How's this for inspiration... and it's true

Lighting The Way

(The life story of Raju Dhanvate)

Perhaps it’s only fitting that my father used to break stones for a living. For the last 36 years, it almost feels like I’ve been metaphorically doing the same. Yet, that I am writing this is a testament to the fact that obstacles are meant to be overcome, and problems are meant to be solved. That is the purpose of their existence.

Born in a small village called Khurd Savli Vihir near the holy town of Shirdi, I arrived on the eve of India’s Independence Day in 1975 in to a family of a man, woman and their daughter. India might have been free for almost three decades by then, but my parents still lived a hand mouth existence. My father was a daily labourer and the family depended on those day wages to put food on their plates. I realize now it must have been incredibly hard for my parents to live like that, but the first six years of my life passed happily. I recall only happy memories from that time.

But time has a funny way of evening things out because in 1981, we lost my sister. She was eight years old. It was unfair and we hadn’t even fully come to terms with her passing when I was struck down with high fever and I lost my sight. We had no medical help and no real way of knowing what my parents might have done to prevent my condition. The irony is that the day I officially became visually impaired was Diwali.

At this point, my father perhaps decided he wanted a happier life and abandoned my mother and me. We know since that he married another woman and started another family. My mother though was undeterred. She had just lost a daughter, had a son who was blind and a husband who no longer wished to care for her, but she decided to never give up. That bold decision has today shaped me in a way even I don’t fully understand. For a single mother to bring up a blind son in Khurd Savli Vihir was unheard of. It just underlines the fact that my mother has uncommon courage.

It was her motivation that helped me come to terms with my blindness, with no thanks to the villagers. I don’t know what it is about human beings that make us want to make fun of those who are different or less fortunate, but I certainly know how it feels to be treated that way. My mother was broke and I was fatherless and blinded but that didn’t stop the children in my village from throwing stones at me. Adults would launch verbal barbs at me often blaming me for my father’s departure. I’m not sure still which of the two hurt me more.

I suppose only to feel normal, I told my mother I wanted to go to school just like the other children. She wanted me to have an education, but was unsure about how we could afford it. My grandmother was unsure that the school would accept a blind boy. Either way, it meant that I had to stay at home.

That reality changed with a macabre twist. My mother’s brother was, like my father, a daily labourer. He worked at a construction site, loading and unloading bricks and mud. He was a victim of an unfortunate accident that led to his left hand being amputated. And strangely that was how fate offered me a helping hand.

One of the patients sharing the hospital ward with my uncle started talking to my relatives and me, and made the elders realize the importance of educating me. He was a man of more fortunate means and luckily for me, my family paid heed to his words. He even gave us an address to a school for the blind. A few months later, I had my wish and a new uniform. I was going to a school thanks to the kindness of a complete stranger. It was my first brush with the fact that the world isn’t completely cruel.

I thrived in my new school and until the seventh standard was one of the leading students of the school. In fact, by the eighth standard I was competing with normal students in elocution competitions and winning. It was in that year that National Award winning film director Rajdutt was at hand to give me an award for the ‘Best Student’. The man who made inspiring films like ‘Pudcha Paaol’ and ‘Shaapit’ left his indelible stamp on my life too. That was undoubtedly one of the first highlights of my short life.

June 1995 was the beginning of a new chapter. That was the year I matriculated from high school. With a hunger for more, I decided to move to the metropolis that is Mumbai. I sought admission in Ramnarain Ruia College. Any doubts whether I would survive its tumultuous pace and cutthroat competition were immediately laid to rest the day I was submitting my documents to the college. I was short by 300 Rupees in my application fee. A stranger simply offered me that money without breathing a word of giving it back. I was convinced I would be okay in the Maximum City.

My life passed uneventfully until it was time for me to appear for my twelfth board exams. My regular writer fell sick and the replacement was not allowed since he was deemed ‘non-regular’ and hence ineligible. English was the only paper which he was going to write, but the authorities simply stated he couldn’t even though he was from the eleventh standard. I lost a year thanks to an inexplicable rule. It was the first of many such instances.

I reappeared for the HSC Board exams the next year, and passed and immediately enrolled for my Bachelors of Arts. I thought I would finally gain acceptance in every way possible. I had just crossed another obstacle but several were just about to come up in my way. I needed an income given my circumstances and those of my aging mother, and so I trained myself as a telephone operator. I believed that I could make it if I could get a job with the Reserve Bank of India. However, my application was rejected without giving me a valid reason. Determined to find out why I had been turned down this way, I went to New Delhi in late 1999, and met with the Social Justice Minister Maneka Gandhi. Thankfully, she intervened on my behalf. She was told that since I was from the Open category and the seat was meant for a blind student of the reserved category, I was ineligible. A seat that was created to help the less fortunate would lie vacant for several years because they couldn’t find a reserved blind student who also wanted to be a telephone operator. There couldn’t have been a harsh way to stack up the odds against me.

