I am hurt! I had thought that some passed aberrations that plagued my personal life for quite some time had been, if not healed, at least laid to rest. I had made my peace with all the ugly and unnecessary yet distressing events that shook the very core of my family  and have left scars that can never heal on the soul of one who has never hurt a fly.

Every family has its share of issues and problems, some real, some imaginary and some created with animus. The panacea of all problems, big or small is and will always be honesty and communication remembering that there is always two sides to any conflict. When you chose to resolve a conflict by listening to only one side it always results in hostility that slowly mutates to at best indifference, or most of the times hatred.

Communicating at an early stage with all protagonists brings solutions that can lead to healing or at least understanding. When you chose to take sides all that happens is ugly words and more words, some so reprehensible that there is no coming back. One of the lessons of my parents that I cherish the most, was to always think before you speak, specially in a situation of conflict. When I was little, my mother never reprimanded me on the spot, but waited for the right moment to talk over what had happened.

Unfortunately in my situation the worst was said. I would have kept quiet and I did, till the day when unacceptable remarks were uttered about the ones I love. I withdrew and preferred keeping away and silent as I am no saint, and the things that were mouthed would had resulted in more hurt had I decided to counter them.

Alas, in spite of hoping that the status quo would remain, circumstances beyond one’s control entailed  communication and resulted in pain and anger. My simple statement urging to keep things as they were led to my being hit below the belt.

In any situation there is a thin line that should never be crossed. Once it is then, you must be prepared for the consequences. The accusation that was flung at me crossed that invisible line. I was told I do not value relationships because of a turbulent childhood and because of having no siblings!

Let us begin with the ‘turbulent’ childhood. In the dictionary turbulent means characterised by conflict disorder or confusion. I wish people understood words before using them! My childhood was a blessed one, devoid of any conflict or disorder. True it may not have been your run in the mill one as my father’s job took us the different part of the world and thus I had to deal with rupture and partings. True I had older parents who smothered with love and I admit that made me a rebel in my teens, but it was all par to the course. There was no confusion as my parents inculcated the right values and never made me believe I was a class apart. I went to regular schools and not those where expat kids went. I was never confused about who I was. I was primarily Indian with a western education. My parents taught me to  value relationships to the hilt.

I had a sibling but never knew him. I do miss him, more so today when I feel so alone and lost. I often wonder what my like would have been if he were around. I recently wrote about my feelings should anyone care to read them. I am who I am because my brother passed away. I do not understand how not having a sibling makes you incapable of valuing relationships.

And last of all I am quite shocked to be told that I do not value relationships. It have actually been checked for believing in people at the drop of a hat and have many a times paid for my credulity.

I value relationships more than anything. But if a relationship crossed the invisible line then for me it is curtains as once the line has been crossed nothing can ever heal the hurt incurred.

I know I will have to face my Maker, and I will face him with my head held high.

PS. Needed to write this post. It is my catharsis.

“People have forgotten this truth,” the fox said. “But you mustn’t forget it. You become responsible forever for what you’ve tamed. You’re responsible for your rose” wrote St Exupery in the Little Prince, a book that I have always found solace in. To some it may just be a children’s story but to me every word has a deep meaning and hidden  but only if you read the book with your heart. This quote is not about a fox and a rose but about going all the way when you extend a hand  to someone in need. If you do so there is no going back; there is no half measure and above all there is no certitude to how the future will enfold. You can make all the plans you want but you must be prepared for them to go awry and for you to have to conjure all the solutions needed. It is a one way road and you have to walk it till the end.

Two Angels landed in my life without any warning and changed my life forever. The first was Manu. Manu was the kind of being you pass on the street and never look at. To many he would be just a beggar who seemed deranged and bedraggled. He roamed a street I passed regularly. I often wondered what could have got him there, but it was a fleeting thought that disappeared in a trice. But one fateful day a heart rendering cry he let out as he was being riled by someone pierced my heart and soul in a way that I cannot describe in words. It was like a deafening cry for help targeted at me and demanding to be heard. I did hear it. The rest is history, something I have written about time and again. Manu was a mirror to my soul, the reason that really made me take the less travelled road. His mission as I see it was to show me the way at a time when I was somewhat confused and did not know which way to go. All I knew at that instant was that I had to help him. How to help a beggar who roams the streets is not written in any book, you just have to find your way. And in finding my way, a larger plan enfolded called Project Why! I made myself a promise that no one knew till maybe much later. Manu would one day have a warm bed, a set of friends; would share a meal around a table, and would watch TV to his heart’s content. To many it would have sounded ludicrous but to me it became a life and death decision.  At that moment the ‘how’ and ‘when’ were of no consequence. As time passed we moved a step at a time towards a dream that I rested in the recesses of my mind.

