The Future Is Lighthouse Bright

Ever since Deep Griha began 30 years ago this year, it has undergone a dramatic transformation into the large charity it is today. One of the more recent projects is City of Child, located 45 km from Pune, which has huge development potential.

Already, City of Child provides a first class environment for the children to develop into responsible and educated adults. If City of Child enrolls more staff and completes the planned projects - such as a hard playing surface, a cricket pitch and more housing - there is potential for the place to expand and bring in many more children.

City of Child is surrounded by approximately 15 acres of farmland and, as quoted in the Progress Report, the ideal is for City of Child to become self-supporting through sale of crops. This is a very positive step forward and this is where City of Child comes into its own.

I have seen the farming at work myself; from the intricate irrigation and watering system to the fact that they use some of the crops in the meals here. There are plans to grow grain, which could be used to make flour. The extra profit generated could also be used to provide employment within the local area.

So, to sum everything up, the idea of sister projects to the ones in Pune will be greatly rewarding to the children. It is the rural environment which helps with their education as well as an active and healthy atmosphere - and the prospect of expansion will benefit many more children in the near to distant future.

-Roy Walker

Untitled... again

One thing I left out in my first post was that along with feeding volunteers with yummy peanut chutney, every 5 years or so, Deep Griha also sends some of its volunteers on youth exchange programs, which somewhat explains my new enthusiasm for Irish music and ice skating. In collaboration with the Commonwealth of Nations, Deep Griha and the Methodist Church of Liverpool district, UK, have been organizing exchange programs for the last 20 years. I was one of the lucky 13 sent this June to see how people in England live …with not nearly enough warm clothes as I found out.

When a journalist from a reputed newspaper in Pune approached us to write an article about our exchange trip, we were, admittedly, a little excited. A chance to see our names and pictures in the paper, and for our enraptured mothers to cut the article out of the newspaper and, if we were lucky, save it in the family album for posterity, and if we weren't that lucky, have it proudly displayed to all the neighbours. I may mention that in fear of that happening, I accidentally neglected to mention to my mother the occurrence of that article. It's another story that she found and read the article before I even remembered that it was due to have been printed that day. Perhaps it's some kind of intuitive/investigative power women attain upon reaching motherhood.

The article, however, didn't prove to be quite what we expected, and I feel dearly for any of my team members whose mothers have well-meaningly displayed it to the next door neighbours.

It wasn't so much the patronizing manner in which we were described - 'bright, vibrant, fluent in English and more importantly, an urge to do something for the poor', or the misquoting, or the misspelling of our names, or even the misspelling of Deep Griha's name that got to us. What really annoyed us were the fabricated statements that were attributed to us and printed for all of Pune to see. It's one thing that we have been reduced to empty headed teenagers; injured pride can be dealt with. It's another when our words are twisted out of context, or even worse, words put in our mouth. "They are really dedicated souls, unlike we Indians who do social service as a part time job". I was there for the interview. And I am quite sure, whatever we may have said, coming from an NGO, we didn't say that.

And that is only one example of a fabricated quote. This was a cultural exchange program. It would hardly have been successful had we gone about undermining ourselves and our country. We don't claim to be filled with patriotic fervour, but whatever its faults, India is still home.

This post isn't about the fact that what we hoped would be good opportunity for publicity for Deep Griha blew up in our faces.

This post isn't just about a bunch of indignant teenagers smarting in the wake of an embarrassing newspaper article either.

This post is also meant to be about how responsible journalism seems to be on the decline, if we are to go by the article in question. Once upon a time the media spoke for us. Now we may just have to start speaking for ourselves.

Impressions (young women)

A friend of mine Makarand Sahasrabuddhe has been working in the social sector for over 10 years now. He visits the deepest pockets of Maharastra (a western state in India). Every once in a while he is overwhelmed by what he sees around himself and puts it into words. I thought these articles would be a good read for all. So here goes the first one, an article that he had written some time in May 2005 -

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I am back from a village (Narala) nestled deep in the hinterlands of Aurangabad district. I had the opportunity of interacting with a very articulate group of young girls… all in the 13-17 year age group. All of them were either in school or in junior college…. I rarely get an opportunity to do so.. most of my interactions are with women and men… rarely with adolescents…

I had intensive discussions…… we spoke about a host of things…. their daily routine, their families, their school / college, their friends, their leisure activities…. We spoke about their aspirations…… the young women were very articulate… it was a great feeling… the girls were also bold… I encouraged them to ask me questions….. They went haywire after that… more than I expected… I was asked about my personal life, my work, my life in the city, the movies I watch, the books I read, my son, my spouse…. Very exciting it was…. It was great to hear girls from a small village being so bold and articulate……..