A few petitions later, the Finance Minister at the time, Yeshwant Sinha then stepped in and ruled that an Open category position be created for candidates like me. As a fate would have it, I could never benefit from that rule change. By the time Mr Sinha created the extra position, I had passed my second year of Bachelor of Arts. I applied as soon as the position was created but the moment I did, I was rejected. Again. This time the reason was that I was over-qualified. The irony still doesn’t escape me. I’d help create a vacancy that now someone else would fill.

So, I graduated with a Bachelor’s degree in May 2001 and I didn’t exactly have the job offers rolling in. To make ends meet, I sold toys on the local trains, and to keep myself from going insane, I worked with social welfare institutions, especially ones that benefited the blind community. It was one of the toughest phases of my life, but I can now look back at it with pride. It made me a much stronger person.

My mother believed that our fate, hers and mine, would change if I got married. I tried rather hard to disabuse her of this notion. I’d forgotten, there’s a reason why my mother was able to bring me up on her own. She’s incredibly stubborn. So, she won. On the 1^st of May 2004, I married the woman who I believed truly cared for me. But before long, it was time for me to start caring for her. She was diagnosed with a brain tumour. I was gutted. I was about to just plain give up when my friend from college and a girl I consider my sister, Aarti Bhosle, came to my rescue. In college, she helped me with filling up forms and reading out notes. Now a few years later, she was helping pay for my wife’s surgery. My wife’s health improved quickly and my belief in the goodness in people did too.

I don’t think life is meant to be simple for some people. The punches kept rolling in mine. My mother had a paralysis stroke just a few months after my wife’s surgery. So, here I was jobless, with the responsibility of caring for two women I truly care for, facing rising medical billing and inflating prices. Once again, I stood on the edge.

Even though hope was always just out of reach, I decided to apply to the State Bank of Hyderabad for a Clerk’s position. This time though, I had tugged on the right straw. I got through the written exam, and passed the interview. In October of 2011, I was told I would be employed as a Clerk at the State Bank of Hyderabad. It’s been a few months, but I still get goosebumps thinking of what might have happened otherwise. And then I feel that perhaps, this is a way of a superior power letting me know that I haven’t been abandoned completely.

I’ve decided that I would like to help people in the same way that strangers and friends have helped me. I want to use my experience to let people that they’re not alone, that there is hope, that life isn’t just about the struggle, that belief and faith are incredibly under-rated. I would someday like to work with an organization where I’m helping visually impaired youth less fortunate than me prepare for the world outside. If I can make sure just one of them has a smoother ride than mine, I think I’d have done my job in a system that’s so heavily stacked against the less fortunate likes of us.

It’s easy to become philosophical about life after the roads I’ve walked and the bumps I’ve stumbled in to. The thing about those bumps though, is that I’ve always managed to get up after the fall, dust myself and walk on. I try though to keep my head about me, and not worry about the things I can’t control. After all the things I’ve experienced, I would like to say that it’s not impossible to overcome a challenge if you want something bad enough. I might be blind, but I see the good in people. And there is a lot of good. It’s this goodness that gives me the strength to keep going. It’s been a long fight but I know I have a long way still to go. I’m ready for what life throws at me next, just as long as it makes me stronger. I started by talking about breaking stones, and I hope to be able to say one day, that of all the stones I’ve encountered in my path, I’ve been able to ground them to dust.

Written (in Braille) by:

