Taboo

“But didi, we are not like UP or Bihar. There is no caste based discrimination like that in West Bengal.” “I am not sure what you mean. But please look harder. Check with the local teams, talk to more people.” I was helping an organisation consolidate experiences linked to a specific project which included identifying […]

Being Brave

“I have been labelled a trouble maker. By others in my community. By the police. My mother worries every time she hears I am in a gathering. But I also can’t help it. ”
“I have been hauled to the police station. For being at the wrong place at the wrong time. And because I am a boy from a basti. Mainly because I am a boy from a basti. Has that ever happened to you?”
“I have crossed 18 years. I am no longer a child who will be protected by NGOs. Maybe I don’t come under your programmes anymore.”
“I will go on speaking. This is who I am now.”

“I don’t know how old I am. Maybe over 65 years.”
“When these people first came, they said they would help the women form groups and help us earn. Everybody in the village wasn’t sure. But I said let me go and see what they are talking about. If it helps us, what is the harm?”
“Now we have many groups. I am everybody’s kaki (aunt), everybody’s leader. All the women come to discuss with me.”
“I attend all trainings, meetings. I like sitting in these rooms and meeting people. When I don’t understand anything, I ask. If you have called me to a meeting, you have to explain to me.”
“Now, I am here in this training with you.  You can also call me kaki. If I don’t understand anything, I will ask you.”

“I love riding my motorcycle. I know people stare at me. A woman with her own motorcycle. I have got used to it.”
“I represent the workers. But sometimes they feel I am representing the management. And the management is also always not sure about me.”
“What to do? This is who I am. I will always speak when I feel something needs to be said. And it can be for any side.”

To speak knowing you have no safety net.
To always give other people a chance.
To speak in any room you find yourself in, to not care how your question will be received and ask because you want to know.  
To live with all of one’s selves. To not give in to the urge to reduce or lessen oneself in order to fit in.

I hope I can be that brave someday.

Kindness

I had, somehow, managed to land right in the middle of an undeclared cold war. Between community workers with extensive experience and recent recruits with professional degrees. Between what was seen as an old, more humane order of things and new, hurried, management styles. And I was one of the enemy.

I had joined recently. I didn’t even know what my management approach/style was. My attempts to break the ice met with very limited success. I was never treated rudely. But it was also evident that I was seen as an interloper of sorts.

And then it changed. In the most unexpected way.

The organisation used to hold a cultural event every year to commemorate Rabindranath Tagore’s birthday in May.  The poet, playwright, story and song writer (some of his many accomplishments) remains an abiding and much loved icon in West Bengal (India).  Staff would recite his poems, sing his songs. And I volunteered to sing. Well…I was kind of made to volunteer. One of the performers had backed out and we needed a replacement. A very senior member in the organisation requested me to fill in.

I have to clarify here that I am not a trained singer. I enjoy music. And maybe because I was part of my school and college drama teams, I have fewer inhibitions about singing in front of a group of people. And maybe I just wanted to fit in. Mostly that.

So, my turn came. I sang. And there was a point where I went off key. Or off pitch. I am not sure what the exact term is!  The more important thing is that I was mortified. I was doing a bad job singing Rabindra Sangeet in a room full of Bengalis who had possibly been learning Rabindra Sangeet since they were children! This was not good. I somehow managed to continue and finish the song.

I remember experiencing very Sita-esque emotions at that moment. Basically, I wanted the earth to crack open and swallow me.  Obviously, that didn’t happen. I sat through the rest of the event, avoiding eye contact with everyone.

The event ended and people began moving out of the hall. I also stepped out. Suddenly, I was surrounded by four women. I had not seen them coming. Because I had been looking down. I looked up.

“Don’t worry about that bit (where you sang badly). It could happen to anyone.”
“At least you got up and sung in front of everyone. That is important. You wanted to do something.”
The third woman reached out and held my hand. She squeezed my hand gently. She didn’t need to say anything. That gesture spoke.
The fourth woman smiled at me.

Something shifted that day. My vulnerability had made me more accessible for them. And they had responded with kindness.

Few days later, I went to their field unit. Those differences still existed. But I was welcomed. And I began to make a more conscious attempt to understand how those differences played out in their lives and my part in that and what we could all do about it together.  I think I became kinder because they had been.

(This happened more than 15 years ago. But it has stuck with me.)

