Louis L’Armour has summarised my thought
beautifully, “To make democracy work, we must be a nation of participants, not
simply observers."
Sunday, 27 November 2016
Making India Work
Over the years I have a rule that I have followed
consistently, in professional forums I do not comment on issues that are
unrelated to either the topic at hand or which are outside the realm of my
professional existence. However, a few days ago, for the first time ever, I
broke my own rule.
Having said that, I must also admit, the one thing
that agonises me the most is the tendency of Indians (me included, I am an
Indian and proud to be one) to find someone else responsible for all the woes.
Somewhere, accountability for our actions and responsibility for their
consequences misses us by miles and miles. And it was a lamenting on similar lines
when I decided to break my rule. On the topic of current GDP scenario, one
gentleman started his rant on how Indians are intolerant, how the government is
ineffective and how the media is irresponsible. After listening to him for five
minutes, I had to ask – who are the intolerant Indians, who elects the
ineffective government and who reads or watches the irresponsible media without
ever writing to the Information and Broadcasting ministry? And then every
citizen turns around and says, “what can I do all by myself”; and every time I
have the same response, “every drop contributes to making the ocean”. Why do we
hesitate to stop littering in public places? Why do we not go and vote even if
it is NOTA? Why can we not stop reading and watching the overtly sensational
media pretending to give us news and information? If each one of us takes the
responsible step, we can usher in change. If we keep waiting for someone else
to lead, then we will just have to make do with what we have!
S ingle person bringing in a different era - Idealistic?
Maybe. Honest? Absolutely. Not impactful?
Not at all.
Idealistically, the freedom struggle is quoted by
many as an example of how ordinary citizens contributed to the nation gaining
independence. Honest individuals have demonstrated, in recent times, how one
person’s quest can lead to positive change – so be it Jessica Lal’s sister who
finally got the country to rally behind her and get justice for her sister, or
be it the story of how Popatrao Baguji Pawar’s foresight and efforts ensured
that Hiware Bazar in the drought prone Maharashtra district of Ahmednagar
became the only place in this year’s drought to be breathing; there are
multiple incidents of one person creating an impact that can improve thousands
of life. Yes these individuals could have waited for someone else but they did
not. And yes they needed that every someone else to take some accountability
and responsibility, and work with them, to achieve the end result!
Historians are writing eulogies about how great a
nation we were. I believe, we are still a great nation, with inspiring citizens
all around us. All we need is to rise to the occasion and create the consciousness
that each one’s prosperity and happiness will only add to that of the others.
If there is more money with a larger group of people, there will be more money
for everyone eventually (an economic discussion that is for another post
maybe). If there is greater harmony, there will be lesser strife. If there is
more empathy, there will be fewer intolerance episodes. But none of this can
come from the rule of law or from a dictate of any specific individual. This
has to come from the individuals who form the civic society and only then will
it be sustainable.
Saturday, 19 November 2016
Seeds of Change
It had been two years, and I was still unsure how to address the situation with her. He was the only man she had ever known. He had been the love of her life. I had seen their relationship start. We were still in school then, and she was amongst my closest friends. Then came college and their love blossomed. Finally, despite all the ups and downs they got married. And then came a time when they were not together.
So a year ago, two years post them not being together, I sat with her not knowing how she was. I had met her on and off but had never spoken about this. I guess old friends don't need words to understand one another, and she probably guessed what I was thinking. So she spoke about him first and then I gathered the courage to ask her if she felt cheated. Her response was of gratitude, "Sweetie I am glad for all the years I got with him. What would I do if I did not have those years to experience his love and how great an experience being with someone as generous as him can be! Do I have a regret, maybe a small one. But then I see other women around me who are letting their marriages and relationships suffer because of egos and not wanting to compromise. They are being so short sighted. They have a chance to build a better tomorrow, only if they could give in to small things that don't matter in the long run. But even if I want, I don't have that opportunity any more. No one comes back from the other side of life! This observation is more painful than my one my tiny regret."
This conversation has been etched in my memory ever since, not only because her positivity is inspirational but because I agree with her. There is incredible merit in evaluating adjustments for relationships that matter, and that is a personal view that as the days pass is only becoming stronger.
I lost my maternal grandfather when I had just entered my teens. I have always been saddened by the fact that I could not get to know that incredible human being better and spend more time with him. The last opportunity that I had to meet him, I lost, because I was busy studying for my exams. Academics was my oxygen those days, but today I realise that one grade lower and I would not have lost much in life. So six years ago when the opportunity came to move back to India I decided to take it up.
Appyrichvictor, a well wisher and a dear friend, called me post this decision and expressed his apprehension. In his view I was taking a step back in my career for which I had worked hard. In some ways he was right. But I wanted to move back to India for my parents and grandparents. I even joked with him that the move would make me richer as I would save on rent and utilities. Staying with my parents would take away my independence, I was told by many people. My answer to them in jest was that I was going to take away my parents' independence! Eventually, six years later what has happened?
I got to spend time with my paternal grandfather before he passed on four years ago. There were many evenings when I would scramble not much but thirty minutes to go sit with him or lay my head in his lap. Some of those evenings he would hold my hand tight, so tight as if asking me to be just there. Those largely quiet evenings got me closer to him. They showed me his will power, his tolerance for pain, his love for lemons, his total adoration of his two oldest children, his affection for me and his strong desire to see his family happy.
I recollect a meeting I had with the head of credit of a large private Indian bank. At the end of the meeting, seeing my last name the gentleman could not resist and told me the story of a Mr Bagrodia who was heading a textile company when he had just started working. The company's financials were in trouble and so as a youngster he had refused the loan renewal for this textile mill, only to be reprimanded by his bosses. Till Mr Bagrodia was there, the bank's loan was in good hands. I left that meeting feeling proud, humbled and glad that I had moved back to India. I feel blessed to be his granddaughter.
No amount of career progression would have enriched me, with my own lineage, as this incident did. No amount of money can ever repay those precious moments, when with my head in my grandfather's lap, my inner child rejoiced. No amount of experience in London could give me contentment that I feel, everytime I think of how just the day before he left for the hospital for the last time, my grandfather bid me goodbye. He did not say a word. He just looked at me and held my hand. And then he left it and looked away. I remember walking to my father and asking him to leave everything and go sit with grandfather. A fortnight later he was watching over us from up above.
Moving back was a difficult decision. Adapting to a different work culture was difficult. But all change is and all adjustment is, especially when it involves letting go of something. The criteria that I use is what do I stand to gain by letting go. If the potential reward outweighs the opportunity cost, the plunge is worth it. I may have taken a pay cut in moving to India. My international experience may have been cut short. But I earned the love and blessings of my grandparents. I basked and continue to in the love of my family, and just that experience is priceless!
I had just started working in the UK when my niece, the first of the next generation was born. I will never forget that afternoon when I got the call. Oh how I wanted to see her! WhatsApp and face time did not exist then. So I had to wait for an email. By the time the email came, I think somewhere I had decided to travel to India and spend some time with the little one who had stolen my heart even before she was born. I had just decided to move into my own tiny apartment and the landlord wanted deposit money to hold the flat for the fortnight I planned to take unpaid leave. A month's rent when I was repaying a loan was a lot of money but I went ahead. I loved the apartment and I would not get these days back with my baby. If I had to have both I had to find a way.
