Yesterday I went to a party, yes me the recluse put on her best clothes and best face and accompanied the husband to the engagement party of a golfing buddy of his, the same person whose house I visited a while back and  wished I had sunglasses on to protect me from the glare of the artefacts on display. It was the most over the top house I had ever seen. Yesterday was the daughter’s engagement and one pair of sun glasses would not have been enough. I also discovered that there was a fountain modelled on the Trevi one in Rome spurting precious water at the entrance of the house. I guess I missed it the last time as it was not on. Anyway, everything is Italian in this house. It was, by Delhi standards a small party but everything on offer was uber special. My best clothes paled in front of the glitter and dazzle of the ladies, but somehow it made me stand out. I have always liked that! The guest list was a mix of people who as usual did not know each other and I sat myself on an expensive sofa, hoping the colour of my outfit would not run on the pristine white and gold of the priceless seat. Music was playing through a piped system and there were flowers everywhere. There was an abundance of drinks, soft and hard,  but I settled with my all time favourite H2O. As the husband and I had eaten our vegan food before, we did not eat, but I feasted my eyes on the abundant vegetarian fare on offer with name cards stating what the dish was. I did a double take when I read: Yakitori in a martini glass! It was actually a vegetarian skewer sitting in an empty martini glass! Do a few pieces of vegetables on a skewer become a starred dish if placed in a swanky glass. Maybe they do.

We did not stay long as we were not planning to dine. On the way back, it took some time to get back to reality. After some silent moments, the husband and I shared thoughts about the evening and both of us wondered at the many ways the rich spend their money. If I had surplus money and no project why, I really wonder how I would spent it. I have been blessed from the time I was born to a surfeit of everything and am more than satiated. True there have been times, like now perhaps, where a few extra pennies would be welcome to patch up some cracks in the wall, but what the hell, the cracks have their own story to tell and life is good with them, but I really do not know what I would do were I to win a lottery and not be allowed to use it on project why.

As we reached the traffic light close to home, it turned red and within no time a young girl maybe 7 or so with a baby at her hip knocked at the car window. It must have been well past 9pm. The work day had not ended for these two children of India. That knock was felt deep in the gut by both of us as the husband worded what we both felt: why does this not outrage us?

I ask you that question again: why do we not get outraged when we see children begging! The we here is a collective one. It is me, you and above all the people who are supposed to make and implement decisions, programmes and even Constitutional Rights. Remember the Constitution that everyone quotes and which has a Preamble where WE, the People of India resolve to give all its citizens social, economic and political justice and equality of status and opportunity! Does the child that begs at the red light have equality of status and social justice. And by the way that child also has a right to free and equitable education! Let us forget for a moment about all the other goodies that are sought in her/his name and that we diligently pay for in the form of taxes and ceases. Let me remind you that Delhi has a 2% cess on Primary Education that you pay each time your kid has a hamburger at Mc Donald’s. Where does this money go? And how come the kid that begs at the red light not go to an anganwadi as stipulated by the ICDS that has been in force circa 1975 and according to which every child born in this country has a right to nutrition, immunisation and even  proper psychological, physical and social development! And the programme is still very much on the anvil as recruitments for the said programme are on going. So how come these kids are not part of this programme.

I refuse to believe that politicians, government officials and supposedly responsible citizens do not travel along the roads of the capital and do not encounter such children. How come no one sees them and wonders why they have fallen off the safety net we all pay for. Why does this not outrage everyone and compels us to do something. True they are not our kids and not vote banks so why care.

Not one of the candidates in on going elections speaks about beggar children, malnutrition deaths @ 5000 a day or hunger and yet they exist. No one talks about the abysmal condition of habitat for the poor even in the wake of a recent fire that engulfed 700 homes last week in the country’s capital. Millions continue to live in squalor quietly servicing the rich who enjoy their yakitoris in martini glasses.

The two Indias are not divided but live side by side. The problem is that one of the sides has blinkers on their eyes and refuses to acknowledge the existence of the other.