We spoke about their dreams and aspirations… naturally most of the girls had limited dreams…. They had a limited world view and limited space… none of them had gone beyond Aurangabad which was about 50 km away… Three of the girls had a dream of ‘working in a office, any office’…. One said she wanted to be a teacher and one a doctor! I got a feeling that they were afraid of dreaming….

We kept talking…. got even more personal…. We spoke about their marriage…. That is when the girls took a mental step back… they were very apprehensive about the event… it was, they were clear, the most important event in their lives but one over which they had no control whatsoever. …. Sangeeta said “Sir, dreaming is fine… but I don’t know whether I will be in this village tomorrow. I may get married. If my parents find a half way decent boy they will arrange my marriage and pack me off. Then what I can or cannot do depends on my husbands’ family…” I decided to explore this further…. What emerged was depressing, so to say the least…. The girls were clear that their parents would be expected to pay a hefty dowry, in cash and kind… this was irrespective of the ‘quality’ of the boy…. one girl, merely 13 years old, said poignantly, “Sir I just hope that my husband is not a cheat and a drunkard. I hope that he does not beat me too much.. I will gladly settle for just that. I wont even be bothered about how much he earns, how much land he owns, whether he has a house…”

All the time that I was talking to them, I kept thinking of the daughters of my friends… the urban elite… their lives are so different…. So liberating… So empowered……. So pampered….

We never think of not educating our daughters...We never think of interrupting their lives and marrying them off (at the age of 11, for God’s sake)………We never think of making them slog it out for 18 hours a day…We encourage them to dream and then do all that is humanly possible to help them fulfill their dreams… We never think of not letting them fulfill their ambitions… their dreams…

I was and am depressed…. We, the urban elite are only a small fraction of the people in this country of ours…. Our lives are golden… for us India is Shining…. There is a feel good…. For us… what about the remaining population? When are these children going to dream? When is the mind going to be without fear? What are we going to do about it? Don’t we all have a responsibility to do something? At the very least think about it?

When is there going to be social change? A revolution? How many million girls have to be sacrificed at the altar of our collective lethargy? It is not my argument that any one person / agency is responsible… all of us the civil society, government (with its laws and enforcement), the elite have to take the blame… we don’t care enough… we all have a role to play… let us keep our eyes open… let us prevent this from happening around us… yes this happens in cities as well… let us talk about it… let us support activists working on this issue… let us talk about these issues openly… “for no man is an island…complete in himself…. Every death diminishes me because I am involved in all mankind… so never send to know for whom the bells toll……. They toll for thee…” ---Makarand

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If you wish to get in touch with Makarand directly, you can
e-mail him at msdsrs[at]vsnl.com (replace the [at] in the e-mail address with @. I've obfuscated the e-mail address to prevent it from getting harvested by spammers' programs.)

Just another news story

Something caught my eye in the newspaper this week.

It was a Times of India article (http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/articleshow/1206174.cms) about abortion clinics in Varanasi. Sinister-sounding 'agents' are now offering to organise ultrasound tests for as little as Rs 400, with the purpose of identifying the gender of the unborn child. If it's a girl, an abortion can be hastily arranged for just Rs 200. There's an economic rationale behind this, of course. Dowries are an expense, hence families can save money by opting to abort their unborn daughters. As one would-be father quoted in the article says, "The expense of an ultrasound and an abortion will save us Rs 5,000 in dowry. And that's just before the wedding. Add the money spent on festivals like Teej or when a grandchild is born and you'll understand that poor people like us can't afford daughters."

I'm not going to enter the debate about the right to choose or the right to life: that's a separate issue. One thing is certain however, the increasing phenomenon of skewed boy-girl sex ratios in India, previously largely limited to middle-class communities, is expanding worryingly throughout the country. In Maharashtra State for example, the child sex ratio for the 0-6 age group in 2001 was 917:1000, reflecting the situation with regard to female foeticide and the neglect of the girl child. (http://www.frontlineonnet.com/fl1913/19130810.htm) Disturbingly, in parts of Delhi, the girl-boy ratio is as low as 780:1000. (http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/articleshow/1189477.cms)

Naturally, there's a law against this kind of gender selection - the Pre-natal Diagnostic Techniques (Regulation and Prevention of Misuse) Act 1994. However, this is proving difficult to enforce. After all, everyone has the right to an ultrasound if they want one (and can pay for it). If the physician in charge verbally lets slip the gender of the child, what crime has been committed at that stage?