I will never forget the little doll in her peach polka dot frock, lying on the bed, as I walked towards her. The first time I picked her up I knew she was my heart. Every night she was in my arms and I walked and sang her to sleep. Today, as she is about to enter her teens, we sing that song together and have a laugh. She still cuddles into me to hear a story and she calls me up without any hesitation if she needs help with homework. This love and bond are invaluable. For the loss of a little pay, I accumulated a lifetime of memories and a special bond; and I will repeat my decision if I had to.
At dinner I saw a woman ushering in a huge change and taking a leap of faith. She is nervous and scared; but she is filled with excitement and hope. At dinner I recounted an old friend's story to new friends. At dinner I relived some of my decisions. At dinner my belief was reaffirmed.
As I am concluding this, I reacknowledge how right she was in making her statement - we can create a better future only if we accept that for a short while there maybe some adjustment needed. As I am concluding this, I am smiling in the understanding of the validity of her joy - which is just as palapable as mine on my decision of moving back, despite all the perceived giving up I supposedly did. As I am writing this, it strikes me that though we feel the pain while sowing the seeds of change, by the time we reap the harvest, those adjustments are forgotten and only the gains remain. And just for that glorious bountiful golden harvest, the initial effort is worth it!
So a year ago, two years post them not being together, I sat with her not knowing how she was. I had met her on and off but had never spoken about this. I guess old friends don't need words to understand one another, and she probably guessed what I was thinking. So she spoke about him first and then I gathered the courage to ask her if she felt cheated. Her response was of gratitude, "Sweetie I am glad for all the years I got with him. What would I do if I did not have those years to experience his love and how great an experience being with someone as generous as him can be! Do I have a regret, maybe a small one. But then I see other women around me who are letting their marriages and relationships suffer because of egos and not wanting to compromise. They are being so short sighted. They have a chance to build a better tomorrow, only if they could give in to small things that don't matter in the long run. But even if I want, I don't have that opportunity any more. No one comes back from the other side of life! This observation is more painful than my one my tiny regret."
This conversation has been etched in my memory ever since, not only because her positivity is inspirational but because I agree with her. There is incredible merit in evaluating adjustments for relationships that matter, and that is a personal view that as the days pass is only becoming stronger.
I lost my maternal grandfather when I had just entered my teens. I have always been saddened by the fact that I could not get to know that incredible human being better and spend more time with him. The last opportunity that I had to meet him, I lost, because I was busy studying for my exams. Academics was my oxygen those days, but today I realise that one grade lower and I would not have lost much in life. So six years ago when the opportunity came to move back to India I decided to take it up.
Appyrichvictor, a well wisher and a dear friend, called me post this decision and expressed his apprehension. In his view I was taking a step back in my career for which I had worked hard. In some ways he was right. But I wanted to move back to India for my parents and grandparents. I even joked with him that the move would make me richer as I would save on rent and utilities. Staying with my parents would take away my independence, I was told by many people. My answer to them in jest was that I was going to take away my parents' independence! Eventually, six years later what has happened?
I got to spend time with my paternal grandfather before he passed on four years ago. There were many evenings when I would scramble not much but thirty minutes to go sit with him or lay my head in his lap. Some of those evenings he would hold my hand tight, so tight as if asking me to be just there. Those largely quiet evenings got me closer to him. They showed me his will power, his tolerance for pain, his love for lemons, his total adoration of his two oldest children, his affection for me and his strong desire to see his family happy.
I recollect a meeting I had with the head of credit of a large private Indian bank. At the end of the meeting, seeing my last name the gentleman could not resist and told me the story of a Mr Bagrodia who was heading a textile company when he had just started working. The company's financials were in trouble and so as a youngster he had refused the loan renewal for this textile mill, only to be reprimanded by his bosses. Till Mr Bagrodia was there, the bank's loan was in good hands. I left that meeting feeling proud, humbled and glad that I had moved back to India. I feel blessed to be his granddaughter.
No amount of career progression would have enriched me, with my own lineage, as this incident did. No amount of money can ever repay those precious moments, when with my head in my grandfather's lap, my inner child rejoiced. No amount of experience in London could give me contentment that I feel, everytime I think of how just the day before he left for the hospital for the last time, my grandfather bid me goodbye. He did not say a word. He just looked at me and held my hand. And then he left it and looked away. I remember walking to my father and asking him to leave everything and go sit with grandfather. A fortnight later he was watching over us from up above.
Moving back was a difficult decision. Adapting to a different work culture was difficult. But all change is and all adjustment is, especially when it involves letting go of something. The criteria that I use is what do I stand to gain by letting go. If the potential reward outweighs the opportunity cost, the plunge is worth it. I may have taken a pay cut in moving to India. My international experience may have been cut short. But I earned the love and blessings of my grandparents. I basked and continue to in the love of my family, and just that experience is priceless!
I had just started working in the UK when my niece, the first of the next generation was born. I will never forget that afternoon when I got the call. Oh how I wanted to see her! WhatsApp and face time did not exist then. So I had to wait for an email. By the time the email came, I think somewhere I had decided to travel to India and spend some time with the little one who had stolen my heart even before she was born. I had just decided to move into my own tiny apartment and the landlord wanted deposit money to hold the flat for the fortnight I planned to take unpaid leave. A month's rent when I was repaying a loan was a lot of money but I went ahead. I loved the apartment and I would not get these days back with my baby. If I had to have both I had to find a way.
I will never forget the little doll in her peach polka dot frock, lying on the bed, as I walked towards her. The first time I picked her up I knew she was my heart. Every night she was in my arms and I walked and sang her to sleep. Today, as she is about to enter her teens, we sing that song together and have a laugh. She still cuddles into me to hear a story and she calls me up without any hesitation if she needs help with homework. This love and bond are invaluable. For the loss of a little pay, I accumulated a lifetime of memories and a special bond; and I will repeat my decision if I had to.
At dinner I saw a woman ushering in a huge change and taking a leap of faith. She is nervous and scared; but she is filled with excitement and hope. At dinner I recounted an old friend's story to new friends. At dinner I relived some of my decisions. At dinner my belief was reaffirmed.
As I am concluding this, I reacknowledge how right she was in making her statement - we can create a better future only if we accept that for a short while there maybe some adjustment needed. As I am concluding this, I am smiling in the understanding of the validity of her joy - which is just as palapable as mine on my decision of moving back, despite all the perceived giving up I supposedly did. As I am writing this, it strikes me that though we feel the pain while sowing the seeds of change, by the time we reap the harvest, those adjustments are forgotten and only the gains remain. And just for that glorious bountiful golden harvest, the initial effort is worth it!
Tuesday, 8 November 2016
Women Empowerment - A Better Pool of Choices Please
After I published my post Women Empowerment - The Context of Us vs Them, for many days I was agitated. I wanted to do something to help her. I asked friends and acquaintances for suggestions. For a few days, everyday I would get a call from someone giving a suggestion that I would note down in my feasibility evaluation list. One such call came when I was sitting with a colleague and discussing a work problem at hand. However, solving "her" problem was also a priority, and so uncharacteristically I interrupted the discussion and took the call. Needless to say that my colleague heard the conversation.
As I hung up, my colleague turned to me and said, "how can we help?" And without thinking, without blinking, from I don't know where the words that came out were - "Can we brighten their Diwali? Can we give her and her daughter some clothes?" My colleague said most definitely and we continued our discussions. Later that evening, I sent a message to my team members, requesting for any clothes or utensils that they could spare for the mother daughter. Lo and behold, the Friday before Diwali, I had five bags full of clothes - bright, colourful and great quality daily and party wear! I was touched by the generosity of my team and of course delivered the surprise to the family promptly.
Why am I writing this today after all these days? Because I want to share what happened today.