M died yesterday. Another victim of the dreaded crab. Another unsuspecting victim of the medical system that feeds on the patient’s trust and panders false hope. M was not even forty, a mother of 4 children the youngest being just 2. I have known M for almost a decade. A feisty woman with a quick temper that could flare at any moment, M was a survivor, a survivor at any cost. When pwhy was just in its infancy and I still naive, she came to me asking for a job. Upon hearing that she had finished school, I suggested she join the team as a primary teacher.

Two years ago, when she was at the end of her fourth pregnancy – in her case she had 3 sons and wanted a girl – she told me about a suspicious lump in her breast. At that time I was not as knowledgeable as I am now, but still I gave her some advise on nutrition and also asked her to meet my Tibetan doctor which she did. But how can a stem of innocuous pills given after a mere checking of the pulse compete with scanners and toxic potions administered in nuclear war like environment. And though I had entreated her to continue taking her pills even if she opted for conventional therapies, I guess the pills must be still lying in the corner of her home.

I know that M and her husband must have been every angry with my adverse reactions to conventional medicine and my pleas to stop eating meat – M belongs to a community where pork is a must – and eat seasonal vegetables and fruit. Meat in their community is a sign of abundance and wealth, and her I was asking them to take it off their table. I know they never did.

A few days after our ‘chat’, M informed me that they had found a cancer hospital – private of course – that was offering a 100 000 package deal that she was convinced would cure her. I tried again to tell about the way cancer operates and that cure in conventional terms is just five years + one day, but the look on her face made me stop my spiel. She had been seduced and fallen hook, line and sinker for the treatment on offer. She was operated upon and given radio and chemo therapy and suffered all the terrible side effects it entailed, but also lymphedema of one arm which resulted in one of her arms being swollen and practically non functional.

I presume that hospitals do not counsel patients sufficiently and in spite of her swollen arm M though she was cured. I guess the follow up protocol was not followed and the cancer spread rapidly and by the time they realised that she was ill again it was too late.

I felt so sad and helpless and angry when I heard about her death. With the knowledge I have today, I feel confident that had she listened to me, she would have not relapsed so early, but then a person who tells you to eat certain things and give up others becomes non-grata forever.

In the case of people like M, who have no medical insurance and little money, alternative therapies should be an option. Yet they are not. Often such persons feel that we are denying them something we have benefitted from for ages and that they have toiled for and just accessed. Though it makes me sad, I can well understand where they come from. Imagine being told by one form the other side of the divide that you should not opt for swanky machines and expensive drugs but become vegan, chew some cannabis seeds or eat a few apricot seeds. It is humiliating and infuriating I agree. So you watch someone you know die because you could not beat the system whilst retaining the dignity of the other.

This is the power of modern medicine, the stranglehold of the big pharma companies, the result of the millions in marketing a treatment that does not always work, or certainly does not work on its own. I truly wish NGOs dealing with cancer would also propagate the truth about alternative options to the weaker communities. It would make all the difference between life and death.

Cancer is a word, not a sentence!

May M rest in peace and may her children be safe.

I am quite baffled by these elections as I do not think most of us know what we truly want. Early this year the capital of our country took a bold step and decided to vote for a new political party in spite of its being in its infancy. What was remarkable is that the support cut across caste, religion and social strata. I guess the reason was that they positioned themselves as a part that would fight corruption at all levels. Hence the overwhelming support they got form the poorer sections of society was understandable. But I was surprised at the kind of people who told we they were voting AAP: the  owner of a upmarket store, my doctor, my old friend known to be a long time supporter of a political party and so on. It seemed that everyone was fed up with the existing political system and wanted change. People believed in them and gave them their trust. The mood was euphoric. Everyone truly felt that the humble broom would transform into a magic wand at the stroke of midnight and solve all problems. One can understand the elation of the poor who saw dreamt of free water and cheap electricity and the hope of the perennially extended hand of the policemen vanish, but what about us who voted with alacrity, did we stop to ponder before believing?

What happened next is for all to see. Sleeping with the enemy to acquire power. Was it hubris or falling into a well honed trap? Perhaps a bit of both as power is the most potent drug on earth and when it comes so close, few if any can resist it and though they did not expect it, how could they resist. I guess we who casted our vote in favour of this new party, never felt they would come to power. It was a surprise for all. The wise thing would have been to desist from power and have another election that would have given a more definitive result.

