Shishur Sevay

The girls are getting ready to go to sleep.  The TV is off, lights out, and they have closed the door to my office so I won't hear them whispering.  The classroom cleaning team is almost finished and soon they will go to bed.  The dinner team finished the dishes and the floor.  Music plays from outside but sometimes it is OK.  Tonight it's classical Bengali, soulful, and not the Bollywood music, an unwelcome intruder.  I'm at the computer, reflecting, which is much better than working on my "to do" list.

This morning I had to be at the school, the government school where two of the girls attend at 8:30.  That meant I couldn't walk the other girls to their school bus so I arranged for Bijoy and our house supervisor to go with them. 

The government school was having their yearly ceremony to welcome new children.  One of our girls was dancing. I was invited to say a few words, and just to be present with them.  I arrived to find my help was needed in putting on saris, and I thought back to my decision in 2003 that the only way to learn how to put on a sari was to do it regularly.  In that setting I'm just one of the mothers down on my knees trying to get the pleats right.

I sat out in the hall, next to Ganga in her wheelchair, as the rest of the preparations continued.  Children were running wildly up and down the hall.  Ganga squirmed, and signalled she wanted something.  It's sounds, but not words.  I asked if she wanted to go home.  She really looked uncomfortable.  She indicated no.  I asked, "Ganga, are you alright?"  She looked me straight in the eyes and shook her head, No.  I asked if she wanted to get on my lap and she seemed to want to.  I took her out of her chair and put her on my lap.  She was still not happy.  Then she stretched out her body to touch the ground with her feet.  Ganga wanted to run with the other children.

Ganga cannot walk.  Her knees buckle, her hips are weak, and her toes twist to the side and point.  So I held her under her arms and I "walked her" and all the children looked and walked with her.  Ganga was with her friends.  At the end of the hall she was OK to go back in her wheelchair.  We went into the auditorium, where mats were on the floor for children to sit.  I wheeled her to the side of the mats.  When the children all came in and sat on the mats she was unhappy again.  She was clear she wanted to sit with the others on the mats.  So I took her out of the chair and sat on the mat with her, next to some girls.  Pretty soon they were holding her up and I went back to the chair.  At first she looked back, but that was mostly because she loves having her picture taken.

The program began with the teachers singing.

 
 Ganga is in the lower left corner.  I was asked to speak a few words.  I used my little bit of Bengali to tell them how happy I was to be here, and noted all the years we had been part of the school.  Then I told them how wonderful it was that they had taken in children with disabilities.  They had done this out of love in their hearts.  This school had not be "designated" for children with disabilities but they opened their doors to disabled children in the community.    The school had greatly improved in the last four years.  The headmistress has fought for good teachers.  She withstood disapproval for taking these children.  I also know that this year the teachers put together a fund and admitted ten children who could not afford uniforms, books, the minimal admission fees.  So my words were what I was feeling, gratitude for the chances they took for our girls.  I've been the President of the Mother/Teacher's Committee for the past three years and it is an incredible honor.  I AM a part of this community.  Our children are a part of this community, which is why I do not want to move far.

But that brings me to a visit I had this evening by three young men I've talked to before.  They are part of the local community leadership.  They know what is going on.  They do not want us to leave.  They want to fix the problems.  They came this evening to say they want to get back for me the extortion money I paid four years ago.  They have already spoken to the person involved.  Now they want a meeting in which I will speak of it, in his presence. 

I was really confused at first, not at all sure what to say.  And then I thought, "Sure!"  They said it could be anywhere, and at first I didn't want it here but then I thought about the sheer presence of the group here, all coming to this house, past the house of the man who wants to be gatekeeper, and it seemed great.  In fact the "gatekeeper" has been ordered to be present.  I suggested they keep him busy early in the evening, take him for ice cream so he won't drink before the meeting.

Tomorrow evening we will meet here.  We will meet upstairs.  I have their phone numbers.  They are the ones who take care of us at the Sit and Draw contests, and they make sure our girls dance at community events.  But in the past they did not come to the end of the lane to help us.  Now they do.