Raju D. Dhanvate

State Bank of Hyderabad

CBD Belapur

Navi Mumbai

How breaking news broke me

Everyone, and everything has a soul. You might argue, but I believe, even News has a soul. It's a curious word really: News. The word comes from the four directions, North, East, West and South. Telling you everything you need to know from every direction.
So, the soul for news comes from the idea that it provides you all the information you need to know, and the details you seek, satisfying your craving for keeping up to date. Apply this to any sphere, politics, military, sports, entertainment, weather, it's all the same.
In today's internet age, details are easily found, immediacy is afforded by television and the newspaper takes care of my breed, who wants to know something or the other about everything. And television news when I was growing up was a family event, an evening bulletin that provided us with every bit of information, relevant or otherwise, that we truly believed mattered. As I grew up, I got my daily dose from the papers and then fought with my father for control of the television remote so I could watch the X-Files instead of the evening news.
At around that point came around an institution called The World This Week. All remote wars ceased on Friday nights in our household. And I'm certain it's impact can be felt in any household that speaks English, and had a television set in the late 80s and early 90s.
That was the purest soul of all. Once a week, we were brought world events, packaged, written and presented so brilliantly, it was like having a front seat at a Laurence Olivier performance.
As television news began it's evolution, we had some experiments that worked, and some that didn't, but you always felt that the endeavour never lacked from sincerity and purpose.
Fast forward to a few years later, and as a Masters in Broadcast Journalism, I believed that I could truly deliver to people, stuff that's important to them. Things that truly matter. News that truly matters.
What I hadn't understood is that 24 hour news has a very different form of existence. It's more immediate, you have a 24 hour cycle to run, so a lot of news that truly doesn't matter pan-nationally is given a national platform, and often trivial matters get blown out of proportion. But just like everyone who's sworn never to offer a bribe, it's a situation you come to terms with, eventually accepting it as that of your lot. And I did.
But then came along the dreaded words: Breaking News. Breaking News across the world used to mean news that was either 'broken' by a newspaper or a channel. It was news that had so much impact that it was truly new, unexpected, and journalistically original. So, in my realm, the first reporter to have broken the match fixing scandal in cricket is truly one who has a legitimate claim to 'breaking news'.
Today, it's a worthless phrase that has been cheapened beyond belief. It's used when Sarabjit Singh's hanging is delayed (justifiably perhaps), but it's also used when Sourav Ganguly is fined 10 per cent of his match fee (within a few minutes of the Sarabjit news being 'flashed'). It's used when Mumbai locals run late, it's used when a boy in Bangalore drowns. It's even used when the Indian cricket team wins a Test series, on the 5th day of a drawn Test when they were leading the series 1-0 even before the final Test began. The point is that the phrase has no meaning anymore.
And it's just not bad enough, that one channel is a perpetrator of that crime, everyone else wants to follow suit. They end up playing catch up, purely because the original culprit is cheapening the phrase further and further. So watch out the next time you spill a cup of coffee, you just might 'flashed'.
For me, romance is everything. If you don't truly enjoy what you do, no matter who tells you what, it isn't worth doing. Happiness won't come for news easily. It's soul is too corrupted. And it's something the viewer will catch on to, sooner or later. Now, that I'm a part of the 'audience' I don't see the point of having breaking news every few seconds, having information (unconfirmed, speculative or otherwise) shoved down your throat like it truly matters. The only thing that matters is that I get the correct information, at such a time that I understand it (along with the news medium giving it). It's importance is put in to a frame of context, and it's in a form that I can use, either to quote, apply to my daily life or simply to mull on. That for me, is the soul of 24 hour news.
Yet, here we roam, soul-less, aim-less and unable to comprehend.

