I do not know how many times Xavier, my greatest supporter and friend has told me to take a ‘few’ days off. This advice often came after the many times I complained of being tired, fed up, annoyed, and close to giving up. I never heeded his advice and for the past 13 years never took a day off. My own family has also tried to coax me to take some time off, but I guess I just did not want to. Maybe it was because I felt comfortable in my ways or because I wanted to feel indispensable. And I liked my life the way it was with my morning trip to Mataji’s home, the proverbial cup of tea and tikka on my forehead that was a blessing as well as a reminder of where it had all begun. I guess it was my way of remaining grounded. Then a quick trip to the main centre to hear the children’s voice and back to my work at home as that is where I operated from. Sometimes I would visit the women centre. I had withdrawn myself to let the team find its feet and they vindicated my decision brilliantly. I really thought this would be in my grandson’s  present favourite idiom: to eternity and beyond!

But that was not to be. The holidays everyone wanted me to take would happen but in a very convoluted way. When my husband was diagnosed with cancer my life stopped for an instant. The to eternity and beyond and acquired a whole new meaning. The few days off everyone gently prodded me to take, days off from pwhy of course, mutated into something else. Cancer was a demanding mistress who not only took over the patient but his entire entourage. My few days off from pwhy would now be months and even longer. It needed getting used to, and I am doing so slowly and will sneak a bit of my past life in the crevices the crab does not find.

Happy holidays!

Almost 40 years ago, as a result one one of my mother’s legendary ‘if your brother was alive’ I sat for the (ill)famed IAS exam and got through. I then decided not to join the services. That was the pact made with mama. There were many reasons for my not wanting to join the first being that I was married with a child and that my husband worked for a PSU and there was no way I wanted to be separated from him. Another reason I can share today was that I did not want any misplaced comments comparing our careers. Some people has already made some snide remarks. But in hindsight I believe that I somehow instinctively knew that I would not last in the service for long as there were some things I could not compromise with and one of them was honesty. So rather than leave in a huff some years down the line or be suspended, I thought it wiser to withdraw and leave the place to the next person on the list. I had kept my promise to my mother and that was where it ended. I embarked on a chequered career that suited my temperament be it teaching in a university, working as an interpreter or managing conferences and events.

I had forgotten about this aspect of my life but the recent treatment of a young and honest officer who was suspended just because she had the b**** to taken on a mafia revived old memories. Seeing this young woman’s face on TV fills me with a mixed bag of emotions. I feel sad, angry, repulsed but also so terribly proud of her. I hope she gets the support she deserves and comes out a winner. But somehow I feel this will not happen. So many whistle blowers have been killed or simply forgotten in some dark corner. The state simply plays lip service, talks about a whistle blower’s bill but it remains that: just talk.

I was horrified to hear a politician brag about how he got this young woman ‘removed’ in 41 minutes. IAS officers are the executive branch of our government and need to be given the space to work independently and consciously. They are not subservient to wily politicians who ridicule and belittle them. The fault of this young braveheart was to taken the sand mafia. She was doing her job. But as e know mafias enjoy political protection so she had to pay the price.

In my mixed career I too has trysts with corruption. It was quite a shock for me as most of the time I could not understand what was happening. In 1982 when I was working as Advisor Protocol for the IX Asian Games – at the fabulous salary of rupee one a month – I first encountered corruption when one of my PAs, a lovely man named Parwana Sahib, honest to the core and with not a mean bone in him, came to my office and told me that most of the staff assigned to me was not willing to stay as they knew they would not be able to ‘make money’ with me at the helm. I told him I understood and asked him how many were willing to stay. He told me 2. Six wanted to leave. I asked him whether he was one of those staying and he smiled his wonderful smile. I functioned with 2 staff and we met all our targets and did a great job.

During those days we were housed at Pragati Maidan and some of the fancy hotels of the time has outlets on the fair grounds. That was where we got our tea or meals. My second encounter with corruption was around the corner. I had ordered tea and some sandwiches and was surprised when i was told that there was no bill. I insisted I wanted one and proudly paid my 13 rupees but was still perplexed as to why there was no bill. Mr Parwana Sahib who would soon become my mentor in these issues explained that as there were contract for big parties that still had to be awarded, and that was the prerogative of our section, this was a way of soliciting. My answer was simple: there were 3 parties and 3 hotels, each one would get one party! Along the way I saw many avatars of corruption and was repelled by each of them.