I believe that ultimately we will move, but it is going to take time.  That I know.  We have seen possibilities that interest us. But in a way that is irrelevant at the moment.  What is relevant is that there ARE people here who want to protect us.  I'm very touched by that.  They are trying to make their community better, their India better.  I'm touched by that too. When they left I just kept grinning and grinning, and saying to Bijoy, "This is good.  This is very good!"  He was grinning too.  He is a young man who wants his India to be a better place than it is.

Well, in between the school program of the morning, and the visit from the young men in the evening, I did some shopping for things I've been putting off.  The girls needed fresh under garments.  The little ones needed some fresh "half pants" or shorts, and shirts.  The staff needed fresh saris and churidas.  We provide clothes for the massis and they wash the clothes daily.  It's part of keeping this place healthy and clean.   I had fun shopping.  Gibi and I have a good act for bargaining.  The price is always very high because of my white skin, higher than the usual high of bargaining.  So then I say no.  Gibi tells them they are charging because of my skin.  Then I say, "Gibi, let's go.  Stop talking to them," and I get about three or four feet away and they call me back.  Now we bargain for real.  Today Bijoy was watching from the car and laughing at our act.  

Late in the morning a new special educator came, and we reviewed reports she has written about the children with disabilities.  She will be coming three days a week starting in April, but has already started guiding the other teachers of the children with disabilities.  We are having a big teacher's meeting tomorrow, so I spent some time helping the new teachers prepare materials for that.  I fixed a couple of the laptops that were reluctant to go online — computers are moody I've decided.

In closing, here is a picture of one of our girls dancing for the function today.  I'm proud of her too.  I'm proud of all of them.  I have been entrusted with their safety and welfare.  I think about this a lot.  I hummed to the music as they danced.

This is a moment I worried about, when the girls discovered the internet and You Tube.  Now I have to make sure access is controlled.  It hasn't been, as teachers use it for teaching.  But now the girls have figured out how to do it on their own. They came to me last evening, as homework was finished, and they asked to use the computer.  At first I thought they wanted a laptop.  I restricted use because someone ate crackers while using a laptop and I've had to clean it thoroughly.  But no, they wanted the big computer. 

"Why?" I asked.

"We want to see the movie of Kali."  A teacher had been showing them the internet on Saturday, for science, other uses and then asked them what they wanted to see.  Each had a chance to search a subject.  Most wanted to see the Gods.

Last evening they opened the computer, but then needed some help searching, and finding their way to You Tube.  They were supposed to type in "Kali Goddess" but they started with "Goddess" and you can imagine what came up, and what I clicked off immediately, and showed them they had to type Kali first.  Then they were on their own, with me coming to check every few minutes.  By the time I thought to get the camera they were on Ganesha already.  Here are more of what they watched. 

Ganga usually watches TV with the others, and she loves the computer, but last night they left her in front of the TV, giving her a DVD to watch.  The content was more of the same:

Obviously I need to watch closely what goes on the computer, and I'll unplug the modem when we aren't using the computer.  As the modem is in my office, it will take them a while to figure out "the problem" and then I'll find other ways to watch.  But in truth, they are very reliable in telling me what they are watching.  I've written this before, but I'm raising them in a bubble.  I know that.  We don't have TV.  We do have newspapers and the girls keep up with "Entertainment News" that way.

The girls and their Gods… these become personal relationships, and sources of wisdom for them each.  One of the girls was being disruptive, as she gets when she is anxious, and another girl said to her, "Just keep a picture of Krishna with you, and look at it if you are upset." The girl telling her had been through bad times here herself.  More than once she had called on the Gods to tell her why she had been put here (on Earth) to suffer.