Clearly, it's societal attitudes that will have to tackle the situation. Until girls are valued as much as boys this will continue to be a problem, especially now that the technology to determine the sex of an unborn child is so widely and cheaply available.

From the point of view of Pune's slums, there is some hope at least. Interestingly, boy-girl sex ratios tend to be far worse in middle class communities than in the slums. I'm glad that Deep Griha Society places so much emphasis on women and children and promotes positive messages about their worth. I don't know about you, but I find the fact that gender-based foeticide can be facilitated for under $10 profoundly depressing.

The Chaos Within

‘There is a lot of money in poverty.’

Provocative paradox?

No, fact. There is billions and billions and billions… and billions of pounds, dollars, and for us, rupees, in poverty.

We are creatures of poverty. Remember poverty is an entity, and it is our creator. Social workers, NGOs, empowerment project after empowerment project have been conjured up by poverty. We live because poverty lives. Sadly, some of us are so dependent on the existence of poverty that we do little to end it. We pretend instead. We enter into an unholy alliance with poverty. We let it thrive and we feed in its wake.

To end poverty is an ideal. Its visceral grip on humanity is perennial.

‘There will always be poor.’ That is another middle and upper class comfort. Why try? We can achieve little, and so we often achieve nothing. ‘You can’t help these people. They must want to be helped.’ The randomness of life decreed that some of us be born on the right side of the poverty line. (Whatever determines that poverty line… in India it is the ‘little’ things - Little food, little shelter and little dignity.) Some of us look at the ‘underprivileged’, the ‘socio-economically deprived’ - the poor! Always read ‘the poor’ - and we feel pity, disgust and anger. Yes anger, why can’t they work, earn, find jobs? ‘There is always work if they want it.’ Yet another comfort of the middle and upper classes.

But it is not the eyebrow-plucked-highlights-in-the-hair-expensive-cologne-behind-the-ears heads buried in the sand of comfort that concern me. It is those who purport to be the champions of the poor and marginalized - the veterans of social reform, the generals and foot soldiers in the battle against poverty. (I heard recently that anyone who refers to him/herself as a ‘veteran of social reform’ is a failure, i.e., social reform has failed. Another provocative paradox?) It is those of us that feed in the wake of poverty that concerns me. And sadly this sickness is rife in the Indian NGO sector, rife in Pune, and saddest of all, present at Deep Griha Society.

There is a pay dispute that has threatened to threaten, but done little so far. Communist party labour unions have formed, members of staff have been cajoled into joining and Deep Griha finds itself 30 years on in a place that is alien, disturbing and sad. Some of us have forgotten why we do what we do... or maybe some of us do what we do because we can do little else. It is always the little things. It is an undeniable fact that many in the NGO sector have failed to find employment and so settle for the meagre earnings that organisations like Deep Griha struggle to provide.

It is tempting to dwell long and brutally upon this dispute. It is but a reminder of humanity’s forgetfulness. (Another paradox?) We have forgotten those we serve. If work is disrupted at Deep Griha, it is not the management that suffers sitting comfortably in their homes. It is the community that loses. The young mothers who need the crèches so that they can go out and find and keep those elusive jobs (that some people think sit thickly scattered about like toads in the monsoon and only need to be stumbled/squished upon), because they do want to work, they do want to earn, they do want to provide for their children. People living with HIV/AIDS do not stop being HIV+ because a handful of Deep Griha’s members of staff (approximately twenty from a total team strength of one hundred and thirty) feel under-appreciated. PLWHA will continue to need nutritional, medical and emotional support.

The door at Deep Griha is open. Those who want to earn more money are welcome to fuck off and do so! Working at Deep Griha is a choice. Yet, sadly, those involved in the dispute have ‘little’ choice. They, like the community, are beneficiaries of Deep Griha. They are misinformed and misguided by those who should know better… those who have fed on poverty. Their teeth and lips and chins are stained. Their tongues hunger for more. They think they can smell the money that poverty has promised.

The days ahead are uncertain. Poverty’s unholy alliance with humanity’s greed is.

Close Encounters - Part 2

I have currently been at my City of Child teaching placement for almost 6 days now and my opinion of the place has changed greatly since first arriving here.

It is strange when you first arrive at somewhere new, such as your first day at school, university or coming to India on your gap year; your initial impressions are sometimes of shock and anxiety. "What am I letting myself in for", "I want to leave". But, gradually as you get used to this new setting and settle in, all these negative thoughts seem to flow away leaving you in a positive mindset. To put it simply, you feel right at home. It was like this when I changed my placement to City of Child.