Things have far from improved and the question is how long are we going to vote back time and time again people who have let us down hook line and sinker. People who make promises but are unwilling to keep them. How long will the honest have to pay and the dishonest thrive. How long will the people of this country have to wait to see their rights restored to them.

I wish I knew. But as long as there are people like this young woman aptly named Durga, there is still hope however bleak.

I salute this young woman.

Apologies for a post that is going to be personal and maybe a tad mushy! But in my defence it is probably the first one of its kind. As some of you may know, my husband was diagnosed with Hodgkin’s disease, a cancer of the lymph nodes. This after a year of his being ill and every test imaginable giving no indication. The months preceding the diagnosis were difficult ones for me as I saw Ranjan fading slowly. We both kept a brave face through the visits to doctors and more doctors and the innumerable blood tests. scans and MRIs. When finally the diagnosis was confirmed my blood ran cold. Cancer was the one thing I never wanted as it had snatched both my parents from me in the span of not even 2 years, leaving me orphaned at 39! That it should once again strike the one person that was able to fill the terrible void of my parents’ death was terribly unfair. I was angry and terrified at the same time. Why me again.

Being an only child of parents much older than you is not easy. Add to that a nomadic life that takes you from one corner of the world to another every three years makes it that much more difficult. You land in a country with the wrong colour of skin, an unpronounceable name that gives your peers lot of meat to bully you, is not easy. But you soldier on, make your place in the sun and when you think you have finally succeeded, you are told to pack your life again and move on. So you device coping strategies: imaginary friends, chats with yourself in front of a mirror, you master the art of reading so that you can become one of the Famous Five or Marie Curie depending what age you are. You learn to get along with adults much earlier than other kids. You try to keep up with friends through letters but soon lose them. So you learn to accept and love solitude that you manage well.

Recently I was told that not having siblings and having had a tumultuous childhood made me incapable of valuing relationships. The words hurt deeply. But life went on. I knew I had to carry on bearing my cross alone, if need be.

At first I had thought I would keep this news to myself. Ranjan told his two best friends. I had one best friend but she left us last year way before her time.

One of the many sleepless nights I have gone through, it occurred to me almost as an epiphany that I had a family, a huge one, one that I had made over the last 13 years with my soul and heart: the pwhy family. It was time to come out of the closet, in a manner of speech. I first told a few friends, then started a blog – writing is my catharsis. The response was overwhelming and moving. From all over the world came prayers, advise, messages of support, of love, hugs galore and above all words of hope. I realised I was no more alone, that there were so many I could reach out to and who were there for me.

This has made up for all the friends I never had. I feel blessed, humbled and very small.

Hey guys you take my breath away.

I normally never put up large sized pictures on my blog but my pathetic photo talent makes me do so in this one so that you get the picture. The road you see is in front of the DDA market close to our house (Guru Nanak Market) and was tarred beautifully less than a week ago. Of course while they were tarring the road I had two disconnected thoughts. One related to people making money on the run with elections around the corner and the other was about the total disregard for water recycling as rain water had no way to percolate. At least when some bits where left out, some of the water did seep down.

Imagine my shock when two days later I visit the market for some errand and see men happily digging the newly tarred road and bright orange pipes lying along the side. Now why in heaven’s name did the ones who were to place the pipes not stop the ones laying the tar and place their pipes and then tar the road.

But darling this is India. No one talks to no one. Makes better sense for corrupt pockets. One tars and makes money; one digs and places pipes and makes money; then one tars again and so on.

This reminds me of some hilarious moments, hilarious in hindsight, of the IX Asian games in 1982 where I was protocol in charge. We had zillions of committees all headed by luminaries and I always wondered why they never met together as each had plans that could be different from another’s. I was naive then too. Naive and honest. Not a recipe for success. So when we did have a meeting some days before the event we realised that entrances that we as protocol had decided upon for some social events were the very ones the Security committee wanted absolutely sealed. Security had precedence of course and as we never have plan B in our heads it was an absolute nightmare. We excel at crisis management so no one knew what had happened.

But coming back to our road story would it not be better if before taring roads the said department checked with all departments that lay pipes if they were envisaging to do so in the near future. But what am I saying. Darling this is India and public money is meant for spending!

To say that we as a nation are insensitive is as sad as it is true. The latest example of this is an ad placed by the Delhi police to raise funds for its youth training campaign. The bye line used : “Help him learn how to chop an onion. Before someone teaches him how to chop a head.” The child in the picture is between 12 and 14. Child activists are up in arms. The creator of the campaign is trying his best to explain the bigger picture if there is any! It is obvious that the child in the advertisement is not yours or mine, but one from the other side of the fence, the kind everyone gives up on. he child destined to be ‘chop onions’ and the ‘heads’. The soft target for every bad deed that takes place in his immediate environment. The one everybody has decided can have no ambitions or dreams.

