of compassion and gratitude

I am livid and have been so for the past twenty four hours or almost! Not the way I usually am but some things do make me see red. I have been mulling over my extreme reaction for the past twenty four hours as I knew it was far deeper than a simple reaction to a apparently innocuous incident. And here I am twenty four hours later writing a ruminative essay on compassion and gratitude.

It all began with a phone call. The call was from Prabin, our foster care teacher. Apparently the mothers of two our boarding school kids were with him and were asking him to ask me to arrange for transport that they would pay for so that they could go the the school PTM! As I said not a big deal but somehow it was like the proverbial straw that breaks the camel's back. I could have easily dismissed the request by a curt no and ended the matter. But that was not to be.

To set the record straight before I go on, parents of the 4 children that are in boarding school were taken to the school for the first PTM some months and told that henceforth they would have to make arrangements to go to subsequent ones themselves as I felt this was th every least they could do The boarding school is accessible by public transport. The request of the two ladies was thus totally out of place.

However the request they made was very much in sync with a disturbing fact that has been plaguing us for quite some time and that we have tried our best to ignore and/or justify as best we could. The disturbing fact is the total lack of gratitude that we have witnessed over the years from those we have helped. And what is troubling is the fact that the larger the quantum of help, the less the feeling of gratitude. It is almost as if greed creeps in when help is forthcoming. The two ladies in question are perfect examples of this: we sponsored the open heart surgery of one's daughter and cared for the other when she was terribly sick. I am at a loss to try and fathom why this happens? Is it because of desperation or because of wiliness. I would still lie to believe it is the former but I really do not know. And today I somehow am not finding it in my heart to forgive easily.

For the past ten years I have been battling the lack of compassion I see in my social peers and the Lord only knows how much of it I have seen. Whether it is when I seek monetary help or share stories of the work we do, I am often met with disapproval bordering on contempt. What kept me going was the fact that I still believed and held on to the fact that what one was doing was at least appreciated by those it benefited. Please do not think that one is looking for kudos and credit. Far from that. But what irks me today is the feeling of being taken for granted. And that leads me to think that the lack of compassion perhaps stems from this very fact.

I know I have to take hold of myself and not let my momentary exasperation translate into any action I might regret tomorrow. I have to hold on to the fact that I am helping children who have done no harm and are in no way responsible for the idiosyncrasies of their parents. I have to assuage my heart and check my temper. And above all have to try and figure out one teaches compassion and gratitude to children so that they grow up with the right values.

So help me God!

a special day

It was a balmy day. The kind that sets you in a mellow mood and makes you feel benign. It was also PTM day, something I always look forward to and that for more reasons than one! First of all it is always lovely to meet the children, but there is more. The few hours spent in the little boarding school are always an escape to an island of hope and allow me to forget the trials and tribulations of my everyday existence and simply relax for a few hours be it by imbibing myself into a kid's world, or even getting a lesson in life! One thing is sure each PTM is unique and special.

So we set out for this one in a happy mood. I was accompanied by Cat and Lukas two young volunteers. We reached early and were told that the children were in their respective classes. We set out to find them and lie all parents dreaded the outcome of the meeting with the teachers. But we were in for a surprise. All our stars had once again performed extremely well and three of them were first in their class with Babli and Vicky getting certificate of merit for best handwriting and scholar of the month! Wow we were stunned. These were little slumkids, the kind no one expects anything from, the kind you write off without even giving them a chance to prove the contrary.

My heart swelled with pride and I felt absolved of all the criticism and cynicism I had faced when I had dared think of sending such children to a upmarket boarding school. Maybe I had read it all wrong: the reticence of privileged people to open the portals of quality learning to kids from slums and poor homes stemmed from the fear or the conviction of knowing that they would outshine their privileged peers! Food for thought.

As we had planned to stay for a short time, we had brought some goodies to share with the kids as there was to be no trip to the pizza parlour. We sat on the grass and opened the boxes and I must confess we had as good a time as the kids as we gobbled cookies and cakes washed with warm cups of syrupy tea generously provided by the school. It was a perfect moment, one we knew was not to last but that we enjoyed to the fullest.

It was time to go and we bade farewell to the kids. Our driver seemed to have vanished to we stood next to the car and waited for him to reappear. In one corner of the patch of grass where we stood sat a little family. An elderly man with the kindest face you could imagine in spite of his forbidding moustache, and five boys aged between 15 and 9. The man had a picnic basket from which he fished out little glasses, bowls and plates. He had two large packets of food and I looked at him and smiled. He immediately invited us all to share the meal he had brought for his children and would not take no for an answer. There were divine millet rotis and homemade butter, the kind that comes straight from a farm. We shared this simple meal with a little guilt as this was what he had brought for his children, but refusing it would have been anathema and gone against all what real India stands for. It was an incredibly moving moment, particularly for young Cat and Lukas: a glimpse of India they would never forget.