The 49 days saw change that unfortunately was forgotten when the party demitted office. Few remember the audit of state run schools and hospitals of the simple fact that corruption at the lower end was contained. But we cannot cry over spilled milk. The reality is that an error of judgement at that time had brought a loss of faith in this party.

What we all forget is that this was a young party pitched against well oiled machines. We also forget that it was a movement that became a political party by force majeure and was perhaps not ready. An excellent article analyses the future of AAP and is worth reading. The author asks: The most important question facing the party is an existential one. It must define again, for its own self as to what role it seeks for itself in politics. Is it a third force challenging the Congress and the BJP or is it the second front challenging all politics? Does it seek power as an instrument of change or does it act as a political conscience keeper for the system as a whole? I believe most of us wanted it to be a political conscience keeper for the system in the first place. Once it had the structure, cadre and experience, then it could have pitched for power. Today it is at the verge of self destruction. The author feels it is important that the AAP experiment continue for it injects a vital element that has been missing in Indian politics. The AAP is attempting to redefine the very idea of democracy by making it a more participative practice. And just for that we must not write it off as such opportunities come once in a lifetime. One should not let it die.

The results are a mere two weeks or so away. Once the campaigning frenzy has died and the numbers are out, the party must do a sincere and honest evaluation of its journey and reinvent itself. Should they fail to do so, then they might just become a line in future history books.

The din of the elections is getting unbearable! More so because every day we are assaulted with speeches that sound more life a verbal warfare between individuals that often reach levels that are unacceptable. One would have hoped to hear about visions and plans for the future; about education and health as these are the foundations of any society; about employment and price rise; in a sod about how would things be better for us were to vote for one or the other candidate on the list. But what we are coerced into hearing/reading is personal and below the belt jibes about individuals or abhorrent remarks about communities. I do not care whether a man is married or not. That is his personal life and should remain so. You may remember that the world came to know about the existence of the love child of a President at his funeral and no one cared. Quite the opposite people were touched that all his loved ones were there.

Elections should be about what matters. It should not turn into a free for all where decency and basic courtesy are cast to the wind. I wonder if people really believe that these kind of shenanigans cut ice with anyone. Washing dirty laundry in public, slandering one another, bringing in family and personal relationships is in poor taste.

I am a little concerned about the hubris that seems to have permeated one and all. The nomination filing roadshow of one of then star candidates was quite something. It seemed worthy of Bollywood with a heart wrenching script, pomp and colour, and all the needed props. There was a dangerous frenzy in the whole show that reminded me of some of the worst event of past history where individuals were glorified and deified. It seems that one man has the magic wand that will solve all problems. This is what many think and to me this may just be this person Achille’s heel. If he wins, imagine the victory parade!

What is done is done and cannot be undone. We want to know about the future. How will each one address the matters that concern us as individuals and as a country. How long will we have to hang our heads in shame when we hear about children dying by the minute, rapes occurring each day or when we are asked the question is India safe!

I am also sick and tired hearing about models: the Gujarat model, the toffee model, the son-in-law model and God know what else may still come our way. Some want us to believe that Gujarat is a Shangri La within India and were its model to be projected on the whole country all our problems will vanish. Others want us to believe that this is not the case at all and the reality is quite the opposite and has the worst social indices. I as a normal being am uncomfortable with both views.

I was comforted when I read an article entitled Gujarat- Its Smelly, Its Dusty , Its Poor. Its India. It is worth a read. It shows you that  if  you keep your eyes, ears (and nose) open, Gujarat is just another   smelly, congested, dusty, inept  Indian state stuck firmly to India’s side to its West.

What we need is a model for India. Wonder who will give us that.

Sometimes all it takes to put a big smile on my face is browsing through my almost ten thousands pictures of project why spanning the fourteen past years of my life and finding the one that will lift the cloud of the moment. It can just be a happy face, a tender memory, a funny incident or simply be reason enough for a good pat on my back!