Everyday after Diwali I would ask her why Shireen was not in her new clothes. Why was the child still wearing the old torn clothes? Everyday she would say, "Didi, tomorrow, promise." Today I asked her the same question yet again and she said, "On Friday is Tulsi Vivah (a Hindu festival). We will all go to the temple and now I am not busy selling flowers due to Diwali. So I can dress her up and I promise I will take a photograph and we will come to meet you. What is the use of her wearing such wonderful clothes when all she does is play in the dust! Let me enjoy her enjoying her new clothes on a festival."
Having an answer that I could not respond to, I asked her if she had worn any of the clothes that were for her. "Can I be honest with you didi", she asked. "Of course, my dear, always", I replied. "I sent them to the village with my parents. You see my elder and middle sister both ask if I have good clothes from Bombay to send to them and I never had any. This time I did. I get clothes here every once in a while and so am not in need. They may not be as colourful but I get my need satisfied. My sisters do not have this opportunity, so I sent the clothes for them. Please don't feel bad but I am telling you the truth."
Could have I felt bad after what I had just heard! She lives, eats and sleeps on the pavement along with her daughter. She has to worry about every next meal. She is fighting to keep her daughter with herself. And despite all these hardships, she has the magnanimity to look after her sisters! I was unable to say anything and so concluded our meeting with a hug and walked away.
As I am writing, I am staring out of the window and can see her and Shireen sleeping peacefully. Seeing them and thinking of our conversation earlier in the evening, my heart swells with emotions I cannot express. Recounting what she said I am humbled once again with her strength, positivity and generosity.
If I can help her, I will be fortunate. If not it's probably because I did not try hard enough. And on that note I say it yet again, she is making the tough choices but these are not choices out of freedom. Her life can be better and she is ready to work for it; but are we, as a society, ready to help her start somewhere? Will we give her the freedom to make a better choice? Will we empower her to give her daughter a better life? Or will she just remain a story that was written and read...
As I hung up, my colleague turned to me and said, "how can we help?" And without thinking, without blinking, from I don't know where the words that came out were - "Can we brighten their Diwali? Can we give her and her daughter some clothes?" My colleague said most definitely and we continued our discussions. Later that evening, I sent a message to my team members, requesting for any clothes or utensils that they could spare for the mother daughter. Lo and behold, the Friday before Diwali, I had five bags full of clothes - bright, colourful and great quality daily and party wear! I was touched by the generosity of my team and of course delivered the surprise to the family promptly.
Why am I writing this today after all these days? Because I want to share what happened today.
Everyday after Diwali I would ask her why Shireen was not in her new clothes. Why was the child still wearing the old torn clothes? Everyday she would say, "Didi, tomorrow, promise." Today I asked her the same question yet again and she said, "On Friday is Tulsi Vivah (a Hindu festival). We will all go to the temple and now I am not busy selling flowers due to Diwali. So I can dress her up and I promise I will take a photograph and we will come to meet you. What is the use of her wearing such wonderful clothes when all she does is play in the dust! Let me enjoy her enjoying her new clothes on a festival."
Having an answer that I could not respond to, I asked her if she had worn any of the clothes that were for her. "Can I be honest with you didi", she asked. "Of course, my dear, always", I replied. "I sent them to the village with my parents. You see my elder and middle sister both ask if I have good clothes from Bombay to send to them and I never had any. This time I did. I get clothes here every once in a while and so am not in need. They may not be as colourful but I get my need satisfied. My sisters do not have this opportunity, so I sent the clothes for them. Please don't feel bad but I am telling you the truth."
Could have I felt bad after what I had just heard! She lives, eats and sleeps on the pavement along with her daughter. She has to worry about every next meal. She is fighting to keep her daughter with herself. And despite all these hardships, she has the magnanimity to look after her sisters! I was unable to say anything and so concluded our meeting with a hug and walked away.
As I am writing, I am staring out of the window and can see her and Shireen sleeping peacefully. Seeing them and thinking of our conversation earlier in the evening, my heart swells with emotions I cannot express. Recounting what she said I am humbled once again with her strength, positivity and generosity.
If I can help her, I will be fortunate. If not it's probably because I did not try hard enough. And on that note I say it yet again, she is making the tough choices but these are not choices out of freedom. Her life can be better and she is ready to work for it; but are we, as a society, ready to help her start somewhere? Will we give her the freedom to make a better choice? Will we empower her to give her daughter a better life? Or will she just remain a story that was written and read...
Sunday, 6 November 2016
Women Empowerment - The Selfless and the Less of Self
The brother sister duo's school had started. They had enrolments, teachers and a sufficient temporary premises. Construction of a permanent building was being planned. It all seemed to be under control, and yet there was one person who saw through the calm. She understood that the sister needed someone trustworthy to shoulder the day to day responsibilities; someone who was truly dedicated to the cause and someone who could contribute to furthering the vision that is the foundation of the school. And so Shabri, as I would like to call her, volunteered her services. This is her story.
She got married as soon as she was of marriageable age. That she wanted to work and not enter matrimony was not understood by her parents. Not the one to cause friction when there could be other potential options, she agreed to get married. But with the one who now was her better half, she had a candid conversation. Not that home and family were less important but her desire to teach was strong and she requested his understanding. Her passion and honesty were easily understood and so he truly became the man behind a woman's dreams.
She completed her teacher training and started to teach. They had two children who were brought up in a disciplined and value oriented environment. Her career continued on its path and so did the family life. It was a simple and complete kin. The children grew up, got married and by this time she had become a principal. All of them were proud of her, but none of this is extraordinary. This is the story of a number of families in India.
The true test came in mid 2016 when she retired. According to the government norms, once an employee crosses 60 they have to make way for the younger generation. This is when the brother sister duo's school had also commenced it's first year and seeing her friend's needs, Shabri decided to offer her services as a teacher in the school along with doing all that she could in the women's home. She asked for nothing in return!
The sister was stumped! Not because Shabri had offered her services but because offering those services meant that she would need to leave her family many many miles away and relocate to live in a village that offers the most basic life. There was no proper accommodation that the sister had to offer, after all she herself had decided to live in a make shift arrangement! And well a salary would not be what Shabri deserved! It was a wonder why had Shabri taken the decision and it was to be seen how her family would react.
When the day of reckoning came, the doctor husband turned to Shabri and asked her if this is what she truly wanted. The son asked her if they would see her at least during the summer holidays. Her answer to the first was affirmative and the second was a maybe, if her responsibilities permitted. She also asked if she could use her pension to support herself as she would not want to be a burden on the brother sister duo. Seeing her passion and determination, the husband relented yet again and not only agreed to her request on her pension but also said that his help in cash and kind would always be readily available. He helped her pack, loaded the vehicle that was going to take her far away and with tears in his eyes bid her adieu. The son and the daughter in law joined him in a tearful goodbye. But not once did they stop her; and so she is here at the school, devoting all her time and life to those who need her.
Calling her Shabri seems only fit. In Ramayana we read about the Shabri who decided that it was more appropriate if she ate any rotten fruit than any such fruit finding its way to Lord Ram's plate. So she tasted each fruit herself, discarding the spoilt or tasteless fruit and only giving the juicy ones to the Lord. Similarly, the Shabri of today has decided that it is only apt that she undertakes the challenges rather than her friend's noble mission suffering for the lack of a trustworthy person. She is putting in 15 hours of hard work in the school and the women's home every single day only so that goodness and greatness can reach the needy. Such selflessness - demonstrated by Shabri and the doctor, one cannot deny his contribution- is completely rare in today's times...