Project Why grew by leaps and bounds. Every day was better than the previous specially for Manu. He was bathed, fed and had his own bed in the veranda of what was our office. And when we launched our class for special kids, he was Roll no !1 So to some perhaps it could seem that the game was over, never mind the dining table or the TV. Not not for me. The small challenges and big ones we managed to overcome gave me the audacity to start dreaming big, too big. Was it hubris? I do not know. Maybe.

The idea emerged in my mind when we began thinking about long term sustainability. While on the ground the ideas were mundane – chocolates, earthen lamps, candles, paper bags and even pongamia oil soaps – my mind was busy conjuring what came to be know as Planet Why! In its first iteration that was in my head it was to be a place where Manu and his mates could grow old and die with dignity. I imagined a green building, with terracotta bricks and old style floors, with arches and little windows that would let the breeze in. It would be Manu’s home, and workplace as he was able enough to learn gardening. And the strange things is that many believed in this dream. We bought the land, drew the architectural plans and set out looking for funds. But then on a cold January Day in 2011, my dreams did not fit with those of the Gods of Lesser beings. They decided Manu had completed his mission and he breathed his last leaving me lost and rudderless. There would be no Planet Why for Manu. The best I could  do was to craft a small residential unit where Manu and a bunch of special and regular kids lived together. Yes there was a dining table, there was a TV, there was a refrigerator and cold water and special treats. Often it was Manu who decided the menu and of course we never ran out of biscuits, Manu’s all time favourite. Manu died quietly after having had his tea and biscuits. The Angel who sustained and protected me for more than a decade flew away leaving me with one unanswered question: did I fulfil the silent promise I had made to myself. When I feel a little lost , all I have to do is look at his smiling face that sits on my wall frozen in time and remember that the only way to honour his memory is to continue my journey.

The second Angel that landed on my planet was a broken one! True I had tapped his little head many a times as he lived in a tiny room adjacent to my office. He was barely one and his mother use to bathe him outside just around the time I walked into my office. He was a bonny boy with incredibly beautiful eyes. I often asked his mother when she would send him to the creche and she use to reply soon! One day in March 2002 I saw a lock on the door of their house. I was told the little fellow had fallen in to a boiling wok and was dead! I felt terrible but thought that with third degree burns maybe death was a better option than a maimed life. Imagine my surprise when I week later I was told that the baby was back! He had been sent home to die was what I was told! I walked into their tiny home and saw him swathed in bandages and as I looked into his eyes something happened and I simply said: he will live. The first few months were spent fighting for his life and every day we were treated to miracles. Soon his wounds were healed and he met all his milestones on time.

I had discovered by then that his mom was an alkie. And there I was, making plans again! We would find them a nicer home, I would give the mom a job and when he was older he would go to a good school and .. the list was endless. But the bottle was too big an adversary and even after many rehabs mom was back drinking and the child living in pure hell. When he was just 4, I sent him to boarding school. And when he was 6 his mom vanished. By then I had got his partial guardianship from the authorities. I have often written about Utpal’s story on this blog and shared the lovely and touching moments we have lived together. He has also taught me many things about life and about myself. I also made my dream of being published true as it is for him and about him that I wrote Dear Popples.