The driver was there and it was time to go. Lukas wanted to know when the next PTM would be as he wanted to invite the proud and generous man! I smiled. I did not know if you would ever see him again, but we all knew that we would carry this moment in our hearts forever.

Here are some snapshots of this very special day

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our very own Rhodes scholar

I recently sent a mail to a dear friend, staunch supporter and incredible human being informing him about amongst other things my recent award. I his usual gentle and unassuming manner he sent his heartfelt congratulations and a link stating simply: In fact I've been getting some press lately as well--In fact I've been getting some press lately as well! When I opened the link I feel off my chair: Willy has been selected for the Rhodes Scholarship!

If anyone ever deserved if it Willy.

I have know Willy for two years now but it seems I always knew him as he is what I would like every young person in the world to be like. He slipped into our lives via an email offering help. It sounded like no big deal. But Willy Oppenheim is one of a kind. When I first interacted with him via emails, I never would have imagined Willy was what we call just a kid, the kind who go pubbing and hand around with friends and have just barely grown out of GI Joes and Ben Tens! At the age when young people actually do that, Willy and his friends were busy finding ways to make a difference and boy they did. They set up the omprakash foundation and began reaching out to the less privileged the world over.

When I first met Willy in the very early hours of a summer morning in Delhi, when I had just woken up and he was still not asleep having just landed, I was deeply moved. Though we had never met and though almost 3 decades separated us in age, we hugged as old friends would. It seemed just right as we both knew how to see with our hearts.

Today Willy is not only a friend, but someone I turn to when I need a sounding board for new ideas, when I need reassurance, when I feel a little low and need to be uplifted and also when I need help and he has always been there for me. Thanks to the omprakash foundation we at pwhy have weathered many a storm and also own a great library with thousands of books.

I will end this post by quoting the opening para of Willy's application essay for the Rhodes Scholarship: I spent my adolescent years idolising the men with whom I worked in construction in rural Maine. The chasm between this environment and my affluent Connecticut hometown made me self-conscious of my privilege and determined to forgo college until I felt that my elite education could benefit someone other than myself. As an eighteen year old volunteer teacher in India, I was suddenly invigorated by the idea that i could use my relationships with local educators to amplify their voice before a global audience an d help avid the tendency of development efforts to patronize and disempower those they intend to serve...

Willy has already done more than that! The children of project why join me in sending their congratulations to their Willy Bhaiya!

Is it time to mutate?

The recent award ceremony and ensuing conclave on confronting the challenge of corruption concluded two days ago. Most participants must have returned to their pursuits and for many life would go on as usual. Somehow that was not the case for me. The two days spent amongst people who are trying to make a difference and sharing their experiences and views has had a deep impact on me and has compelled me to stop and think about project why and its relevance if any. Please bear with me as I share some thoughts as they may bring about a real change in the work we have been doing for the past decade.

While debating on the disturbing issue of corruption what came to the fore was the fact that there was a complete erosion of values across the social spectrum. For every one, rich or poor, corruption had become a way of life, a belief system, something that one and all had accepted and stopped questioning. This was indeed a dangerous situation, one that needed to be addressed. Many ideas were mooted and debated, the main one being: how does one re-instill values in each and every strata of society?

The conclave ended but the disturbing questions raised had taken root in my mind. Something was not quite right. For the past 10 years we at project why had been trying to make a difference and yet at this moment it seemed that we had not really been able to do much. The perturbing why that had resulted in the setting of project why had been: why do so many children drop out of school? And for the past ten years that is the issue we had been addressing. Hence for the past ten years we at project why had been meticulously ensuring that no child drop out of school and I must admit we did a good job. Our benchmark had been numbers and we achieved tangible success as our numbers rose from 40 to 800! And in our desire to excel we perhaps forgot to look at other issues altogether. Or was it that we just sank into another comfort zone. Last week's conclave shook me out of that complacency.

Giving children the possibility to remain in school and hopefully complete their schooling is undoubtedly laudable, but is it sufficient? To bring about the change we all seek what is needed is agents of change at each and every level of society and an average or sadly often mediocre class XII certificate cannot do that. The issues that plague our society are far larger. Let me give you an example that may explain what I am trying to get at.

We all know how important it has become to save the environment and reduce our carbon footprint and yet this footprint is growing surreptitiously in every little sum hovel. When I first walked into the home of one of my staff members who lives in what we all call a slum ten years ago, they had one small black and white TV, a few tube lights and a fan. Today thanks to an increased income and two dowries they have 3 colour TVs, two refrigerators, two DVD players, 2 coolers, a washing machine and more! The family was once very poor and thus to them all these new additions are endorsements of the fact that they have climbed the social ladder and bettered their worth. It is impossible to walk into this home and talk of carbon foot prints! If we want to see change one day in this home, it can only come when the little girl who is growing up in this home and attends what is called an upmarket school, brings about a wind of change. And that will be possible because she is getting a sound and holistic education.