As I finish making my tea and start to wash the pot, I hear Shabri scolding me; another aunt worried that my cold will worsen if I wet my hands. Another elder telling me that I am not used to the winters of North India that have begun to set in and so I need to be careful. I tried, but I could not stop myself and I asked her why were there two standards of living - the easy one for me and the tough one for her. Her response was simple, " when you become a mother you will understand".
Will I ever understand these strong women; ladies who have lived tough lives on their own terms, pouring love and values into the lives of all those they have encountered? How can I even attempt to understand the sacrifices they have made, and yet have smiles that light up any room they walk into? Is it even right for me to think that I am capable of understanding them?
While I am contemplating all these ifs, the truth stares at me once again. I am face to face with a life that demonstrates that her happiness is thanks to the respect, trust and freedom of choice that she got. That she undertook struggles, because she had these all around her, empowering her. She provided for her family, strengthened in the knowledge that give and take are for everyone alike on this planet and not for once feeling victimised or oppressed when she was the giver. She has embarked on a new life, at this age, only because she knows that her beliefs have the understanding of the most important people in her life and that she is truly loved and empowered. What a wonderful world it would be, if we could all live her way. What a wonderful world it would be, if we could all understand the doctor's ways. What a wonderful world it would be if we could all have a little bit of love, respect and honest communication is all our lives; but that would mean that we also give as much as we want to take. I leave the school and this story in this humble acknowledgement.
She got married as soon as she was of marriageable age. That she wanted to work and not enter matrimony was not understood by her parents. Not the one to cause friction when there could be other potential options, she agreed to get married. But with the one who now was her better half, she had a candid conversation. Not that home and family were less important but her desire to teach was strong and she requested his understanding. Her passion and honesty were easily understood and so he truly became the man behind a woman's dreams.
She completed her teacher training and started to teach. They had two children who were brought up in a disciplined and value oriented environment. Her career continued on its path and so did the family life. It was a simple and complete kin. The children grew up, got married and by this time she had become a principal. All of them were proud of her, but none of this is extraordinary. This is the story of a number of families in India.
The true test came in mid 2016 when she retired. According to the government norms, once an employee crosses 60 they have to make way for the younger generation. This is when the brother sister duo's school had also commenced it's first year and seeing her friend's needs, Shabri decided to offer her services as a teacher in the school along with doing all that she could in the women's home. She asked for nothing in return!
The sister was stumped! Not because Shabri had offered her services but because offering those services meant that she would need to leave her family many many miles away and relocate to live in a village that offers the most basic life. There was no proper accommodation that the sister had to offer, after all she herself had decided to live in a make shift arrangement! And well a salary would not be what Shabri deserved! It was a wonder why had Shabri taken the decision and it was to be seen how her family would react.
When the day of reckoning came, the doctor husband turned to Shabri and asked her if this is what she truly wanted. The son asked her if they would see her at least during the summer holidays. Her answer to the first was affirmative and the second was a maybe, if her responsibilities permitted. She also asked if she could use her pension to support herself as she would not want to be a burden on the brother sister duo. Seeing her passion and determination, the husband relented yet again and not only agreed to her request on her pension but also said that his help in cash and kind would always be readily available. He helped her pack, loaded the vehicle that was going to take her far away and with tears in his eyes bid her adieu. The son and the daughter in law joined him in a tearful goodbye. But not once did they stop her; and so she is here at the school, devoting all her time and life to those who need her.
Calling her Shabri seems only fit. In Ramayana we read about the Shabri who decided that it was more appropriate if she ate any rotten fruit than any such fruit finding its way to Lord Ram's plate. So she tasted each fruit herself, discarding the spoilt or tasteless fruit and only giving the juicy ones to the Lord. Similarly, the Shabri of today has decided that it is only apt that she undertakes the challenges rather than her friend's noble mission suffering for the lack of a trustworthy person. She is putting in 15 hours of hard work in the school and the women's home every single day only so that goodness and greatness can reach the needy. Such selflessness - demonstrated by Shabri and the doctor, one cannot deny his contribution- is completely rare in today's times...
As I finish making my tea and start to wash the pot, I hear Shabri scolding me; another aunt worried that my cold will worsen if I wet my hands. Another elder telling me that I am not used to the winters of North India that have begun to set in and so I need to be careful. I tried, but I could not stop myself and I asked her why were there two standards of living - the easy one for me and the tough one for her. Her response was simple, " when you become a mother you will understand".
Will I ever understand these strong women; ladies who have lived tough lives on their own terms, pouring love and values into the lives of all those they have encountered? How can I even attempt to understand the sacrifices they have made, and yet have smiles that light up any room they walk into? Is it even right for me to think that I am capable of understanding them?
While I am contemplating all these ifs, the truth stares at me once again. I am face to face with a life that demonstrates that her happiness is thanks to the respect, trust and freedom of choice that she got. That she undertook struggles, because she had these all around her, empowering her. She provided for her family, strengthened in the knowledge that give and take are for everyone alike on this planet and not for once feeling victimised or oppressed when she was the giver. She has embarked on a new life, at this age, only because she knows that her beliefs have the understanding of the most important people in her life and that she is truly loved and empowered. What a wonderful world it would be, if we could all live her way. What a wonderful world it would be, if we could all understand the doctor's ways. What a wonderful world it would be if we could all have a little bit of love, respect and honest communication is all our lives; but that would mean that we also give as much as we want to take. I leave the school and this story in this humble acknowledgement.
Friday, 4 November 2016
Can You Sense What I Do?
Most of us have been blessed with all the senses in the world - we can hear the music, smell the flowers, see the sunrise, taste the delicacies and express these experiences in words that are spoken. We can interact and communicate, and yet we don't say what we want to, or understand things differently than intended. And so with all our senses intact, even for while that it maybe, we miss the link and break the connection.
Then there are those who can see the world around them, savour the tastes and inhale the aromas; but they cannot say how these make them feel and they cannot hear the differences in opinions of others. Yet they are the ones who touch our hearts and communicate most honestly. They understand most readily that another individual may have a different experience and that only opens their hearts wider.
I understood this today by sheer chance and stand completely humbled. I am grateful for all my senses and will attempt to use them more efficiently. I pray that I can open my heart and mind, and interact with as much authenticity as I encountered today. I hope that when I hear I can empathise and when I speak I can convey what I feel. If I can, only then I would have done right by the one who showed me the way today and only then would I be able to stand worthy of possessing all senses in all their glory.
Thursday, 20 October 2016
Women Empowerment - The Context of Us vs Them
Returning from my evening walk, I spot her with her signature flowers, walking towards a car at the traffic signal. Where did the promise of my tube roses go, I wonder. With that thought I call out to her, and on the divider lovingly pull her ears. "Didi (an address for an elder sister) I am so sorry. Will get them tomorrow, but now can I pull your ears too please..."
This banter is quite usual between her and me, two strangers who meet at the same traffic signal; everytime that I walk past or drive by. A bright wide smile, lustrous black hair and a bunch of colourful flowers in her hands; she tells me small anecdotes each time and her smile transfers to me.
Last week as I sat in the car, waiting for the traffic signal to turn green, she knocked on the window. She never asks me to buy flowers and nor was that her desire then. She wanted to show me how her daughter was growing up. Shireen; she pointed out, with a mother's heart swollen with pride. Somewhere I sensed the pleasure was burdened with pain. Before I could ask what was bothering her my way was clear. The cars behind honking, I had no choice but to drive away. After I parked, I thought of going back to verify my suspicion but feared being interfering, and so buried my inkling....