Today he is a lovely boy in class VI, a master on skates, and a regular kid who can be trying at times like any regular 11 year old! But he is a bundle of joy and a child that can amaze you many a times in the most touching manner. It has been a slow and difficult road to make him believe that he is cared for and find answers for questions that none. The most poignant one being: where is my mother? You do not lie to a child and the only honest answer you can come up with is: I do not know?  And for a kid that is not enough. Utpal had to go into therapy to deal with difficult questions in school be it what do you parents do, or sneer at his scars. Children can be very cruel. That is only one aspect of the tale. Coming back to the rose, and the fox and the responsibility, as that is where we began, reaching out to another is never as simple as one would like to think. You find a scalded kid, you nurse him back to health because you have the wherewithal, you peep into his life and find out the issues that need to be sorted out, you again think you can do it, you make plans way into the future because you think you can foresee it, and sit back and wait to watch the script you have written play itself out. But then everything goes awry and you find yourself having to rewrite it word after word as events beyond your control engulf you and you need to find your breath to carry on. So the fairy tale that began as once upon a time there was a child you got burnt and saved, his mother found a good job, the child went to school and university and found a good job and they lived happily ever after, turns into a survival story with rude awakenings at every turn.

Today Utpal’s future has to be rewritten without drama, one day at a time. You have to be prepared to do so: deal with the tantrums, the homework – my bete noire – with the tears and the questions. But you are rewarded with the smiles, the hugs, the unexpected occurrences like finding him ready at 6 am to accompany me to the temple when normally you have to battle to wake him up. You have to make him accept that he has a home and security and make others understand that he has no other place to go.

And last but not the least you have to think of the after Maam’ji days and craft a support mechanism wich can deal with the emotional as well as the financial side. Someone to mentor him, to guide him through his life and be with him at every step, and also ensure that he is never a financial liability to anyone. So it is time to create a Trust Fund for him now. I have been mulling over it and procrastinating for far too long.

It this story I do not know know who tamed who, but I know I am the one responsible for the little Angel who dropped into my life and changed it forever.

Exactly one year ago, almost to the day I was learning about Chutki, Doraemon and seeing Mamma Mia at least 4 times a day! You guessed my teacher was no other than my grandson Agastya. I had also mastered expressions like: this is my spot! The preferred toys were cars of all kinds and of course the oko aka auto rickshaw. My baby could digest a car a day and Nani was there to make it happen much to the displeasure of Mommy! For the past months my darling lives in St Louis and when we talk on skype I have to ask my daughter what he is saying as there are new expressions in his Midwest vocabulary that old Nani does not know.

Last time he kept on saying: To infinity and Beyond and I was lost as I am not  Toy Story savvy and do not know Buzz Light Year. You would not believe me but t I have been by told by my little fellow that when he lands, and that is in 5 sleeps as he says – for the uninitiated after you have slept five nights –  he will test me on the names all of Thomas the Engine and his friends and the colour they are.  I must confess I know the names but am not yet proficient in the colours. Have 5 sleeps to brush them up and learn up on Buzz whoever he is.

I like the expression to Infinity and Beyond. Somehow it appeals to me. When you google for its meaning this is what you get: There, and anywhere else, it is a hyperbole, i.e. a purposeful statement of excess beyond reason,  exaggeration as a rhetorical device or figure of speech.  There is no reasonable meaning to the term. It has amusement value. I would interpret it in a different manner. Maybe it just means walking the less travelled road, or even the road never travelled!
I like that!

Now back to my homework. I have only 4 sleeps to do it!

Think Eat Save is the theme of this year’s Environment day. Many of us often brush aside the warnings  environmentalists send our way. We often feel it does not concern us as we have plenty of everything and are quite comfortable wasting water and food, using plastic bags and so on. I urge you to read this week’s Tehelka magazine. It should move you out of the comfort zone in which you live and should really be an eye opener. We have to stop living in a fool’s paradise, believing that the money we worship will keep us safe from all the horrors that the green brigade wants us to accept.

The article begins with these words: From farm to plate, we waste 30-50% of our food even as every seventh person on earth goes hungry. With the 7 billion global population poised to grow by nearly one-third by 2075, we could rethink food or starve. The choice is now! There are one billion hungry people in the world. Quite shameful for a civilisation that I presume wants to be remembered for all the larger than life inventions that have come our way be it flying in the air, conquering space, or I guess one can say trying to compete with the Gods. On the way we had to sacrifice values like compassion and empathy to the alter of success. We can pass by beggar children without batting an eye lid, without wondering why these children are denied their rights or why people should chose to live under bridges, their meagre belongings in bundles. Have you ever watched these beggar families tending to their morning chores. I have more than once as I pass them every morning on my sway to work. Some are brushing their teeth with dirty tooth brushes, women are lighting their stoves made of a few bricks and some wood, others are already slapping their chapatis (bread) on the heated griddle. Some are still asleep. Last week I was touched beyond words when I saw a little boy, probably 3 years old washing two decrepit soft toys with a tiny bit of soap and a small can of water. A few weeks back I saw a young woman wrapped in a thin sari bathing on the main road. Her daughter was helping her and scrubbing her back while the woman tried to make sure that her sari did not slip and reveal her body and maintain the shreds of her dignity. It was I who felt ashamed as I and all of us were in some way responsible for her plight.

