the reality that surrounds us.
One is prepared for news about violence and bombs. one is even resigned to the fact that a large chunk of the bulletin will be hogged by sports and bollywood. One even braces one’s self for some item on child abuse…
I switched on the idiot box expecting to see yesterday’s Baghdad blast and was in no way prepared for what was about to hit me. The lead news today was about three little girls age 6. 7 and 11 who were rescued from an upmarket home after 3 years of torture and abuse. They were domestic workers..
As one of the girls relived the belts and sticks, the chili in her eyes, and the camera zoomed on her scalded badly healed hands, I was unable to stop the tears that ran down my cheeks. Soon I found myself weeping uncontrollably: they were tears of anger, of rage, of extreme sadness, of helplessness, of shame..
The ordeal of the little girls did not stop there. Yes we have a child labour law, yes we have a juvenile justice act, we boast of child protection legalese, and are signatories to the UN convention for Children’s Rights but once rescued by an NGO the little girls spent 5 days in the cop station. The state of H does not have a juvenile home, the district magistrate – a woman – refused to comment, the law did not allow them to come to neighbouring Delhi. The perpetrators however were released on bail.
The disturbing image of the little girl with scalded hands refused to go away. 2 and half years of torment , that meant she was just 5 when the descent to hell began. And the tormentors,they lives in a city not a barren island, did no one see their plight or did everyone turn their face away as usual. And how could people treat children this way. Why did these tiny children have to work. Why are the laws made for children so full of gaping holes. How can we hope for redemption when we are not able to protect our children. Who gives us the right to shatter children’s dreams. The little scalded hands were not meant to scrub, and clean but to play with a doll, be held and caressed.
Questions that need answers but who will answer them..
God of Lesser beings are you listening
by Anuradha Bakshi | Nov 23, 2006 | Uncategorized
I had to share this picture with you! This is a Kodak moment of the afternoon session of our bran new Govindpuri primary extension. the room we have is so tiny that it is only sufficient to lock up the meagre resources we have. Classes are held on the roof as the weather is clement these days.
Just two weeks back this centre did not exist, and most of these kids wandered on the streets. Today its is cracking at the seams and filled with laughter, joy and above all hope.
As soon as we were spotted by one of the kids, there was a scramble down the stairs to open the door and usher us into this new world. The children almost fell over each other as they ran down the tiny stairs and greeted us.
These children are just like yours and mine: eager, mischievous and eager to imbibe whatever we can teach them, still hungry for more. Their guileless trust makes us painfully aware of the responsibility that rests on our shoulders, as somehow we have become the ones who may just fulfil their wildest dreams.
But can we?
by Anuradha Bakshi | Nov 23, 2006 | Uncategorized
Deepak has a brand new heart or rather has got his broken heart fixed. A huge T shaped scars is ample proof of that.
We first met Deepak almost 5 months ago when he was 8 months old. He needed heart surgery but his family did not have the required money. We raised it with the help of some kind hearts and believed that in a matter of days or at most weeks all would be well.
But that was not to be. What should have a simple walk to the OT turned out to be an obstacle race in today’s India. Deepak first encountered the hydra headed monster called reservation. any a times we was turned away from the portals of the most prestigious hospital in our country.
His tired body gave up once and his heart even stopped beating but his will to live was formidable. He came back to life again but the battle was not over, a huge abdominal abscess delayed the procedure again.
Last week D day finally dawned and his surgery was performed with success and soon he will be back to his little home and ready to start a new life.
I wonder what life has in store for him? His family is poor and illiterate. His father barely earns enough to keep the family going and his mom and granny stay at home. The one huge asset they have is a bond of love and are a close knit family.
We will slowly tiptoe out of his life, and then Deepak will be on his own. For a long time I wondered about his future as I more than anyone else know how much we have let our children down, particularly those who live on the other side of the impregnable yet invisible fence.
Deepak will soon find out that life is not fair, that the images he will see on TV – the family has one of course – are not meant for him. As he grows and starts going to school – the municipal one for sure – and may not become a drop out statistic if he is still around and come to pwhy. On the way he will see many ugly realities: reservation, caste division, child labour, unemployment and more. The god who heard his mom’s prayer and gave him this new hart will have to work overtime to protect and guide him at every step of life.
When I watch the news I am horrified to see that with obsessive regularity every day, some news we are ‘treated’ to some news item that confirms that life is not alright for our children. Yesterday we heard about the young slum kid who won a national yoga competition but found no one to sponsor his trip to the international meet in Italy.
Laws that protect children are broken with rare impunity, tender bodies are raped, used and abused. And we just emit of few chuckles of sympathy and carry on with our lives.
But each image robs me a few minutes of my sleep each night and urges me to do something more. I feel ashamed at my inability to reach out and help.
How can I say welcome back to our world Deepak..