"Of course you can pull my ears", and I bent my head towards her.
She gently pulled one and said, "didi this is probably the last time you will see me. Post Diwali (the festival of lights coming up in 10 days) I am going away to the village".
"For how many days?"
"Maybe I will never come back!"
"Oh sure, and I was born yesterday! You have been here forever! So when will you return and when will my tube roses come?"
"No didi, I am serious. I have never shared what I am about to, with you. Do you recollect, a few months ago, I had asked if you knew of anyone looking for domestic help? Well I have been asking multiple women and have been unable to find a job. The reason I was asking is because I want to get away from my husband; I need physical distance between us. He does not earn, drinks and then comes home to beat me up. I have legally divorced him but he wants us to remarry. How can I, when he does not respect me or support me? He comes even now, on the pretext of meeting Shireen and verbally abuses me. I am scared that one day he will hit our daughter. That I won't be able to tolerate. And so I want to go away."
My brain is processing this very slowly. I am not hearing this right or maybe my instinct last week was right.
"Didi I tried very hard to find a job but because of a two year old, no one will employ me as domestic help. I have no other skills and it's so expensive to live in Mumbai and send her to school."
Puzzled I stare at her. No solution comes to mind. She looks tired but not sad. She looks gentle and yet determined. She looks helpless but still is persuasive.
"So I am thinking of going away and renting a small room in Ahmedabad. There I can find a place for Rs 500 monthly rent, sell vegetables and get my daughter to study. Only if I could get Rs 5000 for the deposit I can manage all else."
My feet are glued to the ground and are not moving when suddenly her sister appears.
"Yes didi he verbally abuses us too. She is better off with some distance from him. Maybe with no way to get to her he will mellow down. But she has no money. we have no money. Who knows..."
"He has tracked me down when I moved away from here to a shelter. If I could get a job as domestic help, the fear of the employer would keep him away. He abuses the cops too. So not able to find a job, I have to leave. There is no option left. Promise me you will come to meet me before Diwali..."
"Of course I will..."
I make my promise, stroke her arm, pull her sister's cheeks and my feet start to drag me home.
My head is spinning. On the day that most women in the neighbourhood are fasting and praying for the long lives of their husbands, this one is struggling to find a way away from the one she has divorced. The irony of life!
I wrote, just last week, that to empower women we must allow them to live a life of their choice. But if she lives the choice she is being forced to make, will that truly empower her? I said, just last week, that emboldening girls will give them their rights. If she uses her confidence to move away from a place that is her home, will that be righteous? In this context it is not choice or confidence that she needs. She needs financial independence and some societal support...
I hope we can all educate our children and I hope we can all be respectful of one another. If not, then maybe some amount of affirmative action will always be needed. If not, then we will always remain weary of the other gender, and the us vs them saga will linger on.
This banter is quite usual between her and me, two strangers who meet at the same traffic signal; everytime that I walk past or drive by. A bright wide smile, lustrous black hair and a bunch of colourful flowers in her hands; she tells me small anecdotes each time and her smile transfers to me.
Last week as I sat in the car, waiting for the traffic signal to turn green, she knocked on the window. She never asks me to buy flowers and nor was that her desire then. She wanted to show me how her daughter was growing up. Shireen; she pointed out, with a mother's heart swollen with pride. Somewhere I sensed the pleasure was burdened with pain. Before I could ask what was bothering her my way was clear. The cars behind honking, I had no choice but to drive away. After I parked, I thought of going back to verify my suspicion but feared being interfering, and so buried my inkling....
"Of course you can pull my ears", and I bent my head towards her.
She gently pulled one and said, "didi this is probably the last time you will see me. Post Diwali (the festival of lights coming up in 10 days) I am going away to the village".
"For how many days?"
"Maybe I will never come back!"
"Oh sure, and I was born yesterday! You have been here forever! So when will you return and when will my tube roses come?"
"No didi, I am serious. I have never shared what I am about to, with you. Do you recollect, a few months ago, I had asked if you knew of anyone looking for domestic help? Well I have been asking multiple women and have been unable to find a job. The reason I was asking is because I want to get away from my husband; I need physical distance between us. He does not earn, drinks and then comes home to beat me up. I have legally divorced him but he wants us to remarry. How can I, when he does not respect me or support me? He comes even now, on the pretext of meeting Shireen and verbally abuses me. I am scared that one day he will hit our daughter. That I won't be able to tolerate. And so I want to go away."
My brain is processing this very slowly. I am not hearing this right or maybe my instinct last week was right.
"Didi I tried very hard to find a job but because of a two year old, no one will employ me as domestic help. I have no other skills and it's so expensive to live in Mumbai and send her to school."
Puzzled I stare at her. No solution comes to mind. She looks tired but not sad. She looks gentle and yet determined. She looks helpless but still is persuasive.
"So I am thinking of going away and renting a small room in Ahmedabad. There I can find a place for Rs 500 monthly rent, sell vegetables and get my daughter to study. Only if I could get Rs 5000 for the deposit I can manage all else."
My feet are glued to the ground and are not moving when suddenly her sister appears.
"Yes didi he verbally abuses us too. She is better off with some distance from him. Maybe with no way to get to her he will mellow down. But she has no money. we have no money. Who knows..."
"He has tracked me down when I moved away from here to a shelter. If I could get a job as domestic help, the fear of the employer would keep him away. He abuses the cops too. So not able to find a job, I have to leave. There is no option left. Promise me you will come to meet me before Diwali..."
"Of course I will..."
I make my promise, stroke her arm, pull her sister's cheeks and my feet start to drag me home.
My head is spinning. On the day that most women in the neighbourhood are fasting and praying for the long lives of their husbands, this one is struggling to find a way away from the one she has divorced. The irony of life!
I wrote, just last week, that to empower women we must allow them to live a life of their choice. But if she lives the choice she is being forced to make, will that truly empower her? I said, just last week, that emboldening girls will give them their rights. If she uses her confidence to move away from a place that is her home, will that be righteous? In this context it is not choice or confidence that she needs. She needs financial independence and some societal support...
I hope we can all educate our children and I hope we can all be respectful of one another. If not, then maybe some amount of affirmative action will always be needed. If not, then we will always remain weary of the other gender, and the us vs them saga will linger on.
Sunday, 16 October 2016
Women Empowerment - A Life of Choice Lived for Others
Where do I begin,
To tell the story of how great a life can be,
The awe-inspiring story of the love she brings to all and me,
Where do I start?
This third story has been on the drawing board for days now. Everytime I attempt to complete it, I seem to go back to the beginning, feeling I have not done her justice. Maybe it's because this story is the closest to my heart. Maybe, because, while my parents gave me my dreams and the wings to fly, she helped me navigate the turbulent winds. Maybe, because, while my sisters showered me with selfless affection, she taught me to love even in the absence of warmth. Maybe, because, while my friends became my support system, she taught me to back my own self through stormy seas.
Her love and guidance are the reasons that I improve as an individual everyday. She is the reason that many young women have succeeded in living their choices by being confident, empathetic and patient; and not fighting under the auspices of feminism. She is the reason that multiple individuals have found harmony and peace despite most dire circumstances. And yes, she is the reason that I say women empowerment is truly about women living their choices and astutely using their abilities to make their dreams come true.
