...A Little Bit of Love...

Foreword: I'd sent this piece to a site which works like an online magazine and publishes selected stuff. However, since after about a month, i received no feedback from them, I decided to go ahead and post it here. Probably they didn't like the piece and chose not to reply... Anyway, here goes..

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It is rather ironic how things have changed after the last treatise on my team. Well, after my trip down memory lane, when I got back, I received a big shock. In my absence, one fine day, my team had had a meeting and our director gave us some shocking and unexpected news: there had been some management changes in our client side and they had frozen all outsourced work until further notice. So in effect, suddenly, within a few minutes, we were all project-less, on bench, as it is called in the IT industry. Thus, the very people we had been mocking for 2 years, the people who had not been allocated projects and spent all day doing nothing but surfing the internet or in the cafeteria - we were to become one of them.

None of my team could believe it and neither could I. An unexpected change brings in other unexpected and unwanted changes; involuntary challenges but challenges none the less. Most of us were apprehensive, and yet looking forward to new ways, new work, new tests.

It took quite some time for the news to sink in; we had no clue what the future held; our Senior Project Manager assured us that we’d be re-allocated to other projects except a few who would be retained just in case the project got restarted. So there still was a fragment of hope that things would go back to the same old days, where all us, so familiar with each other, so at ease with the team and where work was actually work n play, would again be working in one team. Yet, we knew, at the back of our minds, that things had changed irreversibly, for better or worse.

Anyway, within a few days, things began to move fast; some had already had discussions with other teams’ managers, an interview of sorts, some had been offered work in other teams, while some were to stay back, on bench till there was a final word from our erstwhile client. Initially, I was ready to move out, but then the prospect of free time, after so long, looked tempting. Additionally, I wanted to go home, and I wasn’t sure if would get leave in a new project. So, I decided to stay back for the wait until positive there was positive or negative confirmation about our project.

We were all going in different directions, and seeing that there was no surety as when who would move, the team decided to fulfill the self made promise we had made at the beginning of the year; that each month, combining all the birthdays in that month, we would collect money (as we would have if we had bought presents for the birthday guys) and give it to charity. Probably we could select different charities each month. That way we could be doing a little something for society in whatever small way we could.
We had all agreed; after all it was a good chance to do something charitable, if not ourselves, as a team. However, now with things going all haphazard, and no idea who was moving where and when, we decided to do the charity work atleast once before we all parted ways. And so, what was to have been a monthly exercise had to be reduced to a one time activity. We had a discussion about different charity organizations and concluding which was the best option - finally we all decided to donate to an organization called Nirmala Shishu Bhavan (of the Missionaries of Charity).

The organization is a branch of the renowned charity association started by Mother Teresa. This particular branch is dedicated to taking care of abandoned and orphaned infants and mentally challenged kids, with ages ranging from new born to about six-seven years.

We had mutually agreed that rather than giving cash, it was better to buy them what they needed; some team members volunteered to go do there to get the requirements. The coming Saturday they went and subsequently bought the requested articles – biscuits, blankets, food, clothes, etc. with the money we had all contributed. It had been decided that we would all go to the organization and spend some time with the kids before handing over the bought stuff and the remaining cash.

It was a sunny afternoon when some twenty of us left office for the organization; most of us were there but some two-three guys couldn’t make it as they had discussions with the new teams they were joining - a rather disheartening first sign of disintegration..

It was late afternoon by the time we reached the place. The organization is built on an average sized area, with two double storey buildings and plenty of space out front. As we enter the premises, there is a statue of Mother Teresa holding a child – it is like a shrine. At the other side of the place, in the area between the two buildings, through a gate of sorts, some firewood is kept. Some trees complete the austere picture.
In one of the buildings, the door was left wide open with a bell (literally) hanging outside for any visitors. As we rang the bell, we could hear the kids inside, and yet nobody came out. We rang several times, looked inside for any sign of someone hearing us, and waited...

After some time of looking around, finally a nun came out of the other building. Probably that was the administrative part as well as the sleeping quarters of the staff. She came out, and seeing so many people at once was pretty surprised; she asked if we all are together. We replied in unison, ‘yes’.

She told us to not hesitate and enter the other building (with the open door) to meet the kids. As we entered, I could see that this was a kind of visitors’ room, with all kinds of commemorative certificates, photos etc. framed and hung on the walls. There was a photo of Mother Teresa with another smiling nun. I couldn’t read what written below the snap; probably that nun was Sister Nirmala - the head of this organization. At the other side if the room was another door which led to a corridor as well as to a staircase to the first floor. There were around two-three rooms, all contained kids as could be inferred from the voices emanating from there. We all proceeded to meet them.