I left Deep Griha at Tadiwala road after receiving notice of a placement at City of Child and overcoming the fear of being left behind for a week for the possibility of missing the only bus (!)
I then went to my accommodation to pack my belongings and leave the place I had only just started to settle in to.

After an hour long journey from Pune we (me, Duncan and David) arrived at City of Child and were brought into one of the volunteer housing. We were led into a room with bare walls and bars across the window, and after the jokes for the resemblance to a prison (which was vaguely how I felt) we had a laugh choosing the thin mattress which was stained the least. We also had to figure out the squatting toilet.

A few hours after overcoming boredom by playing with the children, things began to change for the better very quickly. From playing with the children we rediscovered the reason for being at this placement and after the supervisor finally found the key for the extra room at the end the hall, the place did not seem so bad. Especially after finding clean, raised beds, a flushing toilet, teaching equipment and a ceiling fan!

We also started to find more things to do around the placement, such as greater interaction with the children and a shop that sells delicious biscuits as a treat.

Finally six days on we are all relishing our time at this placement. The kids seem great, good food, a lot to fill the day with and as a contradiction from the first day-instead of seeming like a prison, there is an invaluable sense of freedom from the surrounding scenery that I'm sure the kids will benefit from.

-Roy Walker

Untitled

When Hans asked me if I’d like to join the Events and Fundraising Team (or E.F.T as we are wont to call ourselves-I think more because it makes us feel big than for convenience’s sake) posting on our blog wasn’t part of the job description. Try as I did to evade his constant badgering to contribute (and I don’t know why he does, since those of you who have read his Thursday posts ‘The Chaos Within’ would be very happy, I’m sure, to have just his posts up every day) I finally gave in. It isn’t that I don’t want to most cheerily do my part for the E.F.T and Deep Griha, it’s just that the prospect of trying to compress the past years as a volunteer here into a few paragraphs of a blog seems incredibly daunting. I can’t think where to end. And I can’t think where to start.

It’s been three years at Deep Griha for me. Three years of unresponsive computers and the equally unresponsive apparatus associated with them, of Aadhar Kendra annual reports, that made us nearly scream in frustration as we scrambled to meet deadlines, of power cuts that invariably brought work to a halt, of watery dal for lunch, and of often asking myself if anything I was doing made even the slightest difference.

It’s also been three years peppered with times like rejoicing when we finally got a broadband connection (for those of you who can’t see what the big deal is, imagine spending one and a half hours trying to send an important email and in the end have it not go), of singing ‘Dhoom Machale’ with Aadhar Kendra’s Kunal Pol at City of Child and then feeling like everything listed above has been worth it, three years of Sudesh’s smiling face every, every day, of having somewhere to go even if it was just as an escape from all that was messed up around me, of braiding hair with Mahananda from the School Drop-outs class, of maushis who barely know me yet treat me as one of their own, and three years of the yummiest peanut chutney I have ever tasted at the Tadiwala road centre.

Three years down the line and sometimes I wonder what I’m doing here. Three years down the line and sometimes I know. I joined as a volunteer because of what I thought I could give Deep Griha. But, at the risk of sounding too candid, I think I stayed because of what Deep Griha gives me.

The Living Death

I held her very closely in my arms,
She felt glad, for her someone cared,
It seemed she had never been loved before,
To let go of me, she was scared.

She looked so weak and afraid of life,
Though she's just a year old now,
Now even to see some childhood years,
Her fate might not allow.

They say that at this tender age,
She's infected by the AIDS virus,
We all fear of getting infected ourselves,
And so we don't let them near us.

But it's our duty to show them we care,
For them we should go that extra mile,
Cos we take for granted many years of our life,
But they'll be around just for a while.

Abhay Anil Bhalerao
(Member of Deep Griha's Exchange Team - CUBE)

Choose to make a difference.

“To what shall I compare this life of ours? Even before I can say, ‘it is like a lightning flash or a dewdrop’, it is no more”.

Well, that sounds like one of those clichéd lines that people begin writing with. However, if we stop to think about it-life is short. Not necessarily in the literal sense of the phrase. Look all around. All we see is poverty taking lives, corruption crushing dreams and diseases devouring our people. How many of us have heard heart-wrenching cries and chosen to turn a deaf ear? How many of us have seen children sleeping on the footpaths in the rains and chosen to turn a blind eye? Whether it is in our newspapers or on our television screens, there are rapes by the minute and murders by the hour. Terrorism is but another profession. People are dying around us. Not just physically but also in spirit. They have no jobs and an entire family to support. Imagine someone just after they’ve been detected with the HIV virus. In one second, his or her world crashes and ambitions vanish into thin air. Yes, that is what they call the “living dead”. Still, we CHOOSE to ignore all of this!