Have you ever asked yourself how the poor survive in your city. The kind of homes they live in. How they earn their daily bread. I will answer you in one word: with dignity, dignity and a smile. Their houses or what goes by that name are often dark sunk in holes with a corrugated tin roof. The rooms are tiny and often house more than 5 or 6 people. In the heat they are ovens where you can barely breathe. Often rucked between factories in places like Okhla, they are often surrounded by open drains that spew chemicals laden water. Many are daily wage workers who sit around at specified points hoping someone will that day need a carpenter, mason or simply someone to carry loads. If they work there is food on the table provided they have not returned via the watering hole. You will be surprised how many liquor shops, run by the State, exist in the most unlikely places. They are great revenue earners. Many of these sleep hungry. Many of them are malnourished children. Many of them are anemic moms with tiny babies. Many have to fight for water as water is scarce. Many are in deep debt to the local money lender as they often have to borrow to manage a meal or a medical emergency. Most of them left their villages because the land was not giving them enough to survive on. And the city, with its mad building frenzy, was always in need of cheap labour.

Most of these people do not know what their rights are, are barely aware of the innumerable social programmes that are initiated for them at regular intervals, following a political time table that they are unaware of. The fruits of these programmes are often hijacked because of their ignorance or because of the wiliness of those who are better educated and have learnt the ropes. I guess it is time for us to think of the millions who go hungry and take ownership of the problem so that solutions can be found.

Charity begins at home it is said. So maybe it is time we honestly look at ourselves. The article states that at least 30 percent of the food that survives bad roads and poor storage is simply thrown away.  This is not only in rich countries. It happens in India, the land where 5000 children still die every day. Look at the waste at each wedding, at each party or religious feeding. Look at the food we leave in our plates. Look at the food we leave in restaurants. Tehelka went looking in rich homes dustbins! Do look in yours. We urbanites waste 100kg of food per person per year. This is shocking and criminal. Ponder over this: Forget swank hotels in the metros, a city like Bhubaneswar wastes around 26,000 tonnes of food in its restaurants, food joints, social gatherings and households annually. That works out to around 70 tonnes of food wasted on a daily basis. Even if we were to put out a decent meal of 275 g a person, this could feed close to 95,000 people. Is it not time we started doing something. Think next time you shop!

The sad part that has shocked me over the last 10 years when I have worked with slum people, is the amount of food the urban poor waste. I have always checked my staff, but often to no avail. There is a uncontrollable urge to fill your plate and then leave part of it that goes into the dustbin. I have seen rice, chapatis, and vegetables thrown in the garbage, and food wasted at marriages in the slums. Is waste an indicator of having climbed the social ladder by one rung. In slums water is wasted, food is wasted, electricity is wasted with impunity! This makes my blood boil.

Water soon become scarce and that is because again we feel that water is perennial. Just this morning I saw workers cementing the little strip of soil that was still there between the concrete road and the so called pavement. That tiny strip allowed some water to percolate into the soil. The reason for this inane idea is probably a last ditch effort to rake in some money before the coming elections. All the cementing is choking the remaining trees and killing them slowly. It takes a lot of water to produce food. If our diet is 80 percent plant and 20 percent animal products, the water needed to produce that quantity of food will be around 1,300 m3 or half an Olympic-size swimming pool per person per year. One kilogram of meant needs 50 times more water than one kilogram of vegetables. Should we not turn at least partly vegetarian if not fully!