Personally, when I met these orphaned kids, luckless, and yet fortunate to have atleast found the care of this organization, I felt things I have never felt before - the experience was a journey of realization in understanding the distressing nature of real life.

The first room we entered had several cots (or cribs) lined in several rows with space to walk by each, but only a few were occupied. There were about five kids there at that time, with the total number of around fifteen to twenty cots. Whether the rest of the cots were always empty, or had occupants who were currently elsewhere, I didn’t know. One team member frequently visited the place and spent time with the children; he took us around and told us the history of a few kids. The images still linger in my mind and probably will, for a long time to come.

There was (is) a seven year old child who was still lying on his back on the cot, crying occasionally, while replying to some of the words spoken by our familiar team member. He conversed in Tamil and the kid replied in kind, if somewhat disjointedly. I noticed that most of the kids who were old enough to understand and speak could understand the words in Tamil that my team members were murmuring to them. Why, the boy, being seven, was still physically about four years old (he looked really small), and why he was lying down all the time, I didn’t have the courage to ask. Most of the time, I was silent. For one, my speaking English wasn’t getting understood, and I’m not the kind who can be kind, who can speak coaxingly with kids - any kids, be they my cousins or these destitute children. I tried to talk to a few of them, but most of the time they didn’t respond. It is probably something lacking in me, that prevents me from being warm hearted. In my mind, I felt their pain, but my face would probably have shown indifference..

There was (is) a small girl about four-five years of age who was (is) very friendly with all of us, mostly. She talked to whoever talked to her, replied with smart answers in Tamil, laughed, came to anyone’s arms, smiled, and mixed around very well. She was radiant, even though dusky in complexion, and her eyes shone; she looked to be an intelligent child. I don’t know whether these kids are send to school, I hope they are, because I have a feeling this cute girl will bloom, given the right attention and care. She looked to be happy that she had company, while the rest of the kids there mostly seemed annoyed. I guess it was natural; it could hardly be a nice feeling - to be stared at each day, by people with looks of sympathy. Yes, maybe they were too small to understand emotions like pity and sympathy, but they were children after all, and almost no kids like strangers.

Another girl of similar age was in the cot next to the bright girl. Although she wasn’t as friendly, she too didn’t look to be disturbed; she kept moving around from one place to the other, observing us. I don’t know why I felt that she didn’t get as much attention as the other girl, and she seemed to want it. To my inexperienced eyes, she looked to be a little envious of all the fun her contemporary was having with us, while she wandered out, as if not caring at all. I hope all that conjecture was just a figment of my imagination; I cannot be sure.

One boy remains painted in my memory; he was unlike all the others. Barely two-three years old, he had burns all over his body, from head to toe. It seems he had 2nd degree burns when he had been brought there and had been in a worse condition than he was now. Now, the burns seemed to have dried up; even though they left permanent scars on his mind and body, he didn’t look to be in pain. He wasn’t crying or moaning, but his body told a different story. I wondered how it was that a two year old boy got 2nd degree burns on his entire body and then was left at the organization to heal – the realization that the answers could be nothing less than horrifying left me reluctant to ask the questions.

All the time we were there in that room, he sat motionlessly, without stirring a single bit. He had eyes which looked hard at you and which spoke volumes, in a language I couldn’t understand, i.e., I was unable to gauge what was in his mind as he looked at us. He was uncommunicative; he sat in his cot, immobile, with a plaything held in front of him, as if trying to guise his wounds. He didn’t look around, he wasn’t curious, and he didn’t respond to anything any of us said to him. He didn’t seem disturbed or annoyed that we were there, if you looked at him, he looked straight back at you, as if challenging you, and yet he didn’t speak a word. A few of us tried to talk to him, in fact I drew the attention of some team members about him so that they’d try to converse with him, but to no avail. After a few attempts we gave up. As we all moved from his place, my eyes looked back at him, and I noticed that now that no one was crowding around him, he had removed the plaything and was looking about, as if relieved that he was off the hook. I still cannot forget those defiant hard eyes…as if accusing us for his state.