Well, back in the mundane realm of life here, we looked at a house yesterday that was not suitable, but also helped us understand what are our basic requirements — safety first.  Five groups came through our house yesterday, and one wants to make the offer.  I told him to find us a place.  He said he had been looking for two years.  I said, "Then you know better than I do what is out there."  I'm honest about why I'm leaving.  Everyone understands that I'm not safe here as a foreigner, and with the girls — so it doesn't discourage anyone.  Yesterday one family came through, and I learned afterwards they are Christian.  They should not buy.  They will not be safe.  Someone without a power base outside this "End of the Lane" would not be safe.  Bengalis are safe here; Punjabis are safe here.  This is only observation, just how it is.  If this were not true, we wouldn't have to leave.  The people yesterday wanted to bargain, of course.  They said the price was a little high.  I told them I'd just started, and if we couldn't sell of course I'd lower the price but right now, we have lots of interest.  He smiled and said he wouldn't bargain.  He understood the money is for the kids.  Prayer time was started and we invited him to stay. It was nice.  It's a good time each evening.

I really have a sense that it will all work out, and that the next house will be fine, and I might even have a bigger office.  I work in half a room here. And the room is always a mess.  So I keep thinking that it may be easier to move than straighten up my office.  I try always to look on the bright side. 

In the midst of all the problems of the neighborhood, finding a new home, we cannot allow ourselves to be distracted from why Shishur Sevay exists.  We are here for the children, our children, for their education, their safety, their growth into confident and competent young women.

Among the 12 girls, we actually have several different streams of education and programs going.  It will be nice when we have a bit more space in which to do all this.

• 1 girl has severe learning disabilities and is not literate in spite of four years of effort here and in special schools.  Other areas of her knowledge and skills have improved remarkably, but she cannot read or write.  She can draw and she can dance.  But most of all she is an incredibly competent and reliable caretaker of the children.  So we are training her to be an assistant to the teachers who teach the children with disabilities.  At the same time, we keep up some special education for her, working with her on communication, thought formulation, stories in pictures instead of words.  We work with her in English as this will greatly improve her earning potential. 
• 4 girls go out to United Missionary Girls High School, a fine Bengali medium school.  These are our four top performing, hardest working, best behaved girls.  They have aspirations that motivate them to study.  They are years older than the others in their classes.  It is hard.  Their ages do not go unnoticed.  These girls have courage and I let them know how proud I am every day, every time they get on the bus and go to school.  It's a new school.  They have not made friends yet.  They have each other, a wise decision of theirs to stay together this year.  One girl wants to be a teacher, another a doctor, one a dancer and disc jockey.  These are normal children who got a late start — late learners.  The day starts early for these girls.  Seema comes and tutors them from 6:30 am to 8 am and they leave for the bus at 8:30.  They come home around 4:30, have a meal, and then study until 8:30 or 9.  We have tutors here to help them with homework. as is the norm here in Kolkata.
• 1 girl is a year behind the others.  I am amazed at the progress she is making now.  For the first three years I wasn't sure she would learn at all.  I questioned what we were doing.  But I held to the principle that we would not give up on education.  Then over the last year she really started working!  She has her own tutor from when she comes home from school to 8:30 at night.  It is working.  This is costly.  How do I not do it?  These are the learnings, that sometimes it takes a few years for them to "kick in" so they can study.  Hopefully she can join the others next year, still a year behind, but going off on the bus with them each morning.
• 2 girls are very smart, but they are being educated at home this year.  For the last four years they have intermittently been in school and at home, depending on their behavior.  They would go to school for exams, which is how they got promoted.  But now they are in secondary school, and we cannot do that.  They could use another year at home anyway, with the goal of improving behavior enough to be mainstreamed.  What are the behaviors?  They can be disruptive, disrespectful, and getting into fights.  Each has tremendous insecurities about learning, and their fears are expressed as refusals.  One girl is on heavy medication which makes her sleepy so our home schedule allows her to start the day later, which is working well.  We bought two sets of books identical to those being used for the UMGHS, and follow the similar syllabus.  Again, our hope is to have them pass into that school next year.  As an alternative we are also enrolling them in the Open School, Level B program which would give them a Class V certificate.  Two teachers will be working full time with these girls.  It's exciting, as we have a chance to work with more innovative methods.  These two girls are more receptive to the less structured methods, although we insist that a certain amount of rote is necessary.  We are eclectic. 
• 1 girl with cerebral palsy is smart, and attends the local government school, sitting in class II.  She can't talk, but she loves her school, her books, and has made friends in school.  This is her third year there.  A massi takes her to school and stays at the school until she comes home.  At home she and the others have special educators, but she also sits in on classes with the big girls.  She loves the computer and we are trying to find people to work with voice output devices to improve her ability to communicate.
• 3 girls with disabilities including severe developmental delays have special educators over the course of the day.  The children are learning vocabulary, behavior, motor skills, and take part in exercises to try to improve developmental milestones.  Of these three girls, one is autistic and mentally impaired.  When she came she used to spin all day and ingest potty.  Now we take her to weddings and reception.  Another girl is visually impaired and microcephalic.  She is a joy, and well able to get us all to do what she wants.  She is learning to say sounds, and to sing tunes.  The third of these also has cerebral palsy.  She lives for approval (and food).  She loves action.  For a while she went to school but she just cried and cried so we took her out.  She loves reaching her arm out to visitors.  All four of the children with disabilities receive physical therapy once to twice a day.  We have exercise balls, standing boxes, walkers, and were about to put up rails, but this will wait for our next home. 