There are many aberrations in this ad! I will not delve on them. The ad also goes against the laws of the land be it child labour or Right to Education. Those only look good on paper. If they were properly enacted and implemented then no child would be working in our city. Just one look around and you find them helping their fathers at an eating stall, cleaning dishes at another one or tagging along their mums and learning how to clean houses and utensils. It is for the Delhi Police to ensure that child labour does not persist. Instead they come up with an ad that gives kids the options of chopping onions and should they not accept this then they are bound to be chopping heads. No matter what circumvented explanation anyone tries to put forth, to me it is nothing short of gory and unacceptable. Instead of ensuring that no child works and every kid attends schools, the Police is offering them a strange choice.

Every child has the right to dram and dream big. Even a kid born on the roadside had the right to
become what he wants. When we began classes more than 10 years ago for a bunch of gypsy kids on their roadside camp a young lad, around 14, joined our classes just because we had some foreign volunteers. Like every kid his age, he liked ogling at young girls, more so if they were blonde and pretty. Sanjay, however continued to study with us, unlike some of his pals who left along the way. I often use to tell these nowhere children that they too had a right to dream big, and that dreams did come true. Sanjay finished school and joined pwhy as a teacher. That was a great story in itself!

One day a film maker wanted to make a film on a feel good subject and to me the gypsy lad turned teacher seemed a great one. However that is not what it turned out to be. Sanjay shared his dreams with the film maker. He wanted to go to Bollywood. It did not quite happen but Sanjay became a model and walked the ramp not only in India but in Paris! Gypsy boy to ramp model! And he even starred in a movie aptly called Bollywodd Boulevard! Everything is possible.

Yet for too many, children who are born in underprivileged homes are destined to failure. This is not the way it should be.

The midday meal programme could have been a boon for India’s children just as ICDS should have been. But Alas, though the programme was conceived impeccably the implementation and the monitoring was left in the itchy hands of the corrupt or as maybe, and apologies if it sounds cynical, its failure was seeded in its implementation as is the view of an activist who quips, “Perhaps the government does not want the scheme to function properly. They want problems to be created so that people ask them to stop the scheme altogether. Maybe they want to hand over the scheme to some corporate organisation”. It is tragic that 23 children had to lose their lives for the scheme to be exposed.

I agree with this view as it is one that is evident in many so called social programmes. Let us take education which is now a constitutional right. If every child was truly educated the profile of India would be transformed to the detriment of the political masters. Yet they want to look good to the world so after 6 decades of Independence they finally vote a Right to Education bill that defies all logic. Free education is from 6 to 14. What happens before 6 and post 14. An enigma. The pass percentage is as low as 33%. Looks good as statistics but does not get you anywhere. Then instead of sprucing their schools that stand on prime land but are often dilapidated, they come up with a 25% reservation for ‘poor’ children, setting criteria that allow access to middle class kids whose parents are willing to take some not so honest shortcuts. I state this with responsibility as I have witnessed it. So the idea that the state does not want the midday meal to work makes sense. Just as they rushed privatisation of education, they would be too happy to hand over the midday meal to corporates. Feeding 1. million kids makes good business sense. What one forgets was that when the scheme had been thought of, the idea was to have mothers and the community cook this meal! But surreptitiously things mutated to enable corrupt individuals to get their pound of flesh. Mothers mutated into NGOs often set up by interested parties or private contractors. Quality went for a free fall and nutrition too. Insects and lizards, worms and ultimately pesticides that resulted in the death of children.

The situation is terrible. Portions are insufficient. Conditions unhygienic. Utensils dirty. The list is endless. The reality is that no one cares for the children who are treated like a burden. No one is really interested in their well being and proper nutrition. The monitoring is on existent.

When after the terrible incident of Chappra, teachers were asked to taste the food, they went up in arms and even suggested that it be ‘tasted’ by street dogs. Though this was promptly shot down, it shows the attitude teachers have towards poor children. According to me teachers and students should partake of the midday meal together! Maybe that would change things.

What all this shows is the inability, intended or real, of the State to implement and monitor any social programme. All they excel at is formulating and drafting more and more of the same to gain political support that translate into votes.

The question is who will or rather can bell the cat