Persuasion
Born into a traditional family, she grew up in a smaller city in Uttar Pradesh. Adept at all house work, incredibly knowledgeable about all scriptures, loving and respectful towards elders and youngers alike; when she should have been getting married she declared that she wanted to give up the larger worldly and materialistic life. She wanted to work for welfare of the society and to spread education. This would only be possible if she could calm and center herself, and keep distractions and temptations at bay. Her choice seemed extreme and her future uncertain; but her knowledge of the scriptures and lessons from her father had taught her to follow her heart. The heart can never lead one astray; on a difficult path yes, but never on the wrong path. And so she worked on helping the family understand her choice, and her need of their support to achieve her dream. Permission granted, she started her life's work 23 kilometres away from the city on the banks of the Ganges.
It was the early 1990s and she wanted to start a shelter for destitute women - child widows, homeless women of the streets and women spurned by their families. Construction of the shelter was to be done on land that her father had kept for her financial security. The land was duly donated to the Trust (that she had formed for the cause) before it was put to use. Though she was inexperienced, not knowledgeable and had little exposure; she took complete responsibility of the project from conceptualisation to completion. She learnt on the way and asked for guidance when needed; but otherwise in the relatively more conservative and aggressive heartland of India, managed every aspect of the project from monitoring construction workers, to negotiating with contractors, to dealing with government officers, all on her own. No bribes were given, no compromises made on quality and all work was done painstakingly in the manner that it should have been. It took longer than envisaged, but her conviction was that at the right time things would complete. Her determination and calmness did not waiver even for a day; even when locals created wrinkles by bringing up petty issues month after month. She provided all clarification, maintained her focus and kept to herself.
I am calling it a shelter but it is not that, and never was, right from day one. I just cannot seem to find a better word. Every lady was given a room, with an attached bathroom, to share with one other woman. Each one of them had a role to play, the responsibility of a daily chore - cleaning, washing, cooking a meal, tending to the garden etc. And everyone had a title with which they were addressed - bhua or mausi (Aunty) by the youngsters, behenji (Sister) by the elders, or mataji (Mother) by the daily visitors such as the milkman or the vegetable vendor. The same continues todate and it is one big happy family where there is mutual respect and affection, everyone works together, eats together and prays together.
The prayer sessions are all inclusive; people from outside are welcome to join. Within the first few weeks of the morning prayers starting, she realised that outsiders who attended the sessions were those who had no means of support. So she decided that every one of them should be given a morning meal (rotis and a vegetable), raw dal (pulses), atta (unrefined flour), some salt and a token amount. The reason was simple - one meal taken care of and the basic ingredients of the next one provided for, they would be assured two square meals a day. This would reduce any provocation or temptation do indulge in anything unsavoury. The small sum would be saved, hopefully, and provide a contingency or emergency fund. Or else it would be pocket money to be used when simple wants arose.
Accustomed to waking up at 400am, she used the kitchen before anyone came to make breakfast and prepared the morning prayer meals for over 30 people, everyday. The ingredient packets were put together before she went to sleep each night. This was in addition to running the administration, finances and maintenance of the shelter; and being a friend, philosopher and guide to many like me who form her circle of family and friends. These were her desires and her aims, nobody else could be inconvenienced towards the fulfilment of the same.
All Trust expenses were (and are) met by dipping into the small savings that had accumulated during her tenure as a teacher, the little money her father had set aside for her and what her brother and sister voluntarily contributed. Ocassionally, friends and family donated (and continue to do so). All proceeds were (and are) strictly used for the works of the Trust.
Money has no significance for her; beyond providing food, water and shelter for the women who she calls family for over two decades now. She owns no more than two or three sets of clothes that she washes herself and wears on alternate days. Jewellery has no place in her life. She eats only one meal a day, and that what is cooked for everyone else. There is no need to travel and if a need does arise, then the cheapest mode is used - tempo travelers, buses and trains at best. With her knowledge and application of ayurveda, a high pain threshold and tremendous amounts of self control; medical expenses are bare minimum. Cosmetics are alien to her and gifts not acceptable. She is content with as little as possible and in giving as much as she possibly can, both physically and emotionally.
To give a purpose to the lives of the scorned, to improve the lives of the villagers and to encourage a community feeling; in the late 1990s she decided to initiate a small sewing school in the premises of the shelter. It seemed to be the most interesting way to skill up the local population and productively engage all involved. The teachers were women of the shelter, students were women and girls of the village, and all material and equipment was provided by the Trust.
Once the pupils were capable, she requested the village women to get their sewing needs, big and small, fulfilled by the newly trained seamstresses. The Trust equipment could be used at no cost, but pre-intimation for planning was needed. Soon there was a thriving close knit community that formed. After lunch, when classes and sewing would be underway; laughter, happiness and melody would tiptoe everywhere that the women went. A sense of belonging was visible on every face on the premises. For those few hours, everyone forgot all worries of life and enjoyed the company of those present. It truly was a place under the sun that soaked everyone in the love of life.
But vagaries of life dance to their own tune. All of a sudden, there was a complaint raised that under the garb of a Trust she was running a commercial enterprise. The bank accounts of the trust showed balances that were embarrassingly low, even for a charity. Her own account had barely enough to meet her meagre monthly needs. Cash-in sources for the Trust were, in majority, identified as deposits made from her and her siblings' accounts. Expense reports and receipts were all available down to the last paisa. Villagers vouched that they never paid anything to the Trust or any teacher. Legally there could be no non-compliance and none was found. Morally not a blemish could be spotted. Ethically, those who were investigating, blushed when the squeaky clean and the noble way of working emerged. And yet someone somewhere decided that all the testimonies and proof were insufficuent and a legal notice was issued. The lessons, the assignments, the afternoon bliss; all came to a screeching halt.
I went to visit soon after, and in my wisdom told her that we should opt for judicial help. She had a simple answer, "the money and time we would spend in a legal battle can be used for better things. We have to find an alternative, non interfering means to improve life in the village, and in time that path will show itself. Maybe there is a worthier cause that we have missed." I was not convinced and said I would bear the legal cost. She asked me to give the estimated amount to those who needed it for education. When I was not convinced any other way, she took to Ramayana to make the point.
When Ravana abducted Devi Sita, Lord Rama did not need anyone's help to find her. He, the omnipresent and omnipotent, knew exactly who was responsible and where his beloved was. He could have waged a war right then and killed Ravana. Yet he went wandering in the dangerous forests, crying in grief and yearning for his wife. That is when Lord Hanuman met him and avowed to help find Devi Sita. When Lord Hanuman left with that aim, he was faced with crossing an ocean. He had forgotten his powers of flying and it was in the despair of not being able to keep his word to the Lord, that he was reunited with his power. Ultimately when war ensued, Laxman was gravely injured. The only cure for his wounds was available thousands of miles away in the Himalayas; and that is when Lord Hanuman's flying prowess showed it's glory. He flew from Lanka to Himalayas, secured the medicinal herbs and saved Laxman's life. So maybe this turn of events was necessary to usher in another effort that would touch and change many more lives. We had to be patient and calm to see how future unfolds. If the laughter had ceased, she was convinced that so would the eerie afternoon silence of the premises. This explanation and chain of thoughts I could not refute; and was once again left speechless by her equanimity, faith and selflessness.
Time continued on its journey and she continued on her path, toying with multiple ideas to bring about a positive difference in the village life. But every idea conflicted with her ideology of non-interference or spoke of significant capital requirements. Amongst all the plans that she brought up over the years, the one that kept resurfacing was that of starting a school. Her only hitch in starting one was the need of place and capital. Both were in short supply and hence her dream remained just that, a dream.