Earlier in this article, I mentioned the words ‘our people’. The reason I did that was because, if you come to think of it, under the many colours of our skins and beneath the facades, we are all pretty much the same. We are all humans- breathing, walking, talking and interacting in the same manner. All of us have a heart, don’t we? So why do we harden it so much? And that too towards human beings-like you and me! I think it’s time all of us woke up to the screaming needs of our communities, woke up to reality. Maybe we should stop grumbling about the government, the roads, the slums, and the population and instead, do something about it. Why wait for someone else to do the honours? We must give whatever little we can for the betterment of our society. After all, we live in it! The potential of a caring nature is great. It could bring about a million smiles and work miracles for a few more.

I used to be one of those who would have answered a very guilty ‘yes’ to both the questions in the starting paragraph. However, thanks to an exchange programme, through which I learnt about Deep Griha, my perspective has been altered reasonably and I decided to volunteer here for a while. Well, it’s not that I’ve become a Mother Teresa or a saint overnight, but, at least now I’m aware of the threatening social issues staring at us in the face; and at least now, I can say all of this and not sound hypocritical. It can be one of the most satisfying jobs to do. You don’t have to be a philanthropist neither do you have to start a social movement or something. Only be a person who cares enough for another. That itself could create a whole new world for someone else. As I said before, life is short. So why not make it worth the while…

Eye of the beholder...

Since I've been volunteering at Deep Griha I've had the pleasure of attending all kinds of events and getting involved in a number of different projects. But one thing I certainly didn't envisage when I first came overseas was being a guest of honour at a ceremony for graduates of a Beautician Training Course...

DGS runs a host of Women's Empowerment Programmes. Along with Literacy classes, there are also vocational courses such as the Nursing and Housekeeper training schemes, plus Beautician, Henna and Rangoli courses designed to help young women set up their own small businesses. DGS also runs regular Development Seminars and provides support for self-help group formation and co-operative groups.

Back in March I was asked by Mrs Dande - all round superwoman in charge of Women's Development - to attend the Beauticians' Course Prizegiving as one of the guests of honour. How could I possibly refuse? The women had just completed their studies and were marking the event with a small ceremony; certificates were to be awarded - could I join fellow volunteers Vreny, Hannah and Laura in doing the honours? Certainly.

The event was great fun. All the class were present, along with plenty of supportive offspring. We were invited to look at the notes the women had prepared during their classes, and I for one learnt all kinds of things about eyebrow plucking and mascara application. Then it was time to hand out the prizes, to beaming smiles all round. We finished off with chaat snacks and a special thank you to the course teacher. All in a day's work at DGS...

The Chaos Within

Smiles

I had interesting meeting yesterday with a DJ and his sister… potentially a dance track that – ‘A DJ and his sister.’ I can almost hear it being pumped out at one of those universal clubs in Pune.

Why universal?

It looks and feels and tastes like any club I’ve been to, and while the colour of people may be different… verite - with the BPOs, call centres and MNCs in Pune, there are more Brits here than during the Raj (neo-colonialism without a doubt – but that’s another story… ok hyperbole). Add the North African and Iranian students into the mix, and stir vigorously for a multicultural cosmopolitan city.

The DJ is a creature of this multicultural cosmopolitanism. (I must be breaking some rule by placing these two once-evocative-and-now-trite words in such close proximity to each other). The DJ that sat before me yesterday with his pencilled-in moustache, lightening rod beard and wavy coloured hair was such a creature. (My use of creature drips with the connotation of ‘create,’ I do not mean it in any derogative sense.) He struggled to smile and his sister struggled to speak.

I looked at the DJ. He looked back at me and smiled, just a little.

This was a middleclass boy, mid twenties, ‘cool’ was his projected image. Inside he was a young man who has been HIV+ for four years. His sister wants a bride. She wants me to help. The bride is for her brother… I know this is Pune, but ‘His sister wants a bride’ could be another dance track of our pseudo-inclusive age. (Pseudo-inclusive? - We just pretend to be inclusive. Prejudice lives! We just deny it exists.) Family, he must have a family. His sister was adamant. It is a family that can lift him. It is a family that will make him taste and swallow life again.

To find the DJ an HIV+ bride, is an interesting proposition. I felt like a tall bearded Yenta from Fiddler on the Roof. I invited him to come and work with us on DISHA. He smiled again. His sister smiled too, a little more nervously… the guarded smile, we can’t describe it, but we know it when we experience it.