But to grow food you need good quality top soil. This top soil takes thousands of years  to form. Top soil erosion is the biggest environmental danger. 60 years is all it will take to exhaust the earth’s top soil if business as usual continues. Only last year, the world lost an estimated 24 billion tonnes of topsoil — blown off by wind, washed away by water, made sterile by chemicals or simply covered with concrete. The fingers points at us Delhizens as we see this happening in front of our eyes and say nothing. We cynically brush it away as ‘yet another way for politicians and corrupt bureaucrats to make money’! The amount of concrete that has been laid in front of our eyes is mind blogging. As I write these words the last tiny stretch of soil is being covered! Now there is not a square mm of top soil visible in front of our house. 60 years is not eternity. If we do not do anything now our children and grand children will starve unless we ‘invent’ a food pill or find a way to consume money, the God we all pray to!

Water is wasted by each one of us every day. Overflowing tanks, washing cars, watering huge lawns etc. How many of us in Delhi have bothered installing a rain harvesting system? Mea Culpa too! WE simply complain when drains overflow and streets are water logged. A simple water harvesting system would take care of that. And don’t tell me you cannot afford it. Just give up a couple of meals at your favourite restaurant.

I was also surprised and a tad amused to see an article on obesity in the special issue on Environment. The world produces 4 billion tonnes of food every year, enough to feed its 7 billion people. Yet, every seventh person on earth sleeps hungry. Is it only because we waste 30-50 percent of our food? Or do 2.6 million children die of malnutrition every year because another 40 million under the age of five are overweight? Ironically, obesity has already become a bigger killer than starvation. Think about it. I am sure we can do something on this one!

The special issue of Tehelka as more information and also many success stories that are like oasis in the desert but prove that we can change things of we act now. I will not enumerate them. If what I have written has been a wake up call then go on line and read the rest. You do not even have to walk out in the heat to purchase a copy. It is on line!

If you believe in some of what I have written then there a few things you can do now. Buy one of those contraptions that alert you loud and clear, a  bit like railway station announcements, that ‘tank is full, please switch off the pump’. It also has entertainment value as you smile each time you heart the electronic voice. Make sure you buy as much as you need. You do not have to go to wholesale markets and purchase groceries and vegetables for an army. You have vegetable vendors who come to your door step from dawn to even late night. They are a little more expensive but remember they feed their families so you would be doing a good deed! If you have a garden, even a small one and a lawn that needs constant watering why don’t you try to grow a forest. Yes you can! You will be saving water and also helping the earth heal!

Look at your dustbin every day and work towards ensuring that no edible food is thrown away. If you cannot eat it, then I am sure you can find a cow or other animal who would. Don’t look at beggars with contempt or cynicism. Look at them as people fighting to keep alive in the same land where you thrive.

Scream at your local representative each time you see more concrete being laid or trees being suffocated. We are literate and have a voice should we chose to use it. It is sad to see that the Highest Court of the land had to intervene to stop choking trees, and sadly even they are not heard!

Mother Earth treats you the same way. She does not  care about cast, creed, social background, gender, age, nationalities. Stop raping her every day! 

The class X and XII results are out! As always all our kids have passed! As always they have done us proud! For me it was the moment to walk down memory lane, to the day when it all began. It was in 2001 when we ran spoken English classes for primary and secondary children. In one of the classes were a bunch of class X lads from the nearby secondary school named no1. One day one of them turned up with what looked like welt marks on his arms. It turned out that he had been beaten with a stick by his teacher for some sundry gaffe that at best should have entailed a verbal admonition.

Not conversant with the realities prevailing in Government school. I set out with a few colleagues to find out what happened and expressed my dismay at the use of corporal punishment that I knew had been declared illegal following a Court Order. The school looked like something out of Dickens novel with grim corridors and masters wielding heavy sticks. The Principal sat behind a huge desk in a huge room his stick lying on his desk. He listened to us with what seemed like amused contempt and then asked for the boys in question to be called. They came, with their heads bowed wondering what would befall on them next. The dour Principal looked at them with disdain and asked us why we were wasting   time on such guttersnipes who would never be able to pass their exams. I do not know why but my immediate reaction was to look at the boys and ask them whether they were ready to take on a challenge to prove their Headmaster wrong. I will never forget the way the boys’ body language changed and the beaming smiles on their face and the loud yes Maa’am!

It was then that I realised what my on the spot decision entailed. What was I thinking.We had scant resources to pay any teacher or rent space. But I had to walk the talk.