That's our 12 girls.  Everyone is being educated.  It's our way of life here.  Education gives us choices.  Education gives us a way to play with ideas in our minds, and to communicate our ideas.  For the children with disabilities this is especially difficult.  We want to know what they need to tell us, to break their sense of isolation.  Shishur Sevay is an experiment in many ways, with a broad brush of education being applied across the canvas, yet with fine lined adaptations according to need.  We just don't know what, or how much we will achieve.  But we are also learning, learning about these children — the ones no one wanted.  We are learning how to reach them, how to enrich them.  And in the meantime, separate from any goals of the future, they are living safely and productively in the present.  In a way, that's also enough.

Yesterday people came to look at the house.  They liked it and they will bring the rest of the family tomorrow.  The ones who came to look were four Punjabi men, two generations — nice people I would want to have as neighbors.  They asked if there was any community disturbance.  At first I said no.  But later as we all sat, the agent, the Punjabis, our Associate Director, Bijoy, I interrupted the discussion.  I simply could not deceive them about the neighborhood.  So I stopped the discussion and told that there was community disturbance.  They were only upset that our good work was being received this way.  As we talked, it was clear that they did not see these people as a threat.  These neighbors would shut them up quickly.  These are people who could call police and the police would come, and not tell them they broke the law by taking pictures of the rioters.  (There wouldn't be rioters).  It becomes clearer and clearer that I am the problem, the foreign lady with the children.  This family who came, maybe they have daughters.  No one would expect their daughters to "mingle" with the neighbors.  But their children would not be orphans, who as I've written before, are seen as common property.

I was upset.  I was upset that these people could buy my house and live here peacefully, but I could not.  That's what I kept thinking last night… and woke up thinking about, and part of me wants to stay here and fight.

This morning I got news of an offer made by "House B" (seen on the chart in the last blog).  House B is apparently upset, told the guard that "Mummy shouldn't leave!  If she would just give me drinking money, I would protect her from everyone."  House B is getting worried as he knows that I've actually been a very good neighbor, and nicer to him than anyone else would be.  In one of the blogs I wrote about the night he was outside saying awful things about me, and the night staff got upset and the girls got upset.  So I went out and said hello, and then came back in and brought out a piece of cake for him… and then the girls got into it and we fed him cake… and the neighbor who used to throw garbage over our wall — we gave her cake too….