The DJ is the first middleclass English speaking HIV+ person I have encountered in Pune. I made this clear. I wanted both DJ and sister in need of a bride to know that the people we work with are more than just the socially marginalised, i.e., they are socially marginalised by poverty. (Yes, I understand poverty to be an entity; it exists, it breathes, it preys.) There are brilliant, real smiles at DISHA. Smiles that dazzle, smiles that humble, smiles that twist you in that innermost place and remain within you for a very long time. These are the smiles of the economically deprived. The DJ is affluent and educated. Remember, prejudice lives. This is real life. The ideal is blurred, scarred and often a lie.

I care deeply for our clients and my team and I will not tolerate any classist crap. It had to be said. I said it gentler. The DJ’s smile will be a welcome addition to the project. It does not yet have the resilience of some – Jyoti, a young mother of two in stage III of HIV/AIDS, beamed at us when we walked into the orthopaedic ward, after she had sustained multiple fractures in her right leg. A bike had knocked her down. “I thought I was working too hard, so I decided to take a few days off.” This is what she said as I sat down next to her concerned about her awful experience. – but the DJ’s smile will learn from those around him. It will learn defiance. It will learn more courage. It will learn to twist the insides and remain with those that see it.

He starts Monday as a volunteer.

Close encounters

Hello, my name is Roy Walker, I am a volunteer with Link overseas exchange and over the course of the next few months I am going to write several blogs for the Deep Griha website. Firstly I am going to start off with my jet-lagged trip to Pune from Scotland.

As we all left the plane at Mumbai airport and boarded the Deep Griha bus headed to Pune I could not help but gradually feel the sudden impact of the huge contrast between the Indian culture and the Scottish culture; the stifling heat, the sight, the smells, the three hour bus journey to Pune, the throbbing thump on my head as we hit another pothole and, mostly, the kind good nature of India’s inhabitants (even though the driver didn’t talk much). As I sat on the bus and let these new experience wash over me like the seasonal monsoons I could not help feel almost every single emotion possible; fear of the unknown, anxiety from the knowledge of starting my placement in a few days time, excitement from reaching a new stage in my life, happiness from finally arriving safely and the knowledge that I would be helping a few people so much. Gradually, after mulling over these and falling asleep several times (difficult when you consider the amazing driving!) we all arrived at the Deep Griha Cultural centre.

Even though I’d like to make this next experience about how good the formal greeting was, several pages long, Hans has given me strict orders not to make this too boring so I’ll try to keep it as short as possible.
A few days later after settling in and overcoming the fear of being “British” (ok I’m Scottish) in the middle of Independence Day, we all travelled to the Tadiwala Road Centre. After being greeted with the cheery eager-to-learn eyes of the local children, we all went upstairs to the rooftop where there was a large gathering of the pupils and teachers and we all felt very welcome when they sang, danced and greeted us with a rose. After heading down stairs again and drinking some really sweet tea (which was good to me and I’m not a tea drinker!) we all really felt like we were going to make a difference in each of our placements around India.

Warning: DGS is addictive

I arrived into Pune early on a cold January morning after an arduous overnight bus journey from Hospet. Somehow finding a rickshaw despite the dense fog, I set out for the Deep Griha Cultural Centre. The warm welcome I received was so typical of Deep Griha in general, as I was soon to discover... Before long I'd met with the Onawales and was off to the Family Welfare Centre at Tadiwala Road. There was so much to take in - one thing about the FWC is that it's always teeming with activity. At any given moment, you're likely to encounter kids from the crèches and pre-school classes (always ready with a cheery 'namaste'), DISHA staff and clients, staff and students on the English programme, women enrolled on Tailoring, Nursing or Beautician courses, international visitors and mischievous children bunking off from the informal education and school drop-out programmes. What with the administrative team and the women from the Nutrition Centre, there's always a friendly face to greet you - just watch out for Sudesh and his banana chapattis: refusal is not an option.

Within half an hour or so I was being used as a climbing frame by half a dozen three-year-olds. Not having much of a background in childcare, this was a novel experience to say the least. Still, by the end of the morning I was singing 'Little Johnny' and knocking out pasta-shell necklaces with the best of them. Later I met with Hans, our Volunteer Coordinator and regular contributor to this Blog. "So Paul, how long are you going to stay for?" he asks me. "Er… I'm not sure yet. A couple of weeks? Depends how I can get involved." I reply. "Hmmm, we'll see how you go." In the end I stayed for a couple of months, learning so much about the various programmes DGS is involved in and leaving only when my visa expiry date was looming. I'm now back for a second stint. Like so many others, I've found the lure of Deep Griha impossible to resist. Much like Sudesh's chapattis, in fact - one bite just isn't enough.