Where there is a will there is a way. When the desire is deep from the heart then the mind is forced to carve out solutions. That is what happened last September. She called up her brother with the perfect solution for a space for the school. It was the premises of the shelter. The women living there would keep their rooms and the kitchen. But all other available rooms, including her own room, the prayer hall, the communal dining area etc. would be converted into classrooms. To begin with, there would be enough space to create decently sized classrooms from nursery to grade five and a staff room. The space available in front of the shelter could be used to create two rooms that could be used as the principal's office and a small accounts office. The garden of the shelter could be used as the playground and to hold events on independence day, republic day, annual day etc. He would need to help her with the funds.
The brother asked her not to worry about finances, his life savings were hers. But where would she live and sleep? That was simple she said - on a folding bed in one of the classrooms. In the evening, post dusk, the bed would be opened and laid in the room after moving the classroom furniture. The next day before dawn she would fold it back and rearrange the desks and tables. Waking up early, not sleeping in the afternoon and having one meal a day; all these helped in that she would need no space through the day. Her training was probably for this day! And if this was not acceptable, she said she would sleep in one of the tiny storerooms that housed all the linen of the shelter. She was ready to make do with even lesser, only to see her dream come true. She now was derermined to start an English medium school and provide the village children with an environment that not only made them literate, but educated them about the rich heritage and culture of our nation, and the newer ways of life that will change the world of the young ones.
While her brother was taking his time in weighing the merits of her proposition, she started speaking to a few young and trusted locals. Soon there was a troop of volunteers to help with tasks such as admissions, finding teachers, designing uniform and doing the clerical and office work. She started thinking of a name for the school. She called an old friend, who now runs a school, to understand what it would take to run one herself. Her passion, conviction and relentlessness forced the brother to cave in. He took on the responsibility of doing the paperwork and raising or providing the funding.
In February this year, the school was inaugurated. While the brother sister duo had envisaged only about fifty children to start with, they were astounded with a hundred and fifty plus admissions. Fees payable by students such as young Ali, whose father was lynched to death by a mob and whose mother washes utensils to provide her children with two meals a day, was waived. Trying to minimise expenses, she decided to herself make and serve tea to the staff and the teachers, thrice a day. To ensure standards are maintained and laws followed; administration, accounts and maintenance are all personally looked into by her. All events are planned under her guidance. Teachers, students and parents can see her at any point in time for grievance addressing. This, of course, is in addition to still doing all the work that she has committed to at the shelter.
Last month I went to spend a weekend with her. She was snowed under responsibilities but content at seeing her dream coming true. She had not a minute to herself but still found time to listen to my stories, grunts and dreams. She put her folding bed in the classroom but suggested that I stay at a nearby guesthouse so that I was comfortable. In awe, I burst out laughing. How could she be so selfless and so loving! I was there to be with her, and would sleep on the floor if I needed to; if she has lived her life as she has, I could live with just a bit less for just two days.
Everyday when I speak to her, I come face to face with the fact that just like respect, empowerment has to be earned. She chose her life with her heart. She fought her battles with grace. She soars in victory with humility. And that is how she brings alive the words of Jacqueline Bisset - Character contributes to beauty. A mode of conduct, a standard of courage, discipline, fortitude and integrity do a great deal in making a woman beautiful and a life meaningful. Yes empowerment is earned and cannot be demanded; that is a lesson I have learnt, and now need to master.
To tell the story of how great a life can be,
The awe-inspiring story of the love she brings to all and me,
Where do I start?
This third story has been on the drawing board for days now. Everytime I attempt to complete it, I seem to go back to the beginning, feeling I have not done her justice. Maybe it's because this story is the closest to my heart. Maybe, because, while my parents gave me my dreams and the wings to fly, she helped me navigate the turbulent winds. Maybe, because, while my sisters showered me with selfless affection, she taught me to love even in the absence of warmth. Maybe, because, while my friends became my support system, she taught me to back my own self through stormy seas.
Her love and guidance are the reasons that I improve as an individual everyday. She is the reason that many young women have succeeded in living their choices by being confident, empathetic and patient; and not fighting under the auspices of feminism. She is the reason that multiple individuals have found harmony and peace despite most dire circumstances. And yes, she is the reason that I say women empowerment is truly about women living their choices and astutely using their abilities to make their dreams come true.
Persuasion
Born into a traditional family, she grew up in a smaller city in Uttar Pradesh. Adept at all house work, incredibly knowledgeable about all scriptures, loving and respectful towards elders and youngers alike; when she should have been getting married she declared that she wanted to give up the larger worldly and materialistic life. She wanted to work for welfare of the society and to spread education. This would only be possible if she could calm and center herself, and keep distractions and temptations at bay. Her choice seemed extreme and her future uncertain; but her knowledge of the scriptures and lessons from her father had taught her to follow her heart. The heart can never lead one astray; on a difficult path yes, but never on the wrong path. And so she worked on helping the family understand her choice, and her need of their support to achieve her dream. Permission granted, she started her life's work 23 kilometres away from the city on the banks of the Ganges.
It was the early 1990s and she wanted to start a shelter for destitute women - child widows, homeless women of the streets and women spurned by their families. Construction of the shelter was to be done on land that her father had kept for her financial security. The land was duly donated to the Trust (that she had formed for the cause) before it was put to use. Though she was inexperienced, not knowledgeable and had little exposure; she took complete responsibility of the project from conceptualisation to completion. She learnt on the way and asked for guidance when needed; but otherwise in the relatively more conservative and aggressive heartland of India, managed every aspect of the project from monitoring construction workers, to negotiating with contractors, to dealing with government officers, all on her own. No bribes were given, no compromises made on quality and all work was done painstakingly in the manner that it should have been. It took longer than envisaged, but her conviction was that at the right time things would complete. Her determination and calmness did not waiver even for a day; even when locals created wrinkles by bringing up petty issues month after month. She provided all clarification, maintained her focus and kept to herself.
I am calling it a shelter but it is not that, and never was, right from day one. I just cannot seem to find a better word. Every lady was given a room, with an attached bathroom, to share with one other woman. Each one of them had a role to play, the responsibility of a daily chore - cleaning, washing, cooking a meal, tending to the garden etc. And everyone had a title with which they were addressed - bhua or mausi (Aunty) by the youngsters, behenji (Sister) by the elders, or mataji (Mother) by the daily visitors such as the milkman or the vegetable vendor. The same continues todate and it is one big happy family where there is mutual respect and affection, everyone works together, eats together and prays together.
The prayer sessions are all inclusive; people from outside are welcome to join. Within the first few weeks of the morning prayers starting, she realised that outsiders who attended the sessions were those who had no means of support. So she decided that every one of them should be given a morning meal (rotis and a vegetable), raw dal (pulses), atta (unrefined flour), some salt and a token amount. The reason was simple - one meal taken care of and the basic ingredients of the next one provided for, they would be assured two square meals a day. This would reduce any provocation or temptation do indulge in anything unsavoury. The small sum would be saved, hopefully, and provide a contingency or emergency fund. Or else it would be pocket money to be used when simple wants arose.
Accustomed to waking up at 400am, she used the kitchen before anyone came to make breakfast and prepared the morning prayer meals for over 30 people, everyday. The ingredient packets were put together before she went to sleep each night. This was in addition to running the administration, finances and maintenance of the shelter; and being a friend, philosopher and guide to many like me who form her circle of family and friends. These were her desires and her aims, nobody else could be inconvenienced towards the fulfilment of the same.
All Trust expenses were (and are) met by dipping into the small savings that had accumulated during her tenure as a teacher, the little money her father had set aside for her and what her brother and sister voluntarily contributed. Ocassionally, friends and family donated (and continue to do so). All proceeds were (and are) strictly used for the works of the Trust.