Yes what I am trying to say is that the time has come for us at project why to mutate and replace quantity by quality. Today in our chase for numbers we often have children who spend short stints with us and then move on. This can be for a wide range of reasons: parents relocating because of work or increased rents, a new NGO opening and luring children away etc. Increased numbers also means our inability to provide more than basic instruction because of paucity of time or shortage of funds. And even if a child stays on with us and completes her of his schooling, she or he is far too often swallowed by the prevailing system: an early marriage or a mediocre job to help the family. With 800 children it is impossible for us to maintain close contact with the family and mentor the future of the child.

Would it not be better if we stopped our obsession with numbers and sought quality. Rather than 800 kids, we only reached out to let us say 200 and gave them quality education. Children that we would ensure remained with us and grow with us. Children we would give more than instruction in the three Rs! Children we could follow as they bloom.

True it is ambitious. True it will not be easy. One cannot just cast away a few hundred of children. Then how does one select the chosen few? My brain has been working on overdrive and after much thought a possible option comes to mind. Perhaps we could take the class I, II and III children of let us say Okhla and the women centre and begin with them. Thus we would add a new class every year till we reach class VIII and only take on new children in class I. The rest of the classes would carry on as usual with the only difference that we would not take any new kids, or replace any child who leaves.

The other point that comes to mind would be the increase in costs. At present what would be needed would be two English teachers and a small activities budget. The rest would have to be managed within existing resources. The children would come to project why for three and not one hour. The children of the pilot project would continue having one hour of school support but would have an extra hour of English and an hour of for wanted of a better word: general knowledge. This would range from environment, to story telling, to science, geography etc all taught in an interactive and fun manner. This is the bare bones idea. It will of course have to be fine tuned as we go on.

This will enable us to make the much needed shift from quantity to quality and truly make a difference. However this can only happen if all who support us continue to do so!

I proud to be.....

I proud to be Indian was the strange title of a Bollywood potboiler and in spite of the wrong syntax of the title, it somehow stuck in my mind. Yesterday we took little Sohil to the All India Institute of Medical Sciences. We had known for some time that he needed surgery to treat his hydrocephalus but it was the visit of Jeff that made us realise the urgency of the matter. Jeff had seen a child wit hydrocephalus turn into a vegetable in a remote village in Afghanistan as he has not received the simple surgery that would have made all the difference.

This set us into action. Old diaries were perused and the phone number of an eminent neurosurgeon was retrieved. I am sure the God of lesser beings decided to play his past as the doctor normally quite difficult to track down was available and yesterday we took Sohil to meet him. For those of you who have never been to an AIIMS OPD let me try and give you a description. Imagine a crowded railway station hall and multiply the numbers. In it place four doors on opposite corners, each having a doctor and in front of the door imagine the kind of queue you would have in front of a ticket sales counter on opening day of a long awaited movie and multiply it by four. The crowd is a medley of young and old, rich and poor and you can even add a prisoner chained to a gun holding cop. Voila! The stage is set. Now because you know the doctor you have been told to break the queue but that in itself is a herculean task. You somehow manage and though at that time you do not understand how you did, you realise later that unlike movie halls and railway platforms, there is no aggressive behaviour, no anger, no resentment. Actually people make way and even smile at the little child you are holding in your arms.

You reach the doctor's room which is tiny and also overcrowded. You sit in a corner and wait while the doctor informs a family that has come all the way from a village in Orissa that there young son has a brain tumour. This is done gently. The family is told that there is hope. Then your turn comes.

Doctor Suri takes time to examine Sohil and then tells us to get the tests done in private labs as the waiting list is too long. He reassures us that Sohil will be well and that he will operate on him personally. And as we hear those words we are moved to tears. In that tiny overcrowded room here is only hope and life. And the man doling this in ample measure is one of the finest doctr you can find as not only is he a good doctor, but he is one that has not been lured by the outside world and has stood by the oath he once took. My heart fills with pride and the funny title comes to my mind: I proud to be Indian!

But the story does not end there. The tests and operation will require funds. Two young volunteers, Cat and Lukas, have accompanied me and they both decide without batting an eye lid to sponsor the tests and want them done immediately. They will be done today and on Friday we will return to the doctor and get the final diagnosis and surgery date.

In the evening I call Jeff and tell him about our visit and the need to find funds for the surgery. He will sponsor it! Jeff is my son-in-law and the money is the Xmas budget of my little family.

So today I proud to be Indian, grandmom, mom, mom-in-law and proud of project why!

Thank you Jeff, Parul, Agastya, Cat, Lukas, Benoit and Doc Suri for giving Sohil many bright morrows.