The Chaos Within

It’s been a funny few days, weeks even. Not ha ha funny. Funny peculiar. In truth, I have found that recently the ha ha funny transmogrifies into the funny peculiar without any prompting from me. Not that I generally prod and poke the ha ha funny towards funny peculiar. Although I must admit that for me thin partitions do divide the two.

Now, what has been so funny peculiar?

The answer is mortality. Yes, you read right, mortality - The undeniable fact that all of us, one day, will die. Cheerful, am I not?

Why is mortality funny peculiar? In fact, why is mortality funny at all?

If you saw what the DISHA team saw at the SAHARA care home for the dying, the majority of whom have HIV wasting disease and advanced cases of tuberculosis, mortality is not funny. Why did I call it the home for the dying, why didn’t I attempt to use the more politically correct ‘hospice,’ or ‘palliative care centre?’ Simply, because it is a home for the dying, it is a place where people come to die. Similarly, if you were with us when we went to the government morgue at Sassoon General to pick up Usha’s body, ‘funny’ would not be the word you would associate with that experience. Usha, vivacious, big grin, reduced to the ashen, huddled-in-pain form that left her two children behind on the 18th of July… would I say funny? No, I would not.

Yet, it is Usha’s grin that has remained with me these past few weeks, albeit a grin that was reduced to a grimace at the end. She was in pain. She knew she was going to die. “Look after my children father!” She made me promise, she made us all promise. She sometimes called me ‘doctor’ too. I have nothing that resembles a medical degree and although I came perilously close to being ordained once, she could never have known that. Usha would have grimaced with me if she had to walk into a freezer room in Sassoon General to collect a pristinely wrapped corpse. This was no Egyptian burial chamber. The smell of decay was fresh. A rat scurried across the juicy floor. Bodies in various stages of decomposition lay haphazardly about… ‘man is but grass’ - this fragment from Ecclesiastes muttered repeatedly inside me. I shook my head in disbelief. Usha should not have spent her last night here. The family refused to claim her body from SAHARA, and with no other choice, we were forced to house her in the local morgue - Rs.60 for the night.

A hint of the funny peculiar begins to surface.

Usha would have smiled wryly like I did when the professional mourners began their cacophony as her body was carried into the crematorium. “Where were they when I was alive father?” This was the same question that kept breaking upon the barrier of my grief. Where were they when she needed them? A new sari was unfurled and it was laid respectfully upon her mummified form. I turned to Avinash, my field supervisor, who was close to tears, “She would have loved a new sari when she was alive. What’s the fucking point of giving her one now to be burnt to fuck?!?” He shook his head wordlessly. He understood my anger, but the profanity was alien.

My wry smile turned to a harsh laugh and then a glare as I stared at the wailing hypocrites who shunned Usha when she was still with us, when all she wanted was reassurance that her children would be looked after, reassurance that she received only at Deep Griha Society. The community brings up the child. How often have we heard this? How often have these statements been nothing more than meaningless platitudes? It is our hope that the tight-knit Tadiwala road community is the exception, i.e., that they do not resort to platitudes, that they walk the talk! (Sorry, I’ve wanted to write that line for awhile now, and it seemed appropriate.) Deep Griha must never forget that we form part of the community now, we have been here since 1979, generations have known us, and have cared with us. We have to help them care for those living with HIV/AIDS. It is the greatest challenge we have faced yet.

So, why is mortality funny peculiar?

Rats feeding upon the unwanted dead, yes. Hypocritical professional mourners, yes. Yet, nothing appears to be particularly peculiar in the funny dept. Well, the answer lies with mortality itself. Mortality is funny, because suddenly everything I do seems to be determined by it. It is in my face day after day after day. I sometimes sit for lunch with the clients and look around the nutrition centre and think, ‘fuck, next year she may not be here.’ Nowness is so important. The moment is bound up with vitality, but mortality is the fuel that appears to drive us.

Something has gone wrong with my insides. For so long now I have tried to determine my actions and thoughts and feelings by the fact that I live, that I was born, rather than the fact that I will one day, inevitably, die. In affected fashion I used to refer to myself as a natal, and this was before I read of Hannah Arendt or ‘natality.’ For me death was a given, and I chose to focus on the wonderful randomness and certainty of my birth. I live! Now, I am forced to look upon death like many others who live their lives obsessed with when and where and of course the all important what next, while birth is the mere given. The argument that my colleague who does not have HIV can be hit by a bus tomorrow does not comfort me. Four of my colleagues are in stage II of HIV/AIDS, two of them have CD4 counts below 200/mm. I broke accepted mores after Usha’s death and hugged one of them and kissed her on the forehead. She did not pull away. Her eyes that had filled up overflowed.