Money has no significance for her; beyond providing food, water and shelter for the women who she calls family for over two decades now. She owns no more than two or three sets of clothes that she washes herself and wears on alternate days. Jewellery has no place in her life. She eats only one meal a day, and that what is cooked for everyone else. There is no need to travel and if a need does arise, then the cheapest mode is used - tempo travelers, buses and trains at best. With her knowledge and application of ayurveda, a high pain threshold and tremendous amounts of self control; medical expenses are bare minimum. Cosmetics are alien to her and gifts not acceptable. She is content with as little as possible and in giving as much as she possibly can, both physically and emotionally.
To give a purpose to the lives of the scorned, to improve the lives of the villagers and to encourage a community feeling; in the late 1990s she decided to initiate a small sewing school in the premises of the shelter. It seemed to be the most interesting way to skill up the local population and productively engage all involved. The teachers were women of the shelter, students were women and girls of the village, and all material and equipment was provided by the Trust.
Once the pupils were capable, she requested the village women to get their sewing needs, big and small, fulfilled by the newly trained seamstresses. The Trust equipment could be used at no cost, but pre-intimation for planning was needed. Soon there was a thriving close knit community that formed. After lunch, when classes and sewing would be underway; laughter, happiness and melody would tiptoe everywhere that the women went. A sense of belonging was visible on every face on the premises. For those few hours, everyone forgot all worries of life and enjoyed the company of those present. It truly was a place under the sun that soaked everyone in the love of life.
But vagaries of life dance to their own tune. All of a sudden, there was a complaint raised that under the garb of a Trust she was running a commercial enterprise. The bank accounts of the trust showed balances that were embarrassingly low, even for a charity. Her own account had barely enough to meet her meagre monthly needs. Cash-in sources for the Trust were, in majority, identified as deposits made from her and her siblings' accounts. Expense reports and receipts were all available down to the last paisa. Villagers vouched that they never paid anything to the Trust or any teacher. Legally there could be no non-compliance and none was found. Morally not a blemish could be spotted. Ethically, those who were investigating, blushed when the squeaky clean and the noble way of working emerged. And yet someone somewhere decided that all the testimonies and proof were insufficuent and a legal notice was issued. The lessons, the assignments, the afternoon bliss; all came to a screeching halt.
I went to visit soon after, and in my wisdom told her that we should opt for judicial help. She had a simple answer, "the money and time we would spend in a legal battle can be used for better things. We have to find an alternative, non interfering means to improve life in the village, and in time that path will show itself. Maybe there is a worthier cause that we have missed." I was not convinced and said I would bear the legal cost. She asked me to give the estimated amount to those who needed it for education. When I was not convinced any other way, she took to Ramayana to make the point.
When Ravana abducted Devi Sita, Lord Rama did not need anyone's help to find her. He, the omnipresent and omnipotent, knew exactly who was responsible and where his beloved was. He could have waged a war right then and killed Ravana. Yet he went wandering in the dangerous forests, crying in grief and yearning for his wife. That is when Lord Hanuman met him and avowed to help find Devi Sita. When Lord Hanuman left with that aim, he was faced with crossing an ocean. He had forgotten his powers of flying and it was in the despair of not being able to keep his word to the Lord, that he was reunited with his power. Ultimately when war ensued, Laxman was gravely injured. The only cure for his wounds was available thousands of miles away in the Himalayas; and that is when Lord Hanuman's flying prowess showed it's glory. He flew from Lanka to Himalayas, secured the medicinal herbs and saved Laxman's life. So maybe this turn of events was necessary to usher in another effort that would touch and change many more lives. We had to be patient and calm to see how future unfolds. If the laughter had ceased, she was convinced that so would the eerie afternoon silence of the premises. This explanation and chain of thoughts I could not refute; and was once again left speechless by her equanimity, faith and selflessness.
Time continued on its journey and she continued on her path, toying with multiple ideas to bring about a positive difference in the village life. But every idea conflicted with her ideology of non-interference or spoke of significant capital requirements. Amongst all the plans that she brought up over the years, the one that kept resurfacing was that of starting a school. Her only hitch in starting one was the need of place and capital. Both were in short supply and hence her dream remained just that, a dream.
Where there is a will there is a way. When the desire is deep from the heart then the mind is forced to carve out solutions. That is what happened last September. She called up her brother with the perfect solution for a space for the school. It was the premises of the shelter. The women living there would keep their rooms and the kitchen. But all other available rooms, including her own room, the prayer hall, the communal dining area etc. would be converted into classrooms. To begin with, there would be enough space to create decently sized classrooms from nursery to grade five and a staff room. The space available in front of the shelter could be used to create two rooms that could be used as the principal's office and a small accounts office. The garden of the shelter could be used as the playground and to hold events on independence day, republic day, annual day etc. He would need to help her with the funds.
The brother asked her not to worry about finances, his life savings were hers. But where would she live and sleep? That was simple she said - on a folding bed in one of the classrooms. In the evening, post dusk, the bed would be opened and laid in the room after moving the classroom furniture. The next day before dawn she would fold it back and rearrange the desks and tables. Waking up early, not sleeping in the afternoon and having one meal a day; all these helped in that she would need no space through the day. Her training was probably for this day! And if this was not acceptable, she said she would sleep in one of the tiny storerooms that housed all the linen of the shelter. She was ready to make do with even lesser, only to see her dream come true. She now was derermined to start an English medium school and provide the village children with an environment that not only made them literate, but educated them about the rich heritage and culture of our nation, and the newer ways of life that will change the world of the young ones.
While her brother was taking his time in weighing the merits of her proposition, she started speaking to a few young and trusted locals. Soon there was a troop of volunteers to help with tasks such as admissions, finding teachers, designing uniform and doing the clerical and office work. She started thinking of a name for the school. She called an old friend, who now runs a school, to understand what it would take to run one herself. Her passion, conviction and relentlessness forced the brother to cave in. He took on the responsibility of doing the paperwork and raising or providing the funding.
In February this year, the school was inaugurated. While the brother sister duo had envisaged only about fifty children to start with, they were astounded with a hundred and fifty plus admissions. Fees payable by students such as young Ali, whose father was lynched to death by a mob and whose mother washes utensils to provide her children with two meals a day, was waived. Trying to minimise expenses, she decided to herself make and serve tea to the staff and the teachers, thrice a day. To ensure standards are maintained and laws followed; administration, accounts and maintenance are all personally looked into by her. All events are planned under her guidance. Teachers, students and parents can see her at any point in time for grievance addressing. This, of course, is in addition to still doing all the work that she has committed to at the shelter.
Last month I went to spend a weekend with her. She was snowed under responsibilities but content at seeing her dream coming true. She had not a minute to herself but still found time to listen to my stories, grunts and dreams. She put her folding bed in the classroom but suggested that I stay at a nearby guesthouse so that I was comfortable. In awe, I burst out laughing. How could she be so selfless and so loving! I was there to be with her, and would sleep on the floor if I needed to; if she has lived her life as she has, I could live with just a bit less for just two days.
Everyday when I speak to her, I come face to face with the fact that just like respect, empowerment has to be earned. She chose her life with her heart. She fought her battles with grace. She soars in victory with humility. And that is how she brings alive the words of Jacqueline Bisset - Character contributes to beauty. A mode of conduct, a standard of courage, discipline, fortitude and integrity do a great deal in making a woman beautiful and a life meaningful. Yes empowerment is earned and cannot be demanded; that is a lesson I have learnt, and now need to master.
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