About the time the BCCI decided to outcast Kapil Dev Nikhanj

There was a time when Indian cricket was synonymous with a man from Haryana. He was the true son of the soil, a man who built an empire of World Cup winners and a man who ruled the club of highest Test wicket takers.
Kapil Dev was, is and always will be an Indian sports icon and a legend. No ban will ever be able to rob him of his place in Indian sporting history.
His 175 versus Zimbabwe in the 1983 World Cup is the stuff of legend. His 5 for 28 in the Melbourne Test in 1980/81 to set up a famous win, in spite of a severe groin injury, is one of the most courageous performances ever seen. The day he overtook Sir Richard Hadlee’s tally of 431 Test wickets, all of India and indeed the world stood up in united applause.
Since that day in February of 1994, one could say Indian cricket has dealt Kapil Dev an unfair hand. When he was accused by Manoj Prabhakar of match fixing in 2000, no one from the BCCI stood up for him. Instead, a former board president labeled him guilty without delving too much into the available proof. As a statement, he resigned as national coach saying, “(I have) nothing to say about cricket to anyone after having severed all links with the game.” Almost no one could bare to watch as Kapil Dev broke down during an interview on international television, quite clearly a shattered man. That day, even the few cynics could question the integrity of the man.
Yet, he continued to be a persona non-grata with the Indian cricketing community and the BCCI until 2002 when he was named as the Wisden Indian Cricketer of the Century. He described that moment as ‘his finest hour’.
Little did he know, the hour and the day marked just another chapter in the Kapil Dev vs BCCI saga. He returned very cautiously to the game, as a bowling consultant to the Indian team before their historic tour to Pakistan in 2004. Another couple of years later, he was nominated as the chairman of the National Cricket Academy. Today, even before the Haryana Hurricane could start to make changes in the NCA, he finds himself sacked.
The BCCI refuses to admit that it feels threatened by the rebel league. Meanwhile, Kapil Dev has continued to say that the Indian Cricket League is an organization that is exercising its right to conduct cricket matches across the country. Unfortunately, the BCCI has no time for some sound logic.
The BCCI treasurer N Srinivasan declared, “Every individual has the right to associate with the BCCI or any other organization. If he chooses to be part of any other organization then it is he who is leaving. If an individual chooses to associate with someone else it is his decision and we wish him luck. But he will not be a part of BCCI activities or derive any benefits from the BCCI.”
The BCCI has sent a strong message to the cricketing world: they are not afraid of posers and usurpers. It’s understandable why Dev can’t serve with both the ICL and the BCCI and he has quite clearly made his choice. Yet, one might ask what are the benefits that Kapil Dev has gotten from the cricket body since the end of his 16 year career?
Dev is no longer entitled to the Rs 35,000 (approx 900 USD) that is given as monthly pension to former Indian Test players by the BCCI. In all likelihood, he doesn’t need it. Yet, the sum was supposed to be for services rendered during his career when he was one of India’s leading cricketers. Sharad Pawar and company seem to have had a convenient lapse in memory regarding the 131 Tests and 225 ODIs he played for India. The BCCI might have forgotten Dev but it’s unlikely Indian cricket fans ever will.
When he stepped down as Indian coach in 2000, Dev had written to the BCCI, “I wish all my previous associates from the board and from the field all the best I only hope that if per chance I ever meet them, time will have washed away some of the wounds within me.” By dealing with Kapil Dev strictly, the BCCI might have made a point, but it’s also made sure those wounds will never heal.

A new age begins for Indian cricket (and the Indian fan)

There is an SMS going around India that goes something like this:
Knock Knock,
Who’s there?
Misbah
Misbah who?
Mis-bah just five runs.
It’s unkind, it’s churlish but truth be told, every single Indian cricket fan will smile, laugh and chuckle when he sees that text message. It captures perfectly the sentiment running through India right now.
To win the inaugural World Twenty20 Championships would have been achievement enough. To beat Pakistan in the final was both the icing and the cherry on top.
Along with the title and the trophy, there’s a lesson that is only just beginning to sink in. It’s proof that the future of Indian cricket is well and alive. It’s evidence that Indian cricket has the bench strength to cope come what may and doesn’t have to depend on big names to do the business time and again.
Sachin Tendulkar, Rahul Dravid and Sourav Ganguly would have been watching very closely. What they would have seen would no doubt have pleased them. They would have seen a brand new Indian captain come to grips with his new responsibility in a far lesser time than it took them. They would have seen him rally an Indian team that took Sourav Ganguly about a couple of years to build. They would have seen a bunch of youngsters ready to play cricket to enjoy it, to live in the moment and to play without the burden of expectation.
There’s no doubt that as members of this team grow in reputation more will come to be expected of them. Each time Rohit Sharma now takes the crease we will expect a six at crucial times. Every instance that RP Singh turns at the top of his mark, we will expect a ball delivered in the ‘channel’ and perhaps a wicket in his opening spell. We will undoubtedly expect MS Dhoni to lead India to victory with some inspirational decisions every time they play in a big series.
Let’s not carried away. This team is certainly one of the greatest India has had, but by no means is it perfect. Certain players didn’t fire but others compensated for that. When Sreesanth was having a bad day, RP Singh was right on the money. When Yuvraj Singh didn’t come good, Gautam Gambhir did. While it was disappointing from an individual point of view, it didn’t matter because India kept winning. When debutant Yusuf Pathan played in the most important limited overs game India has played since 2003 instead of the established Dinesh Karthik, questions were not raised because at the end of the day, India won.
The point to understand is that even this team can lose. There are weaknesses that might become evident and may be exposed in a 50 over game. The weight of a billion hopes will bear down on this team at exactly the times when they need to be free from that kind of pressure.
Only if the fans stop themselves from burning effigies each time India crashes to a loss, can Dhoni take a bold move like giving Joginder Sharma the last over in another crucial match. Only if Robin Uthappa is assured that his house will not be attacked, can he think of what clearly needs to be done to win with eight runs to get off three balls. We must temper our passion, love, enthusiasm and hopes with the fact that this is only just a game.
Ask Lance Klussner how he wakes up every morning after taking South Africa to the brink of the 1999 World Cup final. Ask Pat Rafter how he feels after being just a couple of points away from being Wimbledon Champion. Ask Zinedine Zidane where he finds the strength to go on loving his sport after his infamous moment in World Cup 2006. Ask Misbah-ul-Haq how he feels after taking Pakistan twice to the brink of famous wins over India. They will all tell you the same thing: it’s a lesson learnt, it’s the bitter truth, but it is after all just a game.
There’s a lesson for Indian fans here as well. We must support the men in blue no matter what happens. Yet, we can’t expect a win every time they take the field. This is a team that has already taken its initial steps towards greatness, but they will reach that destination only if we let them. Along the way we can’t bring out demonstrations or attack the BCCI office. We can’t throw stones at hoardings and spew venom at our cricketers. MS Dhoni, Yuvraj Singh and co. will find their place in history with or without the support of the Indian fans.
We have the chance to put behind us years of mistrust and a love-hate relationship. Let us remember this one night in Johannesburg when the entire nation watched with baited breath what they knew was their destiny. Let us stay firm in our resolve that no matter what, we will stand behind our men in blue. And besides those eleven men in the middle, we will be their army, one billion strong.