I howled with laughter this morning when I heard the offer.  Sure, I was tempted, but I won't pay another rupee.  It escalates.  It also makes me angry.  I'm more inclined now to ask, "What will you give Shishur Sevay to stay?"  I know the all refer to me as Mother Teresa — which also makes me shiver because I know more than I want to know about the reality of Missionaries of Charity.  But all that aside, if they don't want to be accused of driving Mother Teresa out of the neighborhood, what will THEY do to change the situation?  How will House A and House B ensure our safety?

This is terrible, what I am about to write.  I know of institutions, orphanages, and orphanage type places, where local men are allowed access to girls at night.  It becomes the condition of those places existing in their communities.  From the beginning, House A, who also did the renovations, wanted free access even after the children came.

To answer the question, why did we buy this house?  First of all, it is in walking distance to Gibi's flat, where I stayed when I was in Kolkata.  Therefore I was already known to the neighborhood.  I didn't want to go to someone else's neighborhood to start an orphanage.  The next-door neighbor — in the flat next door, was known to us, friendly as we came and went.  He is the one who told us of the house.  He also owns a small fan factor that operates out of the ground floor of House A.  So even as we walked to the house, the one which became Shishur Sevay, it all felt friendly.  Then when we bought the house, this neighbor told us that the man in House A was a contractor.  So we hired him, the same man who later extorted money.  Also living in the building with Gibi was another neighbor who used to talk with us about what we were doing, and he was considered a friend.  He had to have known, since he is a long time figure in this community. He didn't tell us.  His friend was the lawyer who managed the sale.  That lawyer later on tried to get me to pay for his daughter's education.  No one told us the truth.  We walked right into it. 

We bought the house in April 2006.  Closing was set for Monday.  On the Friday before, suddenly the owner demanded a cash advance, but with no escrow or guarantee I would get the money if she pulled out.  I was told she needed the money for a deposit on a flat.  Even MY lawyer wanted me to give her the money.  I refused.  Then her lawyer said he would hold the money until the closing.  So I asked how that would help her get a flat.  No answer.  My lawyer still insisted I should give the money.  Everyone was treating me like the mean white lady refusing to help the poor Indian widow (who was about to be a rich widow).  Finally, I said directly to the lawyer, "If you die over the weekend I will lose my money."

Monday morning I wanted to do a "walk through" but was told this is not done in India.  I was continually accused of offending cultural norms. Why wasn't I trusting the poor widow?  I backed off.  I figured at least I was getting the house and I'd deal with whatever I had to.  After the sale we got the keys.  The poor widow had stripped the doors of knobs, taken anything that could be taken, and had sold the gravel in the walkway.  But we had the house.  I had a place now to bring orphan children.  The rest didn't matter so much.

In fact, none of this matters in comparison to being able to have and raise these children.  I look around, all the time, and I love what we have here, the children, the staff, the happiness, the growth, joy, and reasons to celebrate each day.

Evening has arrived.  The girls are still doing homework, though the teachers have left.  I keep thinking about the other people who would be able to live here safely.  A family who could buy this house would not be allowing their daughter(s) to mingle outside.  They wouldn't be expected to.  I sound so classist, even to myself.  But here it really is about safety.  Girls "disappear" here.    It's not about economics or I wouldn't have moved here.  I am comfortable with the poor, but not with the drunken poor, and I didn't expect the response we had.  When we first came we had a girl here whom we had rescued, and she eventually returned to her family.  I started letting her play outside and talk to the neighbors, but immediately she was invited into someone's house and was grilled about her life and about us.  I think the good people were driven out, even from the rental shacks.  There used to be children in school uniforms, coming and going, but no longer.  I hadn't really noticed until now, when I've started to look at everything around me.

The goonda who wants money for drinking, and then he will protect me, can also be friendly at times.  He calls me "Mother"  He says he is my son.  I tell him he is a very naughty son.  He likes that.  But other times he paces outside using foul language that I don't understand, but I learn from the girls and the massis that he is saying terrible things about me.  I hate that they hear it.  I hate that he is outside.  I wish the Punjabis would buy some other house here and clean out the neighborhood and then we would be safe.  We wouldn't need a helicopter.