The Extraordinary Courage of Ordinary People

I met Kanchan towards the end of last year.  This was for a project on addressing multisectoral dimensions for preventing child marriages in a state in India. The work also included supporting married adolescent girls and young women in accessing services as well as reconnecting with education and vocational opportunities. Kanchan was one of the participants in a case study documentation initiative. A mother of three daughters at possibly 21 years of age, Kanchan was a remarkable young woman.

Her life had been an uncertain patchwork of agonies and fears and joys and loves. More than acute poverty, her childhood was coloured by an overwhelming sense of fear, of lack of confidence. “We never lived in peace,” she said. She later realised that this was one of the key factors that drove her to a ‘love marriage’ with a man who gave her a sense of security. Even though he was poorer than her. Even though her family objected.  To the adolescent Kanchan, married life seemed exciting. It would also be a respite from her then responsibilities which included caring for two younger cousins. She had done that since their mother had passed away. In many ways, she had become a mother while she was still a child. Marriage would also mean discontinuation of education. She had mixed feelings about that. She liked learning. But she rarely asked any questions. Having strict teachers who were also not averse to corporal punishment didn’t help either!

Anyways, she stepped into a new life, a new world. This new life had its highs and lows as well. Three daughters were born in quick succession. She had also not brought any dowry. While she was always sure of her husband’s affections, his support was less consistent. It wasn’t easy. Then, she heard about a centre where girls who had dropped out of school were being taught. She wrote a letter, addressed to the centre facilitator, with a request that she be allowed to join. She was promptly asked to enroll. Kanchan waited a few days and then chose an auspicious day to join. She would get up at 4 am to complete household tasks and then attend the classes. Her in laws and mother took care of the children during those hours. It was not a very stable arrangement.  But Kanchan was determined to figure out ways for doing this.

Within a few months, Kanchan had grown to be one of the star pupils at the centre. She had gotten over her fear of teachers. She had also discovered a love for poetry.  But she felt that her biggest achievement was gaining in confidence – that she could now speak before any one. Kanchan wanted to become a teacher in some form, any form. She wanted to demonstrate to children from difficult circumstances that education could be fun and engaging and that it could give you skills and tools for the rest of their lives.

Kanchan’s story was part of a collection of such narratives written in English. The staff read out the narratives to the participants including Kanchan in their languages. I was later told that she cried when her story was read out to her. She said that this was exactly what she had shared. This was her life. This moved me. It was, undoubtedly, one of the best things that anyone can tell a writer. That they have captured the essence of the person, that the words feel true and carry their hopes and fears, sorrows and joys.

I heard about her reaction when the covid lockdown was in its initial days. We were all struggling to understand what was unfolding around us. Hearing her response anchored me.  It reaffirmed that, even when so much is uncertain, I need to do what I do. More importantly, Kanchan’s irrepressible spirit and yearning for learning and to improve herself – those are things that make us human, help us navigate what life throws us at.  Of course, the struggles now have multiplied. It is about survival for many.  It is also about holding those in positions of power accountable for actions for survival and well being of all.  It is also about all of us doing our bit. But I also know that it is the extraordinary courage of ordinary people that will see us through this. 

Finding Hope

I wanted to write about something that made me smile and feel hopeful.  And this did both. And more.

I was in the middle of an assignment. This included an interaction with children living with their families in an unregistered slum location in a city.  There were six girls – all part of a children’s group supported by two non government organisations (NGO) under a project. Five of the girls were around 10- 12/13 years old. One girl was older – about 15/16 years. I had already spoken to some of the older children. So, I was keen to talk to them about their lives, what they considered as risks (whether framed as a ‘disaster’ or not), what they had done so far and, what else/more they wanted to do.  So, here we were – sitting close to each other on a small, raised bed within a one room house.

It was a VERY animated discussion. The younger girls tried to speak one at a time. But, too often, one would feel the need to correct another or add something. Or just say something completely different. The older girl would then feel compelled to step in, to maintain order. I let the conversations flow, the internal dynamics to emerge. The points of unanimous concern as well as those single, different and significant notes – all of these came up. It was an interesting and enriching experience for me. I got what I was looking for. I wrapped up the discussion and thanked all of them for their frank and enthusiastic participation. And, usually, that would have been the end of it.

But the girls – the younger ones – decided that the staff from the local NGO and I needed to be served tea. They had a quick discussion. There was consensus. Each girl would go home and get one rupee. This would be pooled to buy two cups of tea. They jumped off the bed and ran out of the house. Within minutes, they had returned with two cups of tea and four biscuits. The girls had probably needed to take more than one rupee from their homes. The staff and I were offered the tea and biscuits.  I broke my biscuit into multiple pieces to share with them. But the girls flatly refused to take even a small piece. “This is for you. We got it for you,” was the response. So, the staff and I had the tea and the biscuits while the girls sat around us.