so, what's the point?

Venkaiah Naidu typifies the Indian politician. The BJP leader has sounded out his subordinates to be ready for a snap poll in case the Congress - Left alliance (otherwise known as the UPA) collapses. Nothing inherently wrong in that. We've been seeing it from the time when India became an independent country, and elected its own leaders.
Of course, since then, we've had opportunistic, greedy men pillage and ravage people's faith in the system. Today it's made us cynical to the core. Perhaps, a little too hardened as well.
So, thick skinned that when Naidu makes an irresponsible comment like the one he made in Bangalore, we think nothing of it. Saying that a government is about to collapse is a serious matter. The fact that there will be instability, discontinuation of several programmes and initiatives, derailing of policies that haven't even finished their incubation period, are all irrelevant.
The only thing that matters is that the BJP comes back in to power. He has been critical of the Congress, but hasn't suggested a way to mend things. He's said that his partymen should be ready in case there's a vacuum at the top. What happens once that vacuum is sealed, no one really knows. The sad part is that no one cares. If the BJP is in power, it will take some populist decisions, some hardline decisions to appease its allies and then continue to hoard wealth. The Congress will bitch and moan, complain and throw tantrums, yet completely ignore coming up with any truly progressive ideas.
When I was in school, I was taught that every member of Parliament has the right and privilege of being able to table a bill. I would love to meet a parliamentarian who has in his career tabled a bill that has gone on to help the poorest individuals in his constituency.
The problem is that, the opposition, instead of being a watchdog, conspires constantly to bring down the party in power. It's the Indian crab syndrome. Can you imagine what might happen if all parties agreed on an issue. Besides, most of India's citizens suffering from a combined heart flutter, it might actually contribute to some progress.
That might be the best way to ensure that we have a stable government and we have some constructive criticism rather than an air of pure, unadulterated negativity around us.
If there's credit to a plan, there's credit to a plan... But don't tell that to the Indian politician...
he's too busy trying to stop being the opposition.

mnemonic ramblings

A memory is a cancer, or so I believed. It eats at you, slowly while you either want to forget or relive. I don't know how it got that bad sometimes. It's like the narrator in the Fight Club said, 'a scratch on your upper palate that would go away if you could only just stop licking it.' Well, I couldn't. The 'if's' and the 'why's' never quite explained themselves.
Your own people slipping through your fingers right as you realise it's too late to say anything, and moments you want to tell yourself to just stop and think. Only that chances to do that didn't really exist. To revisit is to take a scalpel and cut out a healed wound.
Things we say or do, don't remain in time, suspended or completely inanimate. I believe they're just as dynamic as our life and our chronology. We move with the times and time catches up on us eventually.
I don't ask for forgiveness like Bono asks in 'One' but I do want a salvation from everything I want not to remember. The burden isn't something I'm meant to carry. I'm not really who I seem, I'm not a victim of my persecuted dreams. A fight isn't within. It should be with forces I cannot determine. If I fight with myself, I don't get anywhere. I stay inert externally.
Internally, though I may achieve a metamorphosis, however slight. I understand that to hurt, to pain, and to die are only natural. Whether it's us, others or our memories, we can only act as we are acted upon. So, the question is: what do we then do with our time here? Surely, can't fill it with undulated thoughts of self defeat. What then is the question do I do with my memories. With my thoughts that beg me, compel me to introspect and restructure.
I want to remodel. I will rebel against all that's mine and prove myself wrong. I need to re-invent. I can rise again. I will learn from my memories, from the time that I have had and invest for the time I have now. I am time, time is me. Memories I release you, you control me no more.

what's wrong with the world?

