A Visit To St. Catherine's Home

A part of my job-profile entails that I liaison with different organizations (primarily NGOs) regarding fieldwork placements of students. This responsibility took me to St. Catherine's Home in Andheri (West), Mumbai on a nice, sunny Saturday morning. While I have visited several organizations in the past, this one, in particular, was a humbling experience for me.

St. Catherine's Home was started in 1922 to provide shelter to unmarried mothers but today it caters to more than 300 infants, toddlers, girls and young, unmarried women who have been the victims of deprivation, abandonment and abuse. The one thing that struck me the  most about this home was its emphasis on not just providing education and rehabilitation but also catering to the psycho-social needs of the individuals residing there and ensuring they are re-integrated into society when they are ready. I was amazed to know that they ensure their children go on a trip to the sea-side once every year!

As soon as I reached the home, there was a young couple there who were just leaving after adopting a ten-month old baby. It was a touching experience seeing the gleam of happiness in the eyes of the new mother as she was holding the child in her arms.
After the couple left, I had a conversation with Sister which made me open my eyes about many things that I was already aware of but I chose not to see. For instance, I was told that one of the major challenges they face when they put children up for adoption is that couples do not want to adopt dark-skinned babies. I guess it is because of such obsession with fair-skin that we need campaigns like Dark Is Beautiful. I was also told that no family in India wants to adopt a child that has any mental or physical handicap. In fact, they do not even want to adopt children who have any scars or marks on their faces. I was really troubled on hearing this! While the mind-set is such that we want our children to be perfect, does this mean that children who appear farther away from perfection have no place in mainstream society? Is only beauty deserving of love and affection? I found myself thinking to myself that it is probably because of this narrow mind-set that the couples were not blessed with a baby of their own in the first place - no matter how hard I tried, I found myself being quite judgmental when I heard these stories. Sister told me that all children with special needs are put for adoption in foreign countries. She told me about children getting adopted and living in Sweden, France, Belgium and U.S.A. and doing very well there.
Every time I hear politicians or some orthodox people condemning how the 'Indian culture' has gone for a toss owing to Westernization, I feel they should reflect on some of the ways in which the Western society is better; especially when it comes to the way it treats its women.

While the home is doing a commendable job despite being short of funds, the fact that it exists is proof that we are living in a society that is in no ways safe for the people who have the XX chromosome. Every day, news of molestation, child abuse, gang-rapes continue to be hurled at the public through newspapers, radios and televisions. I wonder what happens after the sensationalism is over? No one is ready to take any responsibility. We wish to blame the government, the police-forces, the judiciary, the media, the politicians, the organization but nothing really comes out of this blame game. I just feel that it is now time to take matters in our own hands and be responsible for our own safety because expecting this country to be a safe place for women is like a Utopian dream.

Towards the end of the visit, the words of Sister that remained with me were, "Count your blessings! Our children, here, would gladly exchange places with you right now. You have food, shelter, clothing and so much more - be thankful to the ones who provide them for you. Parents are always taken for granted and never appreciated for all the things they do because after all you feel it is their 'duty' to do so." She gave us instances of fathers molesting their own daughters; mothers selling their daughters; uncles making their nieces work in the flesh-trade and all these stories just gave me goose-bumps. The trauma one feels when one becomes aware of the fact that the one who is assigned the job of protecting you and taking care of all your needs is the one who is subjecting you to exploitation and oppression is one that can be extremely heart-wrenching and something that no one can understand unless and until you have been in the same shoes. At the end of the visit, I just felt grateful for having so many privileges, luxuries and comforts - while I never have issues expressing my thankfulness, today was one day when I felt a simple 'thank you' would just not do.

To all the people reading this, I reiterate Sister's message and request you to make a list of all those things in life you are grateful for and express your heart-felt thanks to those people who have blessed you by providing those things. It will not only help you look at your life from a different perspective but you will also be making a difference in the lives of those who you hold in special regard. 