I was very moved by this – this gesture of care and kindness and hospitality. Maybe, it wasn’t much. Maybe, they do it for all visitors. I don’t know. I didn’t ask. But, somehow, it made me feel hopeful. As long as we are able to think of others and care for them in this beautiful, instinctive manner – maybe, all is not lost. And that is something worth holding on to. Especially now.

Growing

My first ambition was to be a dancer – a classical Indian dancer. I was torn between Kathak and Odissi – two very different and very beautiful dance forms. I attended Kathak classes for some time. But then Guru ji (the teacher) kept changing the timings. It became quite inconvenient for my mother to ferry me to and fro from the classes. And this was in a small town in the late 1980s- early 1990s where life on the streets pretty much stopped at 7pm. I carried a heavy burden of resentment for a while, a keenly felt sense of unfairness of it all, of being denied the life I wanted. I was quietly dramatic. And then, one day, that burden lifted on its own. There wasn’t a specific moment of epiphany. It was just the realisation that my love for music and dance was not dependent on my making a career out of it, that these would always be a part of who I am. And I also fell in love with the power of words in prose and poetry.

I devoured books in the school library. I also followed my older brother through many of his phases of binge reading – western cowboy novels, comics – home grown and foreign , science fiction, even the obsessive Bermuda triangle and conspiracy theory phase. I participated in essay writing competitions, one of which led my father to always erroneously attribute more success to me than I actually achieved! I actually didn’t care if I won. I enjoyed the process of finding my way, collecting thoughts, seeing them meld and take shape in the writing.

As I grew older, writing became a part of the sense making process. Poetry, writing diaries, writing on scraps – all of that. When I lost a childhood friend suddenly to an untimely and senseless death, I grieved in poetry. Emails to close friends became a way of thinking through my fingers. A raft through good times and bad and the career switches (from a brief stint in business journalism to the development domain and then to a different role within it). It’s been 11 years since I took the decision to move from full time employment to a consultant doing process documentation and qualitative research. Some other things also found their way to me – which was also ok.

It has been quite a journey. The work has taken me to places and people and children who have taught me the many meanings of struggle, despair, love and joy and accomplishment. It has been a privilege to be allowed entry into so many ‘universes’ – each unique and yet also sharing common, fundamental human emotions and experiences. So much of all this never found its way into learning documents, manuals and research reports. But all of it enriched me.

Increasingly, I find myself thinking – what next? Seeing so much around us tilting horribly out of balance, dealing with the inescapable truths of human frailty and mortality – all of this makes one keenly aware that our time on this pale blue dot has to mean something. If nothing else, it is definitely important to transform creative dissatisfaction from a self perpetuating trap to stepping stones to where we need to go.
I haven’t figured it out yet. I am also not fully done with what I am doing now. It is unsettling and exhilarating – this not knowing. But this is how we grow or at least I hope to!

Hope Floats

 Disturbing violence against children.  And adults and systems that commit the far bigger crime of momentary concern before falling into patterns of apathy and indifference.  My work often takes me into these unnerving and depressing realities. We are taught, as social workers, to recognise the boundaries of our engagement. And then there is qualitative research which tells us that objectivity is a myth. Who we are influences what we see and what we do about it. I honestly think I made my life more difficult since I became aware of the concept of reflexivity! It is difficult to negotiate this complex labyrinth of principles and codes, of how we reveal ourselves or not within work environments that are deeply challenging. You see human behaviours that don’t deserve to be called human. Even as one struggles to acknowledge that there are possibly painful back stories, it remains soul crushing.

 So, what has helped me continue?

I started choosing my assignments a little more carefully. I decided to be associated with work where I  learn something and where I can make a specific contribution with whatever skills and abilities I have. I am not going to change the world (I can’t even broker peace within my extended family!!!). But I want to put whatever I have to the best use that I can. And this can be an multiple levels –  consolidating insights through process documentation work that can shape future initiatives or at the least provide some easily do-able suggestions, participating in research that highlights important issues and strategies that work or don’t,  helping organisations become more reflective in their child protection work through better systems of monitoring and documentation and consolidating  technical/legal/experiential learnings into accessible guidelines/manuals for greater systemic use.