So, I've got an axe to grind. So, I'm upset. So, you don't know me, so you don't care. Well, I don't either. But I've got a point to make it, and make it I will.
Like Black Eyed Peas sang out... What's wrong with the world, yo?
I ask the same thing.
I'm torn about whether my homeland is dearer to me now that I'm away from it, or am I better off that I have the option of never having to return. The options make me angry. It's my homeland. The angst of not wanting to belong apart, I have a right to feel for my own country, my own earth, my own people.
Instead, I find myself increasingly repulsed by what I see and what I read. I'm quick to jump to conclusions but surely, my countrymen have more sanity and better judgment than that.
Apparently not. Let me illustrate.
The Gujarat BJP mock-staged the hanging of Mohammed Afzal, the prime accussed in the Parliament attack in December 2001. A team of lawyers beats up the stage Afzal, as a crowd cheered on. So, it's a plea for a prompt hanging for a controversial figure. Wrong. It's a gambit in a political battle. What till yesterday was an issue of justice, has today become a tool to gather public sentiment against a presidential candidate. Please note, that Afzal will probably never hear of this, neither will a voice be raised against the concievable violation of Afzal's fundamental rights. Instead, people gathered and cheered to watch the 'drama'. Please also note that none of us actually vote in a presidential election. In fact, the presidential election has traditionally been a fairly low key affair. It's good proof that nothing is incorruptible by the Indian political process.
We have an exploding population. The HIV virus is slowly but steadily starting to reach dangerous levels. So, what then I ask you is the best method of dealing with the problem. History has taught us education, awareness and promoting use of contraceptives helps. Obviously, our politicians slept through that class (and several others am sure).
Karnataka has banned sex ed in schools. The rather appropriate-ly named Horatti has decided that it would be against the interest of the students to learn about condoms, semen and vaginas.
Instead, he's decided that they should learn all about lathes, drills and exercise drills.
Another case in point. Hindustan Latex discovered that use of condoms was becoming boring for users. So, to spice things up a bit, it introduced a condom with a vibrator. Of course the people in the Madhya Pradesh administration, believe in having sex solely for procreation and not pleasure. As a result, there were vehement protests across the state from the administration to withdraw the product. A letter reached the PMO as well, claiming that the condom was a sex toy and hence, illegal.
Why should a group of individuals decide what I do in my bedroom? It's like telling me that I can't use a toothbrush with a vibrating function because India has a long tradition of using 'datun'. I know it's a stretch, but you get my point.
These protests happen while women get raped, while the politicians still pocket handsome amounts of kickbacks, while an entire chawl still crowds around a single tap, hoping, praying, it gives them water.
I know I'm not the only one upset. But why should we continue to even tolerate this.
I know what those of you'll sitting in India are thinking: "It's easy for you to say"
It's not really. While I was in India, I had two options. To get into the train, go to office, eat, sleep, drink (a LOT!), etc. or to get involved in what was happening around me, to be a voice challenging what I thought was wrong. I would like to think I did a good mixture of both. Today, I don't have a choice. All I can do is ask my self, what can I do? What can I say, write or contribute to that will make a difference.
How do I feed the kids on the street who don't have food for days, who're probably exploited regardless of how much money they can mooch off people.
How do I assuage the anger, the frustration of the cop who just won't take your FIR seriously, because he's got a kid to put through school and he can't do it on 5000 rupees a month.
How do I reassure a witness that he shouldn't fear the mafia and that his testimony will help bring justice when I know he'll probably be dead before he reaches the witness stand.
How do I convince a mob of people that religion is a divide that political leaders created so they'll never have to think of a winning strategy ever again.
I don't have a single answer. I don't think I ever will.
I do know my kids will never know hunger. They'll never know what it's like to be poor. I know they'll know right from wrong. I know they'll understand what it is to be secular.
What I don't know is whether I'll be ever able to tell them how proud I am of being Indian, what it is to be Indian.
I want to feed them the same rice my mother fed me. I want them to feel the same breeze I felt on my face on my first train ride on the footboard.
I just don't know if they'll be able to.