The reason I chose this picture to illustrate this blog was that we began our classes the very next morning on the pavement and the teacher was Naresh – who still teaches at pwhy – who had completed his BA and was looking for a job. He had a passion for teaching and had been tutoring children. I told him we could not pay him at this moment but would do as soon as possible, but it was a matter of honour that these kids pass their Xth. It was already December and the exams were in March. We had no time to waste.

Classes were held from 7 to 9 am on cold winter mornings. Rani’s family provided tea to warm the kids up. Naresh roped in a friend and the two of them did the impossible: all kids passed and I won my challenge. My honour was intact.

That was more than  a decade ago. Since we have had 11 batches who have all cleared  their Boards and are in good jobs. The boy with the welts is now father of a little boy and all set to immigrate to Australia after having completed his higher education.

This year again 16 class X students and 16 class XII students have passed their Boards with success. Deepak, Arvind, Vikas and Vineet topped their respective schools.

I guess the challenge I took over a decade ago was not foolhardy.

Well done Kids and we love you Naresh Sir!

When the Government announced with great fanfare the passing of the Right to Education (RTE) Bill, I was among those who hoped against hope that the Government would adopt the neighbourhood school policy and upgrade all State run schools to Central school quality so that every child could walk to a good school. The RTE per se should provide quality education in their own schools to thus allow every child in India to access such education. The model elucidated in the Section 12 of the Right of Children to Free and Compulsory Education Act  2009 states that the Act has made it compulsory for every private unaided school to admit at least 25% of its entry level class from children belonging to weaker and disadvantaged groups. The article cited above shows the many flaws of this proposal and is worth a read. One of the comments I agree with in toto is the following: This minor social engineering has produced some ridiculous protests from the elite. Yet, equally ridiculous is the claim that this will significantly help the poor. Of India’s hundreds of millions of schoolchildren, only a few thousand poor will enter the elite havens. The others will remain at the mercy of third-rate government schools that provide no worthwhile education. We seem to be a State that loves social engineering and reservations of all kinds. For the last six decades and more we have shown that we are masters at perpetrating divisive polices and thus create a new caste system.

I have also realised over the years mutating from a naive and ignorant person, who believed with credulity that every social programme initiated by the Government was done for the right reasons, to a cynical and disenchanted one, that these programmes are not meant for the stated beneficiaries but to fulfil wily political agendas and fill deep pockets. This is done with great finesse and a perfect play. people are led to believe that all such programmes are debated by activists and the people and thus carry   a stamp of approval. This is a sham as ultimately all the inconvenient parts are deleted and the Bill presented at the appropriate time like just before elections to show one’s self as the Messiah of the downtrodden. And we gullible idiots refuse to see through their game.

One of our most respected activist who has been the at the helm of many important proposals resigned yesterday from the  National Advisory Council that  that sets the social agenda for the government. In her statement she said: It is difficult to understand how a country like India can deny the payment of minimum wages and still makes claims of inclusive growth. The story is the same be it minimum wages, education, health and even food security. I do not understand how startling statistics such as more than 5000 children dying every day of malnutrition does not trouble our law makers and administrators. I guess it is perhaps it is not their children who die. It is only when we find it in ourselves to take ownership of all that is wrong and raise our voices that things may change. Why do I feel that that day is still a long time coming.

I started this post by expressing my reservation on the 25% reserved for poor children in all schools from the swankiest to the humblest. First of all the stark reality is that it is not the poor kids who are availing of this facility but  middle class kids with clever parents who are masters at getting fake documents. However let us presume that some truly deserving kid make it, there is no way the child can keep abreast with the remaining 75%.  Here is a small example.

I am in the process of helping Utpal finished his holiday homework. His school did give us hard copies of the said homework but in the case of Kiran, the homework had to be downloaded from the Internet. I wonder how a kid living in a slum could manage that. Then the homework itself required lots of searching on the Net and most of the questions could not be understood by the child himself and needed adult help. And last but not the least it cost me over 1500 rupees to get all the stationery and other material required to complete the homework. I would love to ask our Education Minister how he expects illiterate and poor parents to get their child’s homework done.

This is only one aspect of the situation. There many more. Just put yourself in the place of a slum kid in a swanky school. You will have all the answers.

We need to stop fooling ourselves. It is our money that runs all the social programmes in the country. It is time we demanded accounts. But to do that we must first accept that there exists a whole world on the other side of an invisible line, and they too are citizens of this country with same rights as us.