Hide-And-Seek

Weddings are a particularly noisy affair. This one was no different. A large number of guests had congregated at the courtyard that overlooked the huge, well-lit, mansion. They congratulated the bride and groom, admired the decorations, criticized the food arrangements – everything was just the way typical weddings are!

The children were also decked up in the fanciest of attires. However, instead of joining the adults on the dance-floor, they were more interested in playing amongst themselves. The entire house was empty and it became the venue for the game that they were about to play – hide-and-seek. The seeker closed his eyes and began the count from 1 to 100 while the rest of the children ran helter-skelter trying to hide in a place where they would not be easily found.

She ran up the stairs until she reached the third floor that led to a room which opened up to the terrace. She was quite smart for a nine year old – she figured that by the time the seeker reached the last floor of the house, he would have already found her other friends and cousins, and she would be the winner. When she reached the room, it wasn’t empty. Her neighbour’s uncle was sitting there, with a glass of whiskey in his hand.

“What are you doing here, uncle?” she asked.

He explained that he was expecting an important call and, therefore, was in the house so that he would not miss hearing the phone ring. She heard the gleeful screams of a few children on the ground floor. “Quick! I don’t have much time,” she squealed. “I need to hide!” He told her to sit down quietly and make no noise. He, then, turned off the lights and carefully made his way back to the sofa. She had not caught his evil gleam in the darkness nor had she heard him silently bolt the door from inside. It was dark and she could not see a thing. “Don’t be scared,” he whispered. “I am here.” She merely nodded her head and sat still. Suddenly, she felt his hand on her mouth and in a soothing, hushed voice, he said, “Don’t worry. You will enjoy this game – it is called dark room.” Something about his syrupy-sweet voice spooked her but she just sighed in compliance – she loved playing games; after all she was just another child. The other children searched for her in the house but finding the door of the third floor locked, they went down to look for her in other spaces. Her choked voice gave no hint of her presence. As his fingers brushed through her entire body from under her clothes, she experienced shivers. She did not like what was happening but she did not cry for help. She could not. The brutal monster abused her body despite her silent, fervent, prayers begging him to stop.

Even when he, ultimately, stopped, she, still, did not feel the same. Her body continued to ache while her mind was terrorized with fear. He made her swear that she would not tell anyone – this game was their little secret. She nodded in agreement, blinking her eyelids rapidly to stop the tears that were about to trickle down her face. She had not enjoyed this one bit – she had no intention of playing this game with any of her friends.

She trudged down the staircase only to be hounded by some of the children, who, still had been looking for her. “Where were you hiding?” they asked. “You are the winner of this round!” She did not know how to answer them. On seeing her silent and subdued, they merely shrugged their shoulders, “Fine! Don’t tell us if you don’t want to!”

The new seeker began her count. Once again, the children started looking for places to hide themselves. She hid with the other children. This time, she did not want to become the winner of the game. One always has to pay a heavy price for winning – on that fateful day, that was the lesson that she learnt. 

A Tiny String Of Hope

At present, I am on vacation with my family in the United Kingdom. News about India, however, still continues to reach us especially updates of the status of the Delhi gang-rape victim. Facebook is flooded with messages of people expressing their shock, angst, fury, frustration, despair and wrath. Despite being a frequent user, I refrain from paying much heed to the content posted by people on Facebook. Somehow I doubt the sincerity of their desire to actually do something that will actually make a difference...For example, without meaning to offend anyone, I do not see how changing your profile picture to a black dot (apparently symbolizing how shameful the state of affairs in our country are) is going to make a positive difference!

Today, I received the news that she died. A part of me was dejected because somehow I had a tiny ray of hope that she, who had succeeded in awakening so many emotions in so many people would not, herself, rest in slumber. The tragedy of our nation or, perhaps, of mankind, in general, is that we all have short-term memories! Once a person dies, we forget about him or her in some days and our life continues with its usual monotony. I hope that the protests that have been happening continue until justice is delivered instead of fizzing out like many other such instances. We all seem to have developed the bad habit of only living in the moment. Once a tragic moment has elapsed, we just forget about it, move on and focus on the other moments that are more likely to be pleasurable.