These pictures were taken by a young photographer who posted them on FB – God bless FB – and were snapshots I have never seen. I just could not help smiling and grinning like the proverbial Cheshire cat. It is true that I see these kids, but not as often as I would like in recent times, put I always prompt a hurried and harried: say good morning to Ma’am by the teachers and dutifully the children rise and chorus a rehearsed and droning Good Morning Maaaa’m. Some smiles, but their smiles seem contrived, others – the new ones- look frankly scared. As I am always short of time I beat a hasty retreat.

I sometimes wish I could be a fly on the wall to share real moments with my 1000 kids. As things stand today this seems a pipe dream. But maybe, if I can conjure the miracle of ensuring sufficient funds for pwhy and am still not too old and creaky, I will spend my last days on earth with these kids.

When I ask my staff to get photographs because I need them, they dutifully do so. But not being professionals, again the pictures seem stage managed.

So it is pure delight when a kind photographers offers to offer his/her time and gifts me these precious snapshots and the smiles that go with them.

Thank you Aditya.

Respected Prime Minister,

I chose to write to you today as we still do not know who you will be, though the guesses are few, but somehow writing to a yet anonymous person is easier for me. Let me too remain anonymous though I can tell you that I am a child, who remain anonymous and voiceless. I was born in this city and live in a small shanty house with my family of 6. Our room is so tiny that after fitting one bed there is no place to move but my mother does everything to make it feel like home. Like many others from our village, my parents came to the big city to look for a better life, if not for themselves, at least for their children. They thought that in the big city their children could be educated and have a better chance in life. My parents are illiterate. My father is a daily wager and my mother looks after me and my siblings. 

My home has a tin roof and one small fan but at night we barely fight in it. There are mosquitoes as our slum is tucked away in between factories and a dirty drain goes by it, and we spent many sleepless nights. Last year my brother got malaria and as there is only one quack in our area, he did not treat him right and by the time we rushed to the hospital which is faraway, it was too late for him.
The house is lower than the road so when it rains the room gets flooded. My mother had to fight every day to get enough water and we have to go to the toilet in the open. But at least I can walk and run not like my friend Radha who has a bone disease and walks on her hand. Her house too is very small and when her little brother walks over her, he limbs get broken. In the 12 years of her life she has had more than 50 fractures. Were her house big, this would not have happened. So I guess I am lucky. On my way to school, I see little children begging and looking at them, I feel I should stop complaining. But Sir, do you see them too, and if you do, why don’y you do anything for them?

I do go to school but Sir, how can you study in a class of 80 children and learn anything. My parents cannot afford private tuition and the teachers do not teach us anything. I am lucky because I go to a project before school and they teach me, but my friends move from class to class without learning. I know a boy who is in class VII and cannot even read. I am told that every child has a right to free and quality education so Sir how come I do not get my right. But then at least I go to school. What about the child that begs at the street light. Do you ever look at her when you stop at a light but I forgot big people like you do not stop at lights, you just whizz through. Maybe you should stop at lights and see these children.

I know there have been many schemes to help the poor as we are called, though I do not consider myself as poor as I am better than the beggar child, but they do not reach us. We do not have the papers needed and my parents do not know how to get all that is required to get some cheaper food. You see you need to know people or pay money and we have neither. There are days when my father does not get work and we go to sleep hungry. My mother makes us drink some chilli water and then we have to drink more water and somehow our stomach gets filled. And this goes for every programme that is made for the ‘poor’. The ones who really deserve it remain invisible and anonymous. The reservation you made in good schools for 25% of ‘poor’ children will never reach us.  Wily people become ‘poor’ as they know how to get papers and their children study in these good schools. I see all the nice buses that pass by as I walk to my school which is very far from my slum.

When we sing patriotic songs at school and salute the flag, I do feel proud of being Indian even though my life looks miserable. But what if I told you that my mother always smiles and tells us that there will be better times and I Sir, am determined to beat the odds whatever they may be. I will make my dreams come true.

But Sir, when you come to power, will you give a thought to us invisible people who are part of this society and give it our best, even if we remain unseen. 

I hope you do. Maybe you could just start by stopping at a red light and looking deep into the eyes of the little girl who will knock at your window. And if you, open the eyes of your heart.

A child of India