Being open to work experiences and people that reaffirm faith in humanity has helped in a big way too. There are kindred spirits out there. Finding these fellow travellers has meant a lot to me. And the interest and excitement of those who are taking their early steps on this journey has also been reassuring. There are islands of good intent and positive actions everywhere – within communities and systems. We need to strengthen and amplify these and help others learn from those experiences.

 And the resilience of children. That has been an eye opener. They may choose means and strategies that I don’t understand. But it does not take away from their courage to live through difficult circumstances.  After all, at the end of the day, I come back to my comfortable home while they battle with what they have.

Also,  I am not sure if I am ever going to attain that elusive work-life balance. I have been pushed into making some adjustments because of health issues (a recurring back pain – a congenital gift). But more than that, I have realised the importance of emotional self care. We cannot do what we do if we do not recognise what makes and unmakes us and how that seeps into our work. We need rest for our physical and emotional selves.

The other parts of our lives can help nourish our work life. I return to poetry and books and music and friends and films. And family. Our much neglected families who put up with so much even when they don’t understand! We are a sum of all of this. It helps.  

The Ten Year Itch

I have had the amazing fortune of undertaking process documentation of multiple initiatives spanning 10 years. I have even done this for initiatives that covered 20 years and are still continuing. Most of these were primarily focused on child protection while a few centred on education. The two 20 year old initiatives were particularly unique since these also marked the journey from birth to adulthood (in a way!) of an organisation and a division of an organisation respectively. Nonetheless, each of these initiatives allowed me to engage with and reflect on the complex, organic and often unexpected trajectories of development interventions.

Typically, all of these initiatives began with the passionate commitment of some people. These people – and they were located across implementing organisations, participants (community members) and donors – recognised the relevance and value of what was being considered. It resonated with them for various reasons. They came on board and backed the idea. This idea would grow into a concept note and then a proposal and then a project. Or sometimes not. It might have just taken roots and begun to grow while these tools of development interventions came in later.

In any case, a core group of enthusiasts planned and implemented actions. Each frustration and thwarted effort was keenly felt and met with redoubled efforts. Each positive milestone brought a sense of solidarity and shared joy. This initial phase of intense engagement would then give way to the next one.

The teams involved could now  bank on some years of experience and insights. The project proposals gradually started becoming more refined and the indicators more sharply defined. The work may have also expanded organically in terms of themes and areas. Meanwhile, the organisations would have grown into larger entities with a more substantive array of projects and programmes (and with related worries of covering salaries and administrative costs!) The connections to this initiative, even when considered pioneering, might  have begun to grow loose. The participants – whether in the communities or other stakeholders – would have also gradually become aware of some sense of detachment or even distance with the implementing organisation. The staff at the ground level, of course, would have to continue their work. (And the new staff would often be told by participants that the previous set were better!) This is not to say that the initiative would have lost its relevance and effect. Even with every twist and turn, countless lives would have been touched in myriad ways. But somewhere, that organic sense of attachment and ownership may have begun to dim.

And then, at some point, the top management might experience a desire to look back. It could be to celebrate that milestone of 10 or 20 years. It could be the need to document this unique journey for organisational memory and also to inform the next stage of planning. It could be, and this often a key reason, an interest to consolidate the work and showcase it as a replicable model. And then suddenly, we are all back to pouring our time and energies on to this initiative.

I am not saying that all long terms initiatives fit this template. But many do. Also, maintaining growth of organisations and balancing reflective attention on multiple initiatives is a very real and undisputable challenge. There are a host of other internal and external factors as well that cast an influence. Changing priorities, often linked to donor requirements, do not always help either, especially if we do not plan to see how the gains can be deepened and continued. For me, it is most problematic when we gradually begin to lose sight of the people and children that we work for and with. The rights based approach and participation and sustainable development become words that are not lived fully.

At the same time, there is much that evokes hope. Long term initiatives provide unique opportunities to establish partnerships and engage in journeys of mutual growth. These ties, even when they grow weak with time for some, are still something else. The recollections of the past and reflections on the present might be tinged with frustrations. Yet, they still do strengthen that collective history of initiative and, more fundamentally, that common foundation of hopes and aspirations. For me, it is always humbling to be privy to such moments.

Moreover, the incremental effects add up to bigger and more significant changes. These become very visible and evocative acknowledgements of the fact that change, especially when dealing with deeply entrenched and complex issues, cannot happen overnight. It requires successful strategizing as well as modifications and some degree of trial and errors. And it is ok to fail too. It is all a part of the journey (and all parts that must be documented too).