The media has played its role in bringing to light not just how unsafe women in our country are but also the mind-set of many of the people in our country who continue to treat women as second-class citizens that need to succumb to whatever they are being subjected to - for women, survival should matter (it is all about "saving intestines"); dignity is secondary, if at all, important.

I am not a radical feminist. I do not think it is a crime to objectify women based on their looks and on the basis of the sort of clothes they wear; these days, even men are subject to such objectification (for example, John Abraham in Dostana) even if it is to a lesser degree.  Yet I would like to live in a country where women are treated with respect.

This is where, I feel, the problem lies. How do you teach someone to respect a woman in a country where everyone wants a son over a daughter? How do you teach a family of well-to-do,"educated" individuals to respect a woman for what she is and not for the amount of dowry she is going to bring to the household? How do you teach a man working at the topmost executive level of his firm that it is not acceptable to displace his anger towards his boss by beating up his wife?
From the time a son is born, he looks at the way his father treats his mother. He sees how partial the mother is in his favour between him and his sister? How easy is it to change so many years of conditioning? I am not sure if candle-light marches or setting up fast-track courts is where the solution to the problem lies...It is a much bigger issue at a macro-level that we need to address.

Even though she is no more, I hope her demise will bring about a change that will make this country a better place for women. Although the government seems unmoved and has to make use of tear-gas machines in answer to the protests, the cries of the protesters and their pleas are, hopefully, real and will succeed in bringing about some positive changes in our country. I hope it isn't a lot that I am hoping for...

Quality Education For All

I have, recently, been appointed to work in a school as a Special Educator and Counsellor. At present, the summer vacation is still on and only teachers and other faculty members need to be present to ensure that all arrangements to facilitate education are made as soon as school resumes.

As the class-teachers were busy covering note-books and text-books, my colleague and I sat in the staff-room, chalking out our tentative schedules and devising different methods to cater to the wide array of needs of the differently-abled children. We did not really have much to do so we were making use of this opportunity to get to know each other better. Our random conversation was, suddenly, interrupted with a small girl arriving at the door. She was dark with long hair that was neatly tied back in a ponytail. She was dressed in her best clothes and she had a shy smile on her face and a mischievous twinkle in her eye. She knocked at the door and asked us if we were teachers.

I smiled at her and nodded my head. "What do you want, child?" I asked her.

"My mother and father...I don't have...I want to study. Please take me in your school!" she proclaimed and looked at us earnestly with eyes wide open. She spoke confidently and her voice was clear and sharp, devoid of any tremors.

I asked her if she had studied previously and she nodded her head. "I have studied till second standard. I want to study more...But I don't have money..."

"Why did you leave that school?" I probed.

"This school is nice - my friend is in same class but she knows more than me! I don't want to go to BMC school" the girl replied. 

This short conversation stirred in me a mixed array of emotions. I was a little startled to find a small seven year old girl walking in to school, all by herself, seeking admission. At the same time, I experienced a sense of joy to see this little girl trying to stand up on her own feet. I also felt proud that I was part of a school that imparted free education to all who were willing to learn!

I referred the girl to my supervisor. The little girl was asked to start coming to school once it re-opens after the vacation. She left the building with a big grin on her face and before leaving, she smiled at me and waved good-bye!

This brief incident instilled in me a deep sense of pride. My job may not be very well-paying  but I think each day, I get to learn a lot. The happiness one gets out of helping someone else cannot be defined in words. I feel extremely glad to be a part of an organization that does not deny access to quality education to anyone on grounds of financial and economic constraints. Children from all communities, of every social strata, the differently-abled - everyone - is welcome here because we, truly, believe that every child is special and we should help them develop their uniqueness in all academic and non-academic spheres. Children are the bright future of our nation and additional steps must be taken to encourage the education of the girl child. I am thankful that I am getting the opportunity of making a difference in whatever small way, and being able to touch the lives of so many others in a way that could, probably, not have been achieved before.