Mortality – funny peculiar, or is it funny ha ha after all?

In "Deep" Thought

It is a daunting task to attempt to sum up the time I had with Deep Griha. How do you put into words an experience that has changed your perspective on the world at large, how you live your life and so many things that you held as truths. Well, as my time at Deep Griha is winding to a close (and my long journey home is looming) I suppose that summary is the task at hand.

Before I arrived in India, I was not sure what to expect. In fact, I was very nervous about my trek to the subcontinent. After all, I was a female travelling alone to a radically different culture, and to volunteer for a fabled NGO I had only heard stories about. But all of my initial trepidation was immediately relived when I caught a glimpse of the amazing grass roots organization that is Deep Griha. I have been very involved with international heath initiatives and education at home with my medical school faculty, but too see such a wonderfully functioning needs-based organization was just magical.

During my time here I have been blessed to be able to work with DISHA (Deep Griha’s Integrated Services for people with HIV and AIDS) and help wherever I could. Just to have the privilege to get to know that lovely DISHA staff, let alone see the amazing work they do for their community, is life amending. Their warm acceptance and caring puts a gorgeous face on the deplorable and frustrating situation that is HIV/AIDS in India. Deep Griha and its DISHA project truly is a "Lighthouse" for the people of Pune.

With Hans' gracious help I have also had the privilege of seeing the other medical projects and initiatives that Deep Griha is affiliated with. Vadala Mission hospital graciously took me in and showed me the most unforgettable 4 days of my life, The Leprosy colony was a remarkable sight, and Sahara HIV/AIDS Hospice was amazing to see. I am truly inspired to carry on my medical education and pursue a career in international health.

OK, I realize that I am being sappy, which for me is par for the course with these reflection-type situations, but for anyone who is reading this that and is thinking of coming to Deep Griha to volunteer or just visit I would encourage you to do so. The work that goes on is like nothing I have ever encountered.

P.S. Sorry for the silly picture. It seems I have tons of pictures of everyone else but not that many decent ones of me... oops! :0)

Laine Racher, Volunteer June -August 2005

The Chaos Within

My name is Hans Billimoria. My role at Deep Griha Society is currently threefold - Project Manager for DISHA - Deep Griha's Integrated Service for HIV/AIDS, Volunteer Coordinator and member of the recently set up Events and Fundraising Team.

Over the next few days, weeks and months... possibly years. watch this spot 'The Chaos Within' to read of what life is like at Deep Griha Society, for me, and those I work with, and those we serve.

Why chaos within? Because 'The Fall of the dancing star gives birth to the chaos within.' That's not me, that's Nietzsche. It has resonance however with the work I do, and why I do it. I work with dancing stars, people who live with HIV/AIDS, people that burn brightly in the perceived night that surrounds so many that have HIV/AIDS. I have met and worked with people that amaze me, humble me, and on occasion make me cry... They make me cry in frustration as much as they do in sadness or joy.

I hope that through the 'The Chaos Within' you will get an idea of what it is like to work at a grassroots NGO. It is hard... if you want it to be hard. There are no Mother Theresas here, just people working for other people. We've had our share of Mother Theresas, the bleeding hearts I mean, not those who care genuinely for the poor and afflicted... and even 'afflicted,' a strong word... we work with people in the slums, are they afflicted? Well, aren't we all afflicted in some way?

Tim teaching English to the senior administrative staff at Deep Griha. This is part of Deep Griha's capacity building programme for its members of staff. The senior administrative staff in particular require a good command of the English language to correspond with international funding/donor agencies.

Deep Griha Volunteers

The photo shows Dorothy, Meeta and Julie who were amongst the first batch of volunteers with Deep Griha's English program when it was started in 2001. It was thereafter continued by the Link volunteers from Scotland, UK. However, due to lack of continuity, the programme was shut down in January 2005. After a brief hiatus, it was restructured in June 2005 by Sharon and Tim, TEFL teachers, who have been teaching 73 members of the Deep Griha staff for the past month. With more volunteers joining in, we plan to expand the programme to include the beneficiaries of Deep Griha.

Welcome to the Deep Griha Blog

Welcome to the blog of the Deep Griha Society.