Another infant was there in another cot; a tiny girl who kept crying for quite some time. I went by her side, helpless, unable to discover the reason for her cries. A helper was walking by - she came and held her in her arms. She talked to the little girl, as all adults do with kids, and which I am incapable of doing - sweet nothings, smiling, cajoling, cradling. During the whole time the lady was there, she quieted down. The moment she left, the bawling started again. None of us could help, our standing there and trying to cheer her up, didn’t help. She seemed to be in pain – uncomfortable, restless, twisting and turning all about the cot. However, the instant the lady reappeared, she relaxed, as if comforted. Guess children of such a tender age too have the sense of affectation for people closest to them, people who take care of them and make them feel protected and safe.

Just next to this room with cots, there was another room, slightly airier and spacious and there were more children there – about ten. There were one or two 2 large mattresses spread together on the floor of this room, and the kids (ages ranging from two to four years) were all mostly lying down there. One or two slightly older kids were sitting on the benches places next to the mattresses - one of the older children kept on moaning and crying, making wailing sounds, as if bothered or in pain or irritated. There was a cacophony of voices actually, emanating from him, and some of the younger ones lying down, and also the staff helpers attending to the children, who were cajoling or scolding them.

I was somewhat taken aback by these kids. They were not ill, but they all looked somewhat unwell; lethargic, rolling on the mattresses, tossing and turning, some crying, some looking up at the roof, but most with a blank kind of look on their faces, as if staring past us. It was a very depressing room inspite of the sunlight rushing into the rooms through the open doors.
I wonder why the kids were so enervated - not moving, not happy… were they mentally ill? I hadn’t asked. But I haven’t ever seen kids so lulled, so dull, not just in terms of activity, but their faces, especially their lacklustre eyes; they didn’t seem to hold any happiness, hope or cheer.

As the others interacted with some of the kids, I felt a profound sense of despair. My standing there, seeing the children, I felt unreal. These less than fortunate children were the reality - the comfort of my childhood, the love and support of my family, the education, the luxury of choices, everything seemed to have existed in an alternate world - guilty pleasures that I had been privileged to get when I had been a little girl.

These innocent kids, they had to share love and care of the staff and the nuns, one among so many. Where would they find the love they deserved, the care that each born child has a right to? Leave aside the education (though that too is important) but lets waive that for the time being, just the personal attention - of having parents look after you, support you, guide you and above all treasure you, where would they find that? I don’t know how these orphanages work, do they offer adoption? Do these kids have the chance to get adopted by a good family? I wish I could confidently say ‘yes’ but I can’t because I know, that although there are chances, they are very slim.

Somewhat disheartened by these thoughts, I moved out of the room. Further down the corridor, on the other side, there was another room; I went there. Here the situation was no different, except perhaps the kids were older. One girl, about seven years of age, had her foot in one of those metallic frames (which are used to support the foot); she was sitting near the door, facing us. As we looked inside, wondering whether we should enter or not, she kept signalling something all the while. She pointed her hand forward, and then put it down on the floor and tried to say something; I guess she had some disorder, because she wasn’t able to articulate the words.
We were in a quandary as to whether she was forbidding us to enter (the hand forward as a sign of ‘Stop’) or welcoming us to come in and sit on the floor. She repeated the gestures several times - finally we hesitatingly entered the room, unsure if she’d react negatively. Turns out she was in fact welcoming us in, because as soon as we entered, she signaled to sit on the floor. The sight which met us inside was similar to the previous rooms. Like the earlier children, here too there were immobile kids; some lying down, attended to by the staff, and three (including the girl who had called us) were sitting. The other two were seated in some fixed kind of seat, with a table like structure attached, so that one sitting on the seat couldn’t move much. Their limbs had some problem, which was in the process of getting fixed, avoiding movement as much as possible; hence the seats. I looked around, feeing the now familiar sense of helplessness. I didn’t sit down, but came out, even though the child with the metallic frames kept on gesturing to sit down. While some others of my team remained, I walked out of the room.

Some team members were walking upstairs, so I joined them. The rest of my team was also now visibly less boisterous, spending time with the kids, trying to make a difference in whatever small way possible. Upstairs, there was one contained room, which had very young infants in cribs. We could not enter but glanced through the window. They were all so tiny; most were sleeping while some were crying. There was one abnormal child – she/he had an unnaturally large head compared to her/his body; double the size of what would have been the normal size for his body. We couldn’t look in much and yet we could make out that the baby had some problem. Another baby was bleeding – whether she/he was hurt or the bleeding was internal I don’t know; a nun was bandaging the wound tenderly and yet deftly. Because of the entry restriction, we couldn’t do anything else and so moved away from the window.