 

Rewriting the Script

A poor programme participant was surviving against great odds. The programme team established contact with him/her, built rapport and motivated him/her to participate in the activities. The person was initially ‘resistant’. But then, the project team’s efforts proved successful. The person gradually began to participate and derive benefits. He/she became a strong supporter of the programme. His/her life changed substantially. He/she recognised the contribution of the programme in facilitating these significant transformations in his/her life.

So, this is the typical template of a ‘success story’ or ‘testimonial of change/impact’. The considerably rich and versatile case study method is often co-opted to build this very restrictive narrative. There is, of course, nothing wrong in wishing to record and present the positive changes influenced through a programme. On a more positive note, there has been an increasing interest in reflecting upon the programme inputs as well as the experience of the person/s who engaged with it. But there is SO MUCH MORE that needs to be done to make these narratives more real, grounded, ethical and resonant.

Not a label
The programme participant chosen as the ‘subject’ may have had a difficult life. But  he/she was a vibrant, complex, growing sum total of knowledge, experiences, skills and resources (in whatever shape or form) navigating life before we were even aware of his/her existence. He /she cannot be reduced only to labels that characterise him/her through deprivation. Any change that we are able to document and present is because he/she chose to engage with the programme. So, we should explore and highlight the nature of this engagement, factors which shaped it, evolving effects, and the continuing dynamic between these aspects. A representation that robs a person of his/her dignity and agency discredits both the programme and the participants.

Complexity and differences are not our enemy
While we all understand that change is rarely a linear and direct process, our success story templates fall consistently in this trap! Our narratives can be more nuanced by highlighting the actors, facilitating factors and constraints, circumstances and other elements and the interplay between them. We could attempt to identify the relative weights that these carried in influencing the change. And it is ok if the person has certain opinions and experiences that detract from the expected success story template/script. It doesn’t have to be all or nothing!Why are we so wary of reflecting differences?

What is success?
This is a more fundamental aspect. Are we willing to revisit our criteria of success? How do the programme participants define success in their own lives and in terms of the programme’s scope of work? Has the second helped with the first? How do these conceptions of success match with the programme’s envisaged outcomes? A more in-depth exploration can provide richer and varied dimensions of takeaways and successes than imagined. Such an exploration can also reveal other aspects that, somehow, escaped attention and needed programmatic emphasis. Sometimes, when we see what we want to see – we don’t go beyond that!

Ultimately, we are holding up a person’s lived experiences to external view. That is a huge responsibility, even when we change the names (and adhere to other ethical norms).

If that person was me, is this how I would have wanted myself to be represented?

How Informed is Informed Consent?

All of us who document and research are familiar with the notion of informed consent. Together with confidentiality and Do No Harm, it forms this trifecta of inviolable principles to guide our practice.  But I am not sure if those who agree always fully understand the implications of that ‘yes’. More importantly, I don’t know if that ‘yes’ comes from a sense of agency and choice.

Very often, we seek responses from people who have been a part of our projects as direct recipients of services or inputs in some form. I detest the term beneficiaries. But if, at some level, we have placed them in that category (or also allowed them to think like that), then they may feel obligated to participate. The ‘yes’ may then actually mean – ‘Sure. I will tell you what you want because I want to continue to be a part of this.’ Have we ever said to someone – You can choose not to be a part of this process at all. This will not have any impact on how we engage with you and your subsequent access to the project/programme?

Also, our dialogue with participants can be intrusive.  They may have consented in the beginning. But they probably did not know that the conversation would get into the realm of the deeply personal. Having said yes initially, they may feel unsure about backing out in between.

 Sometimes, people also say things as part of a conversation. Buried feelings and emotions may surface. They may remark about certain people or structures/systems in ways that they would not otherwise. Even if they have given consent, they may not fully realise the implications of having those words written and ascribed to them. Moreover, do we share that this conversation will shape a narrative that may be go beyond the immediate purpose and be recycled across outputs and channels?  

It is, undoubtedly, a great privilege to be welcomed into someone’s house and be given that time. In fact, I am often overwhelmed by the hospitality and the openness with which people share. It is, then, my responsibility to capture what is spoken, and left unspoken, in a manner that is dignified  and authentic as far as possible. It is also my responsibility to unpack this notion of informed consent, to check back with them even at the cost of losing out on those quotable quotes.

Besides, sometimes, knowing is enough. Everything does not need to be written explicitly for (donor and public) consumption.

We have to get better at this. I am definitely going to try.