This one is for you

Dear Papa,

It has been exactly 17 years since you left and there has not been a single day that you have not been on my mind. Our journey began almost 58 years ago when I clutched your finger as I saw the first light of day and breathed my first whiff of air. It is your hand I held as I took my fist step and you I looked up to each time I needed to be reassured or praised. And even though you are gone I still feel your presence. Somehow I never let got of that finger.

You taught me everything but above all Papa, you taught me to look with my heart, something I held on to and never let go. And that made the rest easy and possible.

If not for your my life would have remained barren and empty. You gave me the strength to walk the high road no matter how difficult the journey, you taught me not to give up on dreams how impossible they seemed and the belief that the morning always dawned no matter how long the night.

Yesterday I received an award recognising the work I had done for the last ten years. This one is for you as you are the one that made me worthy enough to get it. Today thanks to what you taught a little girl many little lives have changed and many children smile and believe in tomorrow. And I see you in each and everyone of them.

Today again I look up to you to be reassured. The journey is still long and I need your strength to ensure that my steps do not falter and that I reach the end of the road.

I miss you

Anou

just a night away,

The award ceremony is over. The lights have dimmed and the next morn dawned. There was no glitter or glamour. An informal press conference in a sunny garden, the actual award giving in congenial surroundings and a day long conclave on corruption. It was all in all a simple yet memorable event. And what made it so was not pomp and show or sheer numbers but the kind of people present. It is probably the first time I had the privilege to be with so many souls who saw with their hearts.

There was the special band of organisers that were undeterred by the fact that no sponsors had come forward and determined to make the event memorable and follow their dream and honour those who shared it: the remarkable young man who withstood months of detention and then celebrated his freedom by helping others regain theirs, the slum dweller who broke the circle of poverty and decided to help other children form slums do the same, there was a group of young men passionately fighting for the dreams of millions of marginalised children and a princess from a faraway land giving hope to little girls. And these are just a few. They came from all walks of life and all parts of India and other lands. They had come together to right every wrong in whatever way they could. The mind of people not deterred by obstacles big or small, not swayed by cynics or doomsayers. They believed that tomorrow existed and was just a night away. And that had all come together to proclaim this loud and clear.

It was wonderful to be in a space where only positive energies had right of way. The mood was upbeat and buoyant. True people shared their problems but the solution was a sentence away. And if one did not work, one knew there were many others that would be tried till the problem was overcome. What a gathering it was. One that spelt hope and promise.

For me it was a privilege to be there though I felt very small and humbled. Yet I came out of the experience a changed person. I realised how much more there was to do but for the first time nothing seemed daunting or impossible, I just knew I would reach the end my journey.

the big day

In a few hours I will be awarded the karamveer puruskar. This award is meant to recognise individuals who have been pivotal for leading change beyond their business as usual by being committed on individual levels to work on social issues.

You may be wondering why this post this morning. One should have written it tonight or maybe tomorrow, when the glitter of the event would have dimmed and only memories and snapshots remained as testimony of the day. And yet I felt the need to share a few thoughts before the event, the lights, the glitter. Tonight people will speak of the achievements and make them sound extra-ordinary.

As I scan the past ten years of my life, the ones that brought me to this day, I feel no sense of great achievement. I just did what I had to. There was no choice. Manu had to be given back his dignity, Utpal has to be saved from his terrible ordeal, Meher had to be given a second chance, Babli could not be allowed to waste her brand new heart and Manu, Champa, Anjali had to have a home. And today little Sohil needs surgery or else he may lose the only chance he has in life.

As I said there was no choice, no option. One could not look away and walk on. One had to stop and do something. That was all I did: stopped! Nothing extra-ordinary in that. Today I pray that I have the strength and courage to continue doing so, each time a deafening why is heard.

a unique football match

The field was barren, rocky, uneven, patchy and strewn with empty plastic cups and bags. The players: a bunch of slum kids, an eager young German football fan and a business school student from France. The day was sunny and spirits soared high.

Welcome to the project why secondary kids first football match of the season: an initiative of young Lukas, a volunteer from Koln who is with us for a couple of months. And there are more to come.

Unfortunately I was not there but the pictures and the excitement of young Lukas as he recounted the event were sufficient to know that it had been a great game. I was thrilled to learn that the children played extremely well and that some were good enough to be in a team. And yet I knew that these kids would never make it, not because they lacked talent or motivation, but simply because once again we as adults had failed them. The state of the field - actually the sports ground of the two local secondary schools - said it all. Barren, rocky, dirty. Such is the state of sports in state run schools in spite of hefty budgets. And slowly with time the enthusiasm and talent dwindle and vanish and with them the dreams of simple children.

And yet all is takes to reignite them is a young boy from another land who dreams football and comes from miles away to share his dream with children from a Delhi slum.