Further ahead was the terrace kind of part of the floor, with the top covered, and the side wall absent except a wooden railing. This part of the building was a like a large covered balcony. As it was open partially, fresh air and bright sunlight illuminated the place, somehow lifting our spirits. Besides the surroundings, the place itself was cheerful; it was like a playhouse - two small swings, two miniature slides, other playthings which I can’t recall, all vivid in multiple hues. There were five kids in prams - two were napping, and the other three were interacting with the team members who were there..

To my relief, for their sake, these few babies looked well - physically and mentally; they looked happy. One tiny girl, smiling as one my team members approached her crib and fondly touched her cheek, and two tiny guys, looking with a look of wonderment in their faces. Their eyes and faces held the shine and glow that is normally present in kids; they looked to be enjoying our visit, putting out their hands to anyone who proffered theirs, holding the fingers tightly wrapped around their little fingers, getting amused by the coaxing and cajoling sounds made by us. Here I also interacted, not so much with words but with touch, gestures, facial expressions and smiles. Now, when I think back, I wonder why it was that with these cheerful children, I was able to get along, while with the other less happier ones, I was withdrawn and unable to communicate. Rather shallow of me I guess; I’m not comfortable with suffering and pain.

Here too, the staff/volunteer/attendant was sitting with the babies, entertaining them as well as taking care of them. Momentarily, I thought about them too, devoting their lives to the cause of these children, not having time for their personal lives. I wonder how they can be normal, seeing so much of pain and unfairness around them everyday. Taking care of these orphaned children, loving them, spending time with them, for no reason that is beneficiary to themselves – that is indeed selfless. What is it that induces them to do it, and how do they do it? It is indeed admirable.

Looking at the infants’ bright faces, I realized that besides the financial and materialistic help, (and perhaps more than that), these orphans need love, attention, care, opportunities, a family. People like us might contribute in terms of money (mainly perhaps to salve our personal consciences), but how many come to actually spend time with these kids - to shower some affection and love on these less fortunate angels?

We all look at the state of things, condemn them, complain, sympathize, but how many of us do anything? I include myself because I’m guiltier of a bigger crime. Atleast the others are more or less ignorant about the state of affairs, but me, even after visiting that place, being affected by it, I haven’t gone again. Despite knowing the reality, I cannot bring it upon myself to take the initiative, to rouse myself from inactivity and visit the orphanage again. I’m scared, frankly. I am afraid of the pain in the eyes of the children, the stories of their lives, and the ugly face of reality.

The feelings of guilt have always stung occasionally, before and after this orphanage trip. The pricks to conscience hit me when I see a beggar on the street, or when I see young children selling stuff on the traffic signals, or when I see old people who still have to work for their living (in a time where they should be resting) - so many times, and yet I do not know how to change things. I know small steps go a long way, but I haven’t taken any, till date. Doesn’t make one feel anything more than despicable does it?

To go back to what I was saying… after seeing these kids, i.e. the bubbly babies in the prams, my heart lightened a little. On that heartening note, after giving the money (for which we got a tax exemption receipt, which was unusable because we had given the donor name as our organization) and the things we had bought, we left the place. On our way back, everyone was quieter, lost in their own thoughts. I guess mentally, everyone was still in the orphanage that we had just left behind, their thoughts still wandering around the people they had met, the kids they had spent time with, the state of things. My Project Manager was the only one still talking lightly, about the institution and other sister organizations. I replied to him, uttering the appropriate sentences at the appropriate time, because I had to; he was sitting across me and it would have been rather rude if nobody had answered.

That evening left a lasting impression on my mind, and I’m sure on the others too. Forces of the corporate world had made a sudden attack on our well being; the team of long standing, working in harmony (with of course some problems), was finally split. Nobody knew what the future held for them. Yet, despite the state of confusion that each of our careers was in, that visit made us see the bigger perspective - we still had a job, and had had a childhood filled with love. These blameless children had just stepped into this harsh world and they had no clue, being taken care by a group of selfless people, striving to make their lives better. We have no right to feel bad about ourselves – there is a long queue of people who deserve that sympathy more than our self-pitying selves.

As I sat there in the cab, I looked around me, at my team of the past two memorable years. A team which worked together, laughed together, lunched together (sometimes), discussed together, now as a final farewell, gave together. It felt good that we had done a small infinitesimal part to help these kids; a final bow before the last show, one good cause before the parting. Now, new horizons await us, we are left with many memories, some that might grow fainter with time, and some, which will never fade. The children at Shishu Bhavan take their place in the latter; an indelible footprint on the sands of our time together…