I didn’t write anything for my regular Writers Group tonight.. and the reason is….
Tonight I was mopping up after a cyclone.. “where?.. what?.. a cyclone.. what are you talking about – the storm was last week and it wasn’t even that bad?”
No .. a cyclone.. and this cyclone has hit my heart.. because where it really hit was the home of the kids that have my heart… its called Shikshangram Shelter for Kids.. and its where I lived and worked for 6 years on and off. I go there every time I get to India.. just for a short time these days.. but getting on topic – if you want to know about an event or a time that changed my life.. those kids did. I guess it was what you would call a revolving door moment.
It happened like this:
Nandini caught me by surprise.. she pulled out a few photographs.. you know the sort we had before they were all digital.. a bit blurry .. not so great quality .. prints they were called.. in a yellow photo print shop sleeve.. there were 8 or ten pics.. just simple ones – of kids..the kids weren’t very clean.. their clothes were raggy and their feet were bare.
Kids.. I don’t like kids much .. but – what?.. who are these kids? where are these kids.. who is looking after these kids.. ?
and I was hooked.. I had slid through that revolving door without even realising it was open.
Four weeks later I was on a flight to Mumbai.. not even really knowing where I was going – but this was a revolving door that shifted everything in my life.
I arrived in Mumbai airport to chaos – thanks to it being the biggest celebration night in India .. Diwali.. but due to other lacks of foresight or any decent plan – (a long story for another day!) I finally made it to Nandini’s house and found the kids from the photographs.
They were as described above.. a bit grubby, bare feet, and raggy clothes.. but the smiles… the smiles took my heart and turned it upside down. Those kids came inside my heart.. the shy ones, the brazen ones, the ones who danced, the ones who hid behind each other .. the ones who clung on to my hand and wouldn’t let go.. the ones who craved attention – the ones who were aloof and difficult to pry out of their shell.. all kids… all shapes and sizes and ages – from 2 to 14 – mostly skinny – short from lack of food, with big eyes and dark hair and skin.. Indian kids.. street kids, kids who had experienced unimaginable pain in their short lives – kids who for the first time in years – some of them first time ever .. had a real roof over their heads and three meals a day.
Suddenly they were my kids .. I took on a whole other family – and they still are.
Living and working with those children taught me more than I had learned in my whole life – about love, about generosity, about sharing, about pain, loss, resilience and how to survive. And oh so much more.. I threw myself into (or was I yanked into) their world – finding ways to support them with whatever skills I had and learning any more along the way. I was “Doctor” – ‘Mam Mam’ was the cry any time anyone was hurt, sick or needed a little attention, or simply a hug.. the cry of ‘Duktay’ meaning it hurts was one I learned quickly. And these stories too are many and are for another day .. because –
A couple of days back a cyclone took them by surprise and blew away their roof and blew out the windows and brought panic and terror into their lives yet again .. and that’s what I was doing tonight when I should have been writing.. I was writing an appeal.. telling the world again about these amazingly resilient kids who tonight don’t have a bed to sleep on and don’t have a proper roof over their heads again .. because Cylcone Nisarga blew it away.
If this story touches your heart and you can help us help these kids to have a secure and safe life – please connect with me and I will